Page 71 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys
The silence that follows her is so absolute you could drop a pin and hear it roll. Then, like clockwork, the volume surges back.
“There she goes.”
“She’s not even talking to Kingston anymore.”
“Wonder what he did.” The last comment is just loud enough for me to catch, and I don’t have to look up to know who said it.
Coach comes in and kills the mood with one look. “All right, assholes, listen up. Next practice is Thursday at nine. We’re running specialty drills, so I want the first line here early for briefing. No exceptions. If you’re not on the ice by the horn, don’t bother showing up.” He pins me with his eyes. “Kingston, that means you.”
I nod, but my stomach drops. Coach is a master at the art of public execution, and today I’m the one on the block. He doesn’t elaborate, just turns and leaves, but the message is clear:get your shit together, or get out.
I shower fast, dress even faster, and bolt for the hallway. I don’t want to see the way the guys look at me, or the way they don’t. I don’t want to deal with Finn’s version of concern, which is to shoulder check me into a wall and then act like nothing happened. I just want to get to the parking lot, into my car, and scream into the dashboard until my voice gives out.
But as I round the corner past the training suite, I hear voices—low, urgent, familiar. I slow my pace, letting my sneakers squeak against the tile. The sound is coming from the media lounge, a room that’s always locked unless there’s a PR event or a donor visit. Today, the door is propped with a wedge of folded cardboard. I edge closer, keeping out of sight.
Inside, I see Dylan, perched on the edge of a desk, and Talia pacing tight figure eights in front of him. They’re talking in that rapid, code-switching way people do when they think nobody is listening.
Dylan says, “So you really think it’ll stick? The optics aren’t great.”
Talia, not breaking stride, says, “It doesn’t matter if it sticks. It’s about pattern building. Multiple informal interactions, cross-referenced with time-stamped footage, plus the off-record testimony. Even if she walks, she’ll never work in a professional league again.”
Dylan grimaces. “Is that what Ryland wants? I thought?—”
Talia cuts him off, voice going flat. “What Ryland wants is irrelevant. The board is documenting everything. If we don’t manage this now, we’ll have a legal shitstorm by the offseason.” She pauses, then adds, “The only variable is how clean we can make it look. She’s too visible to just let go.”
Dylan nods, then glances at his phone. “You want to spin it, or do you want me to…?”
Talia stops pacing and fixes him with a look that could freeze vodka. “Just be ready when they call you in. That’s all you need to do.”
The conversation ends, and I back away, careful not to make a sound. My hands are shaking. The urge to hit something is almost overwhelming, but I clamp down, focus on my breathing, and walk—don’t run—to the nearest exit.
I punch the door open and stand in the blast of cold air, letting it numb the panic out of my bones. For a second, the world is quiet. I close my eyes, count to ten, and when I open them again, I see the horizon line: the empty lot, the dead grass, the haze of early spring settling over everything.
I want to call Sage, tell her what I heard, but I know better. Anything we say can be used against her now. I want to tell Finn and Grey, but they already know something’s up; they’re not idiots, and I’m not the only one with a nose for bullshit. So I do the only thing I can: I walk to my car, open the trunk, and grab my spare stick. I walk to the far side of the lot, away from thecameras and the lights, and take a hundred practice shots into the chain-link fence until my arms go numb.
When I finally stop, sweat running down my back despite the cold, I notice something tucked behind the back tire of my car. It’s a folded piece of paper, pale blue, with the Storm logo embossed in one corner. I pick it up, fingers already knowing what’s inside.
It’s a printout. Not just any printout—a time stamp log, cross-referenced with facility camera footage. My name is circled three times, highlighted in red. Below it, in smaller type, are two other names: Grey and Finn. Each entry has a time, a location, and a short note.
Inappropriate proximity.
Non-treatment context.
Possible optics concern.
My hands are shaking so hard I almost rip the paper in half. Instead, I crumple it, jam it into the pocket of my jacket, and stare out at the empty lot. The sun is setting, bleeding color from the sky. I take a breath, then another. I have no idea what happens next, but for the first time in a long time, I know exactly where I stand.
I walk back to the building, head down, and think about Sage. I think about the look on her face when she passed the locker room, the way she never slowed, never flinched, even when the whole world was waiting for her to break.
I think about what it means to fight for something, and how sometimes the only way to win is to keep showing up.
Even when the odds are stacked, and your name is the one in red.
By the time I make it back to the main building, the lights are down in half the facility, which means either a fire drill, a money-saving initiative, or somebody in operations fell asleep at the fuse box again. I hit the training suite first—empty, justa faint echo of disinfectant and the ghostly imprint of Sage’s shadow on the rubber flooring. The clipboard is missing from its rack, which means she’s not planning to come back tonight. I check the recovery room anyway, but it’s just the red glow of the mini-fridge and a pile of unclaimed towels. In the nutrition station, her assistant is hunched over a spreadsheet, eyes rimmed with exhaustion.
“Have you seen Moretti?” I say, trying to sound casual, but the words come out with a crack.
She looks up, then down at her phone, as if this might be a test. “She left early,” the assistant says. “Said she had…something.” There’s a question at the end of the sentence, but I don’t answer it. I’m already walking away, punching my thumb into the screen and texting Grey, then Finn.Call me. Urgent.
