The three dots appear almost immediately. Sarah is typing. My heart pounds as I wait.
Her reply comes through:
Being a woman in pro hockey is not for the weak. Neither is loving someone you shouldn't.
Loving.
The word jumps out at me, sending a shock through my system. Is that what this is? Love? The possibility has been hovering at the edges of my consciousness, but seeing it spelled out so plainly makes it impossible to ignore.
Before I can process this, another message appears:
We'll talk after the press conference. Get some sleep. Your career and your heart both matter.
I reread the messages, then a third time. Sarah understands. Not just the professional constraints but also the emotional reality. And she hasn't dismissed either as unimportant.
Finding balance is the hard part.
I set my phone on the nightstand and curl onto my side, Sarah's words echoing in my mind—especially that one word: loving.
I've been operating under the assumption that I had to choose—career or Alder. Professional success or personal happiness. That achieving both was impossible under the circumstances.
But what if it's not? And if so, what am I willing to risk for it?
The answer follows me into dreams of blue eyes and strong arms.
CHAPTER 33
ALDER
Personal fight club,Coach said as if he doesn’t encourage me to rough people up on the ice. But that’s the ice. I know this.
Charles Sutton's voice echoes in my head as I clip Gordie's leash to his collar. The morning air is already thick with humidity, promising another scorching Pittsburgh summer day. Gordie tugs impatiently, eager for his morning routine despite the heat.
The crumpled statement from Brian sits on my counter, next to my handwritten notes—what I want to say at today's press conference. Words about mental health, vulnerability, and the pressure cooker of professional sports. Not the sanitized corporate apology Brian crafted.
"Come on, buddy," I murmur to Gordie. "Let's get you situated.”
Outside, the neighborhood is coming alive. Kim waters her flower beds in a caftan, and LeMarcus is shooting hoops, already sweating in the morning heat.
"Morning, Alder!" Kim calls, giving Gordie a wide berth. She's never quite warmed to my peculiar-looking dog. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
I force a smile and wave. "Sure is."
LeMarcus abandons his basketball to jog over. "Yo, A-Stag. How's it hanging?"
"Low and to the left," I reply automatically, earning an eye roll.
"Man, you have been moping since your roommate bounced," LeMarcus says, dropping into step beside me. "She coming back or what?"
The direct question catches me off guard. "It's complicated."
"Adult relationships usually are," Kim chimes in, proving she's been eavesdropping. "That woman had a glow about her when she was living with you."
I grunt noncommittally, not wanting to discuss Lena with my neighbors. Not today, when I'm hours away from seeing her again at the press conference. I follow Gordie as he circles a tree, looking for the perfect spot.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Brian, predictably:
Remember the script. No improvising.
