Page 9

LENA

I glance around the sunny townhouse complex, gripping my hastily packed suitcase with white knuckles.

This is madness. Complete madness. Twenty-four hours ago, I was treating a hockey player's broken tooth on live television.

Now, I'm moving in with his twin brother as part of an elaborate revenge scheme against our cheating exes.

My mother would be thrilled— or horrified; probably both.

A neighbor waves at me as I park in the space Alder texted me to use–a Black woman in a sundress watering the plants in her small plot of lawn. “You must be Lena. Alder said he was getting a roommate.” She smiles and waggles her eyebrows.

Of course, he did—so, much for slipping into his home unnoticed.

I force a smile and wave back, glancing around again.

The townhouse community is situated right along the Allegheny River, with a paved bike and jog path along the water.

Each unit has a small lawn and patio, and the whole complex is fenced in, featuring a gate that leads out to the river.

This is a huge step up from the kind of place where a dental school graduate with crushing student loan debt gets to live .

“I’m Kim,” she says, waving with her non-hose hand. “You’re aiming for that one with the big wreath on the door.” She gestures toward a unit adorned with a gaudy gold wreath covered in black stag silhouettes.

I swallow hard, stepping toward the door. For a brief moment, I consider turning around and running away. Go where, though? Back to the apartment where Brad is probably lounging on furniture I paid for? To a hotel I can't afford?

No, I've made my choice. However bizarre this arrangement is, it's my best option right now. Plus, Alder mentioned he has STI testing kits for us to use.

I raise my hand to knock on the blue door, but before I can, it swings open, revealing not Alder but another enormous blond man.

"Hey, doc," Gunnar Stag booms, grinning widely. "Welcome home."

"You live here, too?"

He steps back, waving me inside with a theatrical flourish. "Nah. But there’s a lot of us in this family, and we love each other."

I step into an open-concept living space that's somehow both luxurious and lived-in.

Huge windows offer a stunning view of the river and the city across from it, while the kitchen island is cluttered with takeout containers and beer bottles.

Three massive men—all versions of Alder with slight variations—are sprawled across couches and armchairs, arguing loudly about something on the television.

Gunnar calls from the arm of the sofa, "Alder! Your dentist is here!"

"She's not my dentist," Alder's voice calls from somewhere. "And you know her name is Lena."

The men turn to look at me, and I resist the urge to shrink under their collective gaze. I notice that Tucker’s mouth is still slightly swollen. The fourth man—darker blond than the others—stands and approaches with his hand extended .

"Odin Stag," he says. "Oldest and wisest. Despite what Gunnar claims."

"Lena Sinclair," I reply, shaking his enormous hand. "Newest and most confused."

This earns a laugh from all of them, and some tension in my shoulders eases. Before I can say anything else, a blur of fur and stubby limbs comes skittering across the hardwood floor, sliding to a stop at my feet.

I look down at the most charmingly hideous face I've ever seen on a dog. One eye points slightly outward, while its underbite reveals a row of tiny bottom teeth. Its fur—a mix of wiry patches and fluffy tufts—sticks out in unpredictable directions.

"You must be Gordie," I say, crouching down.

The dog's entire body wiggles with the force of his tail wagging. I offer my hand for him to sniff, and he immediately licks my fingers before nuzzling his head under my palm.

"He approves," Alder says, appearing from what I assume is a hallway leading to the bedrooms. He's changed into joggers and a worn Fury t-shirt, his hair damp as if he's just showered. "Which is good because he's the only one whose opinion matters around here."

I squat by the dog, frozen at the sight of this clean-cut Adonis. “You shaved.” is what falls out of my mouth.

Alder runs a hand along his chiseled jaw, and I can smell aftershave, soap, and something unique to this beautiful man. “Yeah,” he says. “Playoffs are over, so the beard could go, thank god. Those things itch like hell.”

“I’m keeping mine,” Gunnar yells from across the room, cutting the tension a bit as the brothers argue about their facial hair.

“I think your dog’s adorable," I say, trying to regain control of the situation, scratching behind Gordie's ears while he makes snorting noises of pleasure. "So ugly he's cute, you know? Like a little gargoyle with fur. "

"That's exactly what I said when Alder brought him home!" Tucker exclaims. "Also, his breath is terrible. Fair warning."

As if on cue, Gordie pants happily in my face, and I'm hit with a wave of doggy halitosis that could wilt flowers. "Oh my," I laugh, turning my face away. "That is... potent."

"I brush his teeth," Alder says defensively. "He just has stomach issues."

"You could bring him to the dental suite sometime," I offer, standing up. "I could check his teeth."

Alder's expression brightens. "You'd do that?"

"Of course. It's literally my job to examine teeth."

Odin snorts. "Yeah, human teeth, not whatever's happening in that dog's mouth."

“Fair point,” I concede. “But I think I could identify a problem if there is one, and Alder could go from there.”

"See?" Alder says triumphantly. "She's a professional."

I feel myself blushing at his defense of me, which is ridiculous. I am a professional; I just wouldn't normally count smelly mutts among my patients.

"So, Lena," Gunnar says, flopping back onto the couch. “You’re moving in…"

Tucker throws an empty water bottle at him. “Chill, man. She and Alder are in a fragile state.”

"It's called kindness, moron," Alder interjects before I can respond. "And we're not going into details with you vultures."

"It's fine," I say, surprised by my calmness. "We bonded over our mutual humiliation. Turns out discovering your boyfriend is cheating on you with your new colleague’s boyfriend creates a certain... connection."

The brothers exchange glances.

"That tracks," Odin says finally. "Trauma bonding."

"Revenge plot," Gunnar suggests, wiggling his eyebrows .

Alder rolls his eyes. "Can you all please go home now? Lena's had a rough day, and we need to get her settled."

"Fine, fine," Gunnar sighs dramatically. "But Mom wants to know if you're both coming to Sunday dinner."

I freeze. "Sunday dinner?"

"Family tradition," Alder explains. "Nothing formal. Just twenty or thirty Stags eating lasagna and arguing about hockey. Although I guess we’re on to soccer spats now that it’s summer.”

Just twenty or thirty people? I can barely handle the three brothers in front of me. The thought of a houseful of these giant men makes my palms sweat. “You gotta eat, right?” Gunnar holds up his hands. “Might as well eat with great company.”

“You are under no obligation to attend," Alder says, clearly reading the panic on my face. "I can tell her you’re busy."

"No, that's—" I start, then stop. I’ve only met Brad’s family a handful of times, and here is this hockey family insisting I join in their weekly meal. I’m choked up but manage to say, "I'd like to meet your family."

Odin claps his hands together. "Excellent! They're going to love you. Just don’t ask my dad about his veneers.” Odin winces, and Gunnar laughs into his beer.

Tucker and Gunnar finally stand up, gathering empty bottles and takeout containers. "We'll get out of your hair," Tucker says. "But we'll see you Sunday."

After a flurry of goodbyes, brotherly insults, and one last check of Tucker's temporary crown, the three brothers finally leave, and I'm alone with Alder and Gordie.

"Sorry about that," he says, running a hand through his damp hair. "I didn't expect them all to be here still."

"It's okay. They seem... nice."

"They're nosy idiots," he says, but his tone is affectionate. "Let me show you around. "

The tour is brief but illuminating. The townhouse is massive by my standards—three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a chef's kitchen, and that stunning view. The guest room is larger than my entire first apartment, featuring a king-sized bed.

"This is where you'll sleep," Alder says, setting my suitcase down. "Clean towels in the bathroom, extra blankets in the closet. Wi-Fi password is on the nightstand."

"It's perfect," I say, overwhelmed by the boundless kindness of this near stranger. "Thank you, Alder. Really."

He shrugs, looking embarrassed. "It's nothing. Come on, I'll show you the kitchen."

I follow him back to the main living area, where Gordie has settled on a plush dog bed by the sliding door to the patio. Alder opens the fridge, which is surprisingly well-stocked for a bachelor pad.

"Help yourself to anything," he says. "I usually meal prep on Sundays, but since the season's over, I'm a bit more... flexible."

"I can contribute to groceries," I offer immediately. "And cook sometimes. I'm not great, but I can follow a recipe."

"We'll figure all that out later," he says, waving dismissively. Then, with a slight flush to his cheeks, he points to a wicker basket on top of the fridge. "That's, uh, the safe and satisfied basket."

"The what?"

His blush deepens. "Family thing. Mom insists all of us kids have one. It's just, you know, protection. Condoms, lube, dental dams. STI testing kits. Whatever you might... need."

I stare at him, heat rising in my cheeks. "Oh."

"Not that you'd—I mean, it's not an expectation or anything. Just, it's there if you... if anyone..." He clears his throat. "Anyway, it's there."

I glance at the basket, then back at Alder, who looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. "I doubt I'd need anything in there after we do the tests,” I say with a self-deprecating laugh. "Not exactly fighting them off, you know? Especially looking like this."

Alder's embarrassment vanishes, replaced by a frown. "Looking like what?"

I gesture vaguely at myself. "You know. Plus-sized. Not exactly the type guys are lining up to?—"

"No." He cuts me off sharply. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Put yourself down." His blue eyes are suddenly intense. "There's not a damn thing wrong with how you look."

I blink, startled by his vehemence. "I—it's just a fact, Alder. I'm not society's ideal?—"

"Society can go fuck itself," he says firmly. "Brad is an idiot who doesn't deserve you, and his opinions about your body are garbage. Got it?"

Something shifts in my chest—a warm, strange feeling I can't quite name. Alder looks at me as if he genuinely means what he's saying, which makes no sense. He's a professional athlete who could date models and celebrities. Why would he care about my self-image?

"Got it," I say quietly.

He nods once, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Now, are you hungry? I can order something."

As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly, breaking the tension as we both laugh.

"I'll take that as a yes," he says, reaching for his phone. "Pizza okay?"

I frown. “Didn’t you all just eat? There were so many food containers.”

Alder shakes his head. “Those jagoffs ate. Tucker and Gun are just starting their post-season binge, and Odin has been away from American food for a year. They didn’t leave me a single thing, and I could destroy a large pie from Spak Brothers if you’re in? ”

"Pizza's perfect." As he calls in our order, I find myself studying him—the casual way he leans against the counter, the gentleness with which he scratches Gordie's ears when the dog wanders over, and the fading tension in his shoulders as he jokes with the pizza place he clearly orders from regularly.

There's something undeniably attractive about him, and not just in the obvious way. Yes, he's physically stunning—all the Stag brothers are—but there's something else. A genuineness and an absence of the calculation I'd grown used to with Brad.

When he catches me watching him, I quickly look away, pretending to examine the photographs on his walls. What am I doing? This arrangement is temporary, born of mutual desperation and hurt feelings—a petty revenge scheme.

But as Alder grins at me and asks if I want to sign our exes up for health department mold inspections while we wait, I can't help but smile back. For the first time since the kiss cam disaster, I feel something other than humiliation and anger.

Something perilously close to attraction.