Page 38 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys
I groan. “Please tell me it’s not Kingston.”
He holds up his phone, thumb poised. “No, no. He’s a trainwreck, as expected. But you—Sage Moretti, PT to the stars—are killing in the focus groups.”
He scrolls, then waves a photo at me, a freeze-frame of me mid-instruction, correcting Finn’s posture with a single, pointed finger. In the background, Beau is making a face like a meme template. “They’re calling you ‘The Enforcer of Wellness,’?” Dylan says brightly, nearly vibrating. “You’re like Gordon Ramsay, but for glutes and hamstrings.”
So it’s not all bad. That’s good, but I don’t want to take it further than it needs to go. “I’m not interested in being a brand,” I retort, reaching for the doorknob.
He tuts. “Doesn’t matter. You signed the release. All bets are off.”
I pause, heartbeat flickering. “Wait. They’re using the lodge footage?”
He grins wider. “Every second. Some of the off-hours stuff is gold. The execs are obsessed. They want a Moretti cam for season two.”
I force a laugh, brittle as old plastic. “I was off the clock.”
He shrugs, sympathy just short of sincere. “Cameras don’t clock out, Sage.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “When do these go live?”
“Next Tuesday. But they’ll be sending preview links to all staff by the weekend. I can get you an advance if you want to, you know, brace for impact.”
I shake my head. “I’d rather not.”
He gives me a double thumbs-up, as if this is all excellent news. “Okay, but let me know if you change your mind. You’re a star. Own it.”
He winks, then struts away, already on to the next PR disaster. The clock on the wall ticks. Next Tuesday is five days away. I run through the schedules, the camera angles, the number of times I let myself drop the mask. I can’t remember what I said. I can’t remember what I did.
11
SAGE
By Tuesday, the only thing holding me together is my color-coded folder system and a dozen yards of self-adhesive tape. I skip breakfast, reroute around the main concourse, and time my walk to the locker room for when the rink camera feeds show the team still on the ice. I carry the stack of updated physio plans like a shield, edges squared and folders fanned for rapid deployment. My plan is simple: drop, run, survive.
I meet with Jodie from production, earbuds dangling, clipboard in hand, walking like she’s already thirty minutes behind on a call that hasn’t even started. “Oh, Sage,” she says, almost crashing into me, “they told me to tell you—we had an ingest error with the lodge kitchen cams. Whole batch of footage corrupted. Something about snow affecting the external drives, I don’t know. Point is, they lost everything from those nights.”
“Everything?” I frown at her.
She nods, already halfway into her next sentence. “The stuff from the lodge lounge and the deck is fine, so there’s still plenty of content. Just nothing inside the kitchen or the hallways after ten. The director’s pissed. Apparently, some exec really wanted a slo-mo clip of you flipping Beau off during pancake day.”
Relief hits me like a delayed tranquilizer dart.
“Oh. Damn,” I say, trying to look appropriately disappointed.
Jodie waves her hand. “Don’t sweat it. You still made the focus reels. Someone made a fancam of you taping Kingston’s quad with ‘Work Bitch’ playing in the background.”
I nod, trying not to collapse against the lockers with joy. “Great. Love that journey for me.”
She vanishes around the corner with a distracted “Ciao,” and I sag into the nearest bench, folders still clutched like armor. The disaster I’ve been bracing for just…evaporated.
A tingly warmth climbs up my limbs, but quickly subsides moments later when Beau appears and crouches next to me. “I know you hate talking, but you can’t avoid me forever.”
I scowl at him. “I’m not avoiding. I’m working.”
He leans in. “You’re a terrible liar, Moretti.”
My pulse beats in my fingertips, and I can’t tell if it’s anger or something more dangerous. He shifts so he’s blocking my exit, one arm braced against the bench.
“Pretending,” he says, “is a lot harder than just admitting the truth.”
