"Brian mentioned something about fraternization rules," Iadmit. "But they're mostly about coaches and players. I don't think they apply to medical staff and players being friends."
"And if people think we're more than friends?"
It's a fair question and one I don't have a simple answer for, so I just shrug.
We drive the rest of the way home in comfortable silence. I find myself wondering what it would be like to go on a real date with Lena, not just a revenge outing; to hold her hand because I want to, not for show.
It's a dangerous thought, one I push away as soon as it forms. We're roommates. Co-conspirators in a petty revenge plot. Maybe friends. Anything more would complicate an already messy situation.
But as we arrive home and I watch her laughing at Gordie's enthusiastic greeting, I can't help but think that some complications might be worth it.
CHAPTER 10
LENA
Gordie greetsus at the door like he thought we’d never return, his entire body wiggling with joy. Alder's demeanor softens immediately as he crouches to ruffle the dog's unruly fur.
"Hey, buddy. You miss us?"
Watching them together makes my chest ache in a strange way. For all his imposing physical presence on the ice, there's something gentle about Alder Stag when he's with his dog. My brain flashes to forbidden images of Alder being gentle with me…nope. Not okay, Lena.
"I'm going to turn in," I say, suddenly feeling like an intruder. "It's been a long day."
Alder nods, still focused on Gordie. "Night, Lena."
Inside the guest room, I change into sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt, before sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through the barrage of texts from Brad. Each one oscillates between anger and pleading, following the familiar pattern of our arguments.
How could you do this to me?
We need to talk.
Is this some kind of joke?
I miss you. Please come home.
Home. As if that apartment could ever feel like home again. I think about Alder shipping hot manure to the doorstep and smile, imagining Brad having to deal with it. It’s petty, sure, but it does make me feel better to bother Brad like this.
I silence my phone and slip under the covers, but sleep refuses to come. My mind replays the confrontation with Adam, the look on Alder's face when his ex dismissed me, and the way his hand trembled slightly in mine as we walked away.
After an hour of tossing and turning, I give up and get some water. The hallway is dark, but I can see the light spilling from the kitchen. When I round the corner, I freeze.
Alder sits at the kitchen island, shirtless, with a half-empty bottle of whiskey beside him. The overhead lights are off, but the under-cabinet lighting casts an amber glow across his bare shoulders and chest. A tattoo I hadn't noticed before spans his left shoulder blade—a majestic stag leaping over laurel branches, rendered in black ink with incredible detail. His body is a masterpiece. I have to will my heart to begin beating again as I realize I’m truly here in the presence of this beautiful man.
He doesn't notice me at first, lost in the amber liquid in his glass. Without the usual animation in his features, he somehow looks younger. Vulnerable.
I clear my throat, and he startles, turning to face me.
"Sorry," I say quickly. "Couldn't sleep."
"Join the club." His words are a bit slurred like he’s been drinking that booze for a long time. He gestures to the stool beside him with his glass. "Water?"
"Please."
As he stands to get me a glass, I can't help but notice the defined muscles of his torso, marred here and there with the bruises and scars of his profession. Being a hockey player isn't just a job—it's written on his body.
"That's a beautiful tattoo," I say as he hands me the water with an unsteady hand. I should suggest he get a glass for himself, but I’m not his mother. I’m not even his girlfriend.
He glances over his shoulder as if he's forgotten it's there. "Family tradition. All the Stags have it. Even my mom and she kept her last name.”
