I kick him back. “Don’t pretend like you’re not. Not with me.”
Alder sighs and stares up at the lamp above the bench. “I asked you what’s botheringyou,man. Come on. You don’t pick fights at family functions.”
I drop beside him and hang my head in my hands. “I met someone.”
“Hey!” His voice brightens, like I’m sharing exciting news or something. “I thought so. You’ve been?—”
“It’s Grentley’s ex.”
Alder blinks at me, then emits a low whistle. “So the incredible woman from Stellan’s party?—”
“I never told you shit, man. Did Stelly blab?”
Alder nods slowly. “Obviously.”
"I know how it looks." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "But I swear, Alder. We have a connection. I know it’s wrong.”
Then again, is it really so bad?
Grentley never talks about his personal life. Ever. The guy's a vault, showing up to practice, doing his job, and leaving. I'd heard rumors about a divorce—locker room gossip travels fast—but I'd never heard a name, never seen a photo. It’s not like he ever brought his wife to team parties or showed up to the parties himself.
I think about Sloane in the pool at the ski house, the way she looked at me like I was someone worth knowing. The feel of herin my arms, the sound of her laugh, the way she challenged me and pushed back and met me exactly where I was.
Alder sighs, leaning back against the bench. "You're in deep."
"I'm not—" But I stop because he's right. Two nights together and I can't stop thinking about her. Can't stop wanting to know more, to see her smile, to hear her voice saying my name.
“She left,” I say quietly. “I asked her to stay, like a sap, and she left.”
"Can you blame her? Her divorce is really public. Now here you are, connected to the part of her life she's trying to escape."
The truth of that hits hard. Sloane told me about dropping out of school, about rebuilding her life. She's trying to move forward, and I'm a direct link back to everything she's running from.
"What do I do?" The question comes out more desperate than I intended.
Alder is quiet for a moment, watching the string lights sway gently in the evening breeze. “I wish I knew, brother.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, savoring the stillness and unwavering acceptance from the person I’ve known since conception. “You going to tell me about your love life?”
“Absolutely not,” he grunts, resting his head on top of mine. One problem at a time, I guess.
We head back up to the deck, where the reception is in full swing. Gunnar and his wife are cutting the cake while the crowd cheers. My parents are laughing with my uncles at a corner table. Odin has somehow convinced one of the bridesmaids to teach him a complicated dance move.
It's all so normal, so happy. And I feel like I'm watching it through glass.
Alder and Lena sneak away like they’re about to bump uglies.
I catch sight of Grentley across the yard, talking with one of the forwards. He looks relaxed, almost human, in a way I've never seen him at practice. For a brief, irrational moment, I consider walking over there and demanding to know every detail of his marriage to Sloane. What did he do to make herleave? Why is she so determined to avoid anything connected to hockey?
But Alder's right. That road leads to ruin.
Instead, I grab another beer and find a quiet corner, pulling out my phone to text the last woman I ought to contact.
I wish we’d met under different circumstances
I meant what I said at my apartment. You're the most interesting woman I've met in a long time. That hasn't changed.
I'm not giving up on this. On us. Whatever this is.
