It's a frustrating response—answering a question with a question. Yet, as I look at him, standing in the fading light, I realize I'm not entirely sure what I want anymore. The lines have blurred somewhere between the revenge plot and the real connection.
"I want honesty," I say finally. "With each other, at least, even if we're not completely honest with the world."
Alder nods, relief evident in his expression. "I can do that."
"And I want boundaries," I continue. "Clear ones that we both agree on."
"Absolutely."
"And I don't want to be blindsided again." I fix him with a firm look, surprising myself by how easily I’m expressing a need to this man. "No more improvising major relationship declarations without consulting me first. And no telling your family we’re sleeping together when I’m not prepared to respond to that.”
"Deal." He extends his hand, a small smile playing on his lips. "Partners?"
I eye his hand, remembering the last time we made an agreement. How quickly things changed. How complicated they became.
But I take it anyway, feeling the now-familiar warmth of his palm against mine. "Partners.”
His expression shifts, and he leans closer. “And just so you know, I’m fine with people thinking we’re fucking.”
The door opens again before I can process this revelation, and Tucker pokes his head out. "Dessert's almost gone, you two. And bro, Uncle Tim wants to talk to you about something."
Alder groans. "We'll be right there."
As his twin disappears back inside, Alder looks at me uncertainly. His hand finds the small of my back again as we step into the kitchen, a gesture that's becoming familiar—comforting, even. I should probably establish that as one ofour boundaries—what kinds of touches are acceptable in our "arrangement."
But not tonight. Tonight, I'll allow myself to enjoy the warmth of his hand through my shirt, the solidarity of facing his family together, the strange new feeling of belonging that has nothing to do with revenge, and everything to do with the man beside me.
It’s certainly a dangerous feeling. However, as we rejoin the chaos of the Stag family, I find that I can't quite summon the desire to care.
CHAPTER 16
ALDER
A textfrom Tucker arrives at 6:03 AM:
5-mile loop. 20 min. Don't be late.
I stare at my phone, tempted to ignore it. After last night's disaster at family dinner, the last thing I want is Tucker's opinions on my life choices. However, turning down a run with my twin would mean admitting something's wrong, and I'm not ready to give him that satisfaction.
I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Gordie, who's sprawled across the foot of my mattress. As I pull on my running shorts and lace up my shoes, I glance at Lena's closed door. Is she angry? Probably. I would be.
"Summer Fling." What the hell was I thinking?
I scribble a quick note?—
Out for a run with T. Back by 8
—and leave it on the kitchen counter before heading out. Not that she should care why I’m gone or even notice. We’refriends. We’re not having a fling. We’re both hurting from big breakups. Whatever.
The morning air is thick with humidity, promising a scorcher later. Tucker is waiting at our usual spot by the Schenley Park trailhead, stretching his quads against a bench. Since college, we've been running this loop, a five-mile circuit through the park that ends with a brutal uphill slog. Our dad and his brothers prefer to run the paved roads and flatter options in Highland Park. We always felt like we were tougher or something, tackling the hills in a different park.
"You're late," he says without looking up.
"By two minutes."
"Still late."
I don't argue; I just start my warm-up stretches. We fall into our familiar routine, mirror images performing identical movements. It used to freak our coaches out.
