Page 81 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys
“Nobody’s going to roll over,” I say. “But they want us to shut up, keep it tight, and let the lawyers handle everything.”
Finn huffs a laugh. “So, business as usual.”
The room goes quiet again. The only sound is the soft hum of the mini-fridge and the sharper, less forgiving click of Grey’s joints as he flexes his hands.
“I don’t get why they’re all sure it’s a player,” Finn says. “Sage could have a life. Outside this place, I mean.”
I lean against a rack of practice jerseys. “That’s the point. They don’t care if it’s true. They want it to be a player, because that’s a story people will read. If it’s just a staff thing, it’s HR, it’s paperwork. If it’s a player, it’s a scandal.”
Grey finally looks at me. “You think Sage knows?”
I nod once. “She’s not stupid.”
Finn gets up, starts pacing between the racks, fingers twitching like he’s looking for a fight. “So what now? We sit on our hands and hope it blows over? We’re supposed to just—wait?”
I shake my head. “They want us to wait. But Sage texted me. She wants to talk, off the books.”
That stops Finn in his tracks. “When?”
“Tonight,” I say. “She asked me to come alone, but?—”
Grey stands, cuts me off with a look. “We go together.”
Finn’s nod is instant. “Yeah. If this is going to blow up, we might as well be in the room when it happens.”
There’s a new energy in the room, a charge that’s half hope, half dread. I check my phone again, thumb hovering over the last text from Sage:
Need to talk. Please.
Rage blooms in my chest again, but I’m not really angry at her, just the circumstances she’s put us in by not giving us the full picture. I just wish she’d have told us. I look at Finn and Grey, the three of us standing in a triangle of old sweat and unasked questions.
Grey cracks his neck, once each way. “You think she’s okay?”
“No,” I say, “but I think she wants us to be.”
Finn grabs a jacket off the hook, zips it up. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
We head for the back exit, shoes squeaking on the linoleum, the sound following us all the way down. Nobody says a word, but for the first time today, I don’t feel alone.
The rest of the day passes agonizingly slowly, and when it’s finally ten p.m., I meet Finn outside a small diner. We pick Grey up along the way and get to Sage’s. It takes three knocks for the lock to slide open. The door cracks, chain on, and for a second, all I see is Sage’s eye, red and sharp in the low light. She unlatches it, steps back, and lets the door swing wide enough forthe three of us to squeeze in, even though the hallway is barely wide enough for two.
Her apartment is smaller than I imagined, but it feels like someone actually lives here—not just passes through. The walls are painted a soft oat color, the kind you’d find in an old farmhouse kitchen, and the furniture looks mismatched in the best kind of way. There’s a futon covered in a knitted throw, a coffee table fashioned from a weathered apple crate, and a teacup resting on top with a sliver of lemon still floating inside. A low bookcase overflows with well-thumbed anatomy texts and dog-eared nutrition guides, their spines leaning like old friends in conversation. Above the futon, three framed prints: two vintage medical illustrations and a gentle watercolor of a hockey rink, the lines blurred like they were painted from memory on a rainy day. The whole space smells faintly of ginger steeped in hot water and something citrusy, like she wiped the counters clean just before we walked in.
Sage stands by the door in a gray hoodie and black leggings, both stretched at the seams. I can’t take my eyes off her stomach, now that I know. Her face is gaunt, eyes rimmed in violet, but there’s a set to her jaw I haven’t seen before.
She doesn’t say anything for a while. Just leans against the frame, arms folded in front of her, as if she’s bracing for impact. Finn is the first to break the silence, dropping onto the futon and bouncing twice before settling. Grey hovers by the bookshelf, pretending to scan the spines, but I can see his reflection in the glass, watching Sage’s every move. I stand in the middle of the carpet, hands in my pockets, unsure if I should sit or just start yelling.
Sage finally moves, crossing to the counter and picking up a mug of tea, still half full. She wraps both hands around it, knuckles pale, and takes a small sip. She stares at the mug as she speaks. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”
Nobody answers. The room soaks in the silence.
She sets the mug down carefully, as if it might explode. “I didn’t mean for it to go like this. I just…I didn’t know what else to do.”
Finn sniffs loud but doesn’t speak.
Grey turns from the shelf, arms crossed over his chest. “Why didn’t you just tell us?”
She laughs, bitter. “Because I’d be out of a job. And so would you, probably. Because Talia would use it to nuke the whole program. Because HR treats every problem like a pandemic.” She pauses, breath shaky. “Because I thought I could fix it, or at least keep it contained until it didn’t matter anymore.”
