My stomach drops. "What?"
"Don't play innocent, Lena-bear. You're all over the internet. 'Hockey Star and New Team Dentist: Hockey's Hottest New Couple.' There's a picture of you at some game."
I close my eyes. Of course, she's seen it. "It's not what it looks like."
"Oh?" The skepticism drips from her voice. "What is it, then?"
"It's complicated."
"Mmm." She makes that little hum of disapproval I know so well. "Well, at least they got your good side in the photo. Though that shirt wasn't doing you any favors."
And there it is—the inevitable comment about my appearance.
"The shirt was fine, Mom."
"If you say so, dear." Another pause. "So you've moved on from Brad already? To a professional athlete?"
The edge in her voice makes me bristle. "Yes, I have. Alder is hotter and nicer than Brad ever was."
The words fly out before I can stop them. On the other end, my mother makes a sound of surprised delight.
"Well, well! So it is serious. Do tell me, what does a hockey player see in a dentist? Besides the obvious financial benefits."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, nothing." Her tone suggests the opposite. "It's just that these athletes often look for... stability. A comfortable place to land. A sugar daddy arrangement, but with the genders reversed."
"That's—that's not—" I sputter, outraged. "Alder makes more money in a month than I'll make in a year!"
"Then he must really like you." She says it with such disbelief that it feels like a slap. "Just be careful, Lena. I don't want to see you sad and alone. Or worse, unemployed. These kinds of workplace romances can get complicated."
She's right about that, at least. "My job is fine, Mom."
"I should hope so. With those student loans of yours..." She trails off meaningfully. "How much is it now? Three hundred thousand?"
"Three twenty-five," I mutter. The number that haunts mydreams. At least I wasn’t duped into paying for Brad’s degree. How pathetic that that feels like a silver lining right now.
"Well. Good thing you have that fancy new job."
The rest of the call is mercifully brief, just updates about her garden and complaints about the neighbors. I feel emotionally wrung out when I finally hang up like I've run a marathon.
In my office, I pull up my student loan account on my phone, staring at the numbers as if they might have magically decreased. They haven't. The balance is $325,742.16, with interest accruing daily. My emergency room dentistry job barely covered the minimum payments. The Fury position is a lifeline, offering enough income actually to make progress on the principal.
If I lose this job...
I can't lose this job.
Which means I need to be more careful about this thing with Alder. Whatever it is—partnership, fake relationship, summer fling—it doesn't matter what we call it. I can't afford to pursue it if it threatens my professional standing.
The Fury facility is quieter than usual this morning. My first appointment isn't until ten, which gives me time to organize patient files and prepare for the day.
Just as I'm settling in, a knock sounds at my door. Ryan Banks—Banksy, as the team calls him—stands in the doorway with an easy smile.
"Morning, Doc. I hear you're the person to see about a new mouthguard?"
"That's me," I confirm, gesturing to him. "And I believe you're scheduled for a scan too."
"Unfortunately." He grimaces as he sits in the examination chair. "No offense, but I hate these things."
