Our eyes meet, and something passes between us that tightens my chest—maybe understanding or recognition—something that makes this friendship forged from outrage feel suddenly complicated.
The moment breaks when Gordie, impatient with our stillness, tugs on his leash.
We continue walking, shifting to safer topics—her new office, my off-season training plans, and whether Gordie would like to go to the dog park this weekend. By the time we loop back to the townhouse, I'm somehow both more settled and unsettled than when we left.
I order takeout—more carbs—and we eat on the couch while I pull up game recordings. I find myself pointing out defensive strategies and explaining plays more intensely than I usually would. It's a reflex after her earlier comment about my hockey intelligence, a need to prove something I shouldn't have to prove.
But Lena watches with genuine interest, asking insightful questions that make me see the game through fresh eyes. She’s probably primarily interested in how all of it impacts the guys’ teeth, but there's something affirming about explaining my craft to someone who wants to understand it. It feels like, in addition to that, she might care about something that matters to me.
When she finally heads to bed, pausing in the hallway to turn back to me, I expect a simple "goodnight."
Instead, she says, "For what it's worth... I think everyone would notice if you stopped playing hockey. Not because of the family legacy or the Stag name, but because you bring something to the game that's uniquely you."
I stare at her, momentarily speechless. No one—not coaches, not teammates, not even family—has ever articulated my value to the game quite like that. Not as a Stag, notas an enforcer, but as me. I’ve always been half of a twin pair…valuable because of what I share with my brother.
"Thanks, Lena," I manage finally, my voice rougher than intended.
After her door closes, I lower the TV volume and reach for the whiskey bottle. Not to drown the day like last night, but to sit with this unfamiliar feeling of being truly seen.
I pour a single finger and sip it slowly as Gordie settles on my lap with a contented sigh. I stroke his fur absently, thoughts circling back to Lena—her quiet strength on the phone with Brad, how easily she's slipped into my life as if she's always belonged here.
This wasn't the plan. The plan was revenge. Petty pranks to show Adam and Brad exactly what they'd lost. Simple. Straightforward. Temporary.
But as I finish my whiskey and head to bed, Gordie padding beside me, I realize there's nothing simple about what's happening between Lena and me. We're becoming friends, genuine friends, with the kind of honesty I never had with Adam.
The question gnawing at me as I slide under the covers is whether friendship will be enough when I'm starting to feel the pull of something more.
CHAPTER 13
LENA
"I swearif I have to look at one more mouth mold, I'll scream," I announce as I enter the townhouse the next afternoon, bracing myself to be mauled by Gordie.
Tucker Stag's removable denture fitting went remarkably well, considering his anxiety about all things dental. This is probably because I prescribed him a Valium, and Gunnar dropped him into my chair half-high. But it was the fifth fitting I'd done today, and my fingers ache from the precision work.
My roommate glances up from his perch on the couch, pocketing his phone. "How was Tucker?"
"Brave as a four-year-old getting his first filling, but we made it through."
Alder laughs. "So, he cried the whole time?"
I set my bag down and squat to greet Gordie. "Only on the inside.” "How was your workout?"
"Brutal. My trainer's determined to rebuild my entire left side this summer." He rubs his shoulder with a wince. "I'm going to shower," Alder announces, disappearing down the hall.
I take the opportunity to change into leggings and a loose T-shirt, then head to the kitchen to assess dinner options. Bythe time Alder emerges, hair damp, wearing sweatpants and a faded Fury T-shirt, I've determined that takeout is our best option.
"Thai or pizza?" I ask, looking up from my phone.
"Neither." He flops onto the couch with a groan. "My body is one giant knot. What I really need is to just... not think for a while."
I set my phone down. "Bad day?"
"Not bad. Just..." He rubs a hand over his face. "Between the training and fielding calls from Brian about media shit and dodging questions about us... I'm fried."
"Want me to order dinner while you nap?"
He looks at me thoughtfully. "You know what I want? To get high. Just zone out completely."
