Page 82 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys
I finally sit, perching on the edge of a chair that looks like it came from the curb. My leg bounces, heel thudding against the carpet. “That’s not really how it works,” I say.
She meets my eyes, and for the first time I see something other than exhaustion. “No,” she says. “But it’s what I had.”
We all go quiet again. The tea steams, the fridge ticks once, and outside a car alarm yelps into life before someone kills it. I watch Finn, who is picking at a loose thread on the futon, jaw working. Grey’s face is unreadable, but his hands are clenched into fists so tight the veins stand out on the backs.
Sage sits across from me, hands folded in her lap, body twisted to keep the bump as hidden as possible. She glances at the clock, then at the window, then back to us. “Look, I’m not asking for forgiveness. I just want you to know I tried to protect all of you. I didn’t want—” She stops, shakes her head. “I didn’t want this to become a thing. I didn’t want it to be about the team.”
She moves to stand but thinks better of it, the effort making her wince. “I’m not going to ask you to lie for me. But if anyone asks, you can say you didn’t know. Because you didn’t. Because I made sure you didn’t.”
Finn finally finds his voice. “That’s not really the point, Sage.”
She sags, shoulders folding in. “I know.”
Grey’s voice is low. “Whose is it?”
She closes her eyes, lets out a long breath. “I don’t know,” she says.
I feel my jaw tighten. My fingers dig into my thigh. “What did you think, Sage. That we’d be collateral damage? Is that it?”
Sage shakes her head, but the motion is slow. “No. You’re not. I just…I didn’t want to drag all of you down with me.”
Finn snorts. “We were already down.”
Grey moves to the window, stares out at the street below. “So what now?” he asks, not looking back.
She shrugs, palms turned up. “Now I wait for the league to decide if I’m radioactive. Then I figure out how to finish the pregnancy without losing my medical insurance. Then I hope the babies come out healthy and that whoever’s name is on the file doesn’t get destroyed in the process.”
I stare at her. “Babies?”
“Oh.” Her face drains of what color had remained. “Triplets.”
For one wild second, I want to laugh at the sheer absurdity of this. My body feels suspended, like I’m looking at a stranger’s life passing in front of my eyes, because in what version is this my reality? And yet, if I’m feeling this shitty, I can’t imagine how she feels, and how she must have felt keeping this from us for so long.
She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, hard. “I didn’t want to be a problem. I really didn’t.”
I stand, my chair scraping the floor, loud in the hush. If I stay a moment longer, I’ll break or burst, and I…I can’t. “You think we wouldn’t have chosen you?” I say, voice shaking. “You didn’t even give us the chance.”
She flinches, hands pressed to her belly. “I’m sorry.”
I want to say more. I want to tell her what it felt like to watch her collapse, to see her loaded onto a stretcher, to know that every second of it was already playing on theFrontbefore I could even process the blood on the floor. I want to tell her that it hurts more than the worst loss, that I’d rather take a puck to the teeth than sit here and listen to her apologize.
Instead, I just walk to the door. Finn stands, steps after me, but I wave him off.
I open the door, the cold air slapping my face, and turn back just long enough to look at her, still hunched and shaking, face hidden behind her hands. “We’re a team,” I say, and the words taste like iron. “You don’t get to call that off just because it’s inconvenient.”
Then I slam the door behind me, the sound echoing down the hall.
30
SAGE
After Beau leaves, the apartment is a clock wound too tight. Every tick is a muscle fiber threatening to tear. Finn moves to the window, perches on the radiator, knuckles drumming out an arrhythmic code against the painted metal. Grey settles on the edge of the futon, arms folded, thighs tense enough to warp the cushion. He looks straight ahead.
Nobody speaks for a long minute. I want to ask if they want water, but the performance of host feels obscene after what just happened. I sit opposite, kitchen counter to my back, both hands clamped around a ceramic mug.
It’s Finn who breaks the siege. “When did you find out?” His voice is strange—flattened, all accent scraped away.
I don’t try to soften the answer. “About fourteen weeks ago.”
