Page 55 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys
I flex my leg, make a show of wincing. “Better. I’m following your plan, mostly. Except for the parts that hurt.”
She laughs. “Those are the parts that fix you, Kingston. Otherwise, it’s just a lot of expensive stretching.”
There’s a lull. Someone shouts from the rink, the echo coming up through the floor like distant thunder. I watch her stack the packets neatly, tucking the labels to all face the same way. She tucks her hair behind her ear and bites her lip when a packet gets stuck, and for a second, I want to reach out, to smooth the hair down for her, to just do something, anything, instead of standing here like a scared freshman at homecoming.
Before I can, a girl about seven with two perfect braids and a missing front tooth materializes at the edge of the table. She looks from Sage to me, then back, and asks, “Are you two boyfriend and girlfriend?”
I feel my ears go hot; Sage nearly drops the tape. For a full second, neither of us says anything. Then Sage recovers, crouches to the girl’s level, and says, “No, but he’s my friend, and he’s very nice.”
The girl nods, as if she’s already made her own decision, and says, “My mom says you look good together.”
Sage’s cheeks flush pink, and she glances at me, mortified. I give the kid a thumbs-up and say, “We get that a lot.” The girl shrugs, satisfied, and skips away, trailing the ghost of a future where things are simple and nobody cares who’s watching.
Sage busies herself, shoving things around with unnecessary force. Her hands shake a little, and I realize it’s not from cold or caffeine.
“You okay?” I say, keeping my voice low.
She doesn’t answer, just straightens and mutters, “I’m going to check the supplies upstairs.”
She walks off, fast, barely giving me time to react. I stand there, frozen, watching her disappear down the hall. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I follow.
The stairs to the upper level are narrow and lined with team photos from decades ago. I take them two at a time. At the landing, there’s a low-lit hallway with doors on either side. I see a sliver of movement at the far end and head that way until I come upon a door that’s markedStaff Use Only. The space just beyond is kind of half-lounge, half-restroom hybrid you sometimes see in malls or theaters. Beige tile, soft lighting, and a little bench under the coat hooks. The stalls are tucked around the corner, but this part is quiet and clean.
Sage is at the vanity, her hands gripping the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Her reflection catches sight of me first.
She doesn’t turn. “You shouldn’t be up here.”
I step in anyway, close the door behind me, and bolt it for good measure. “Neither should you.”
She breathes out, slow and shaky. “I just needed a second.”
I move closer, not touching, just standing at her back. The space between us vibrates, a live wire running from her shoulder blades to my sternum. I can see her eyes in the mirror, can see the faint rim of moisture at the edge.
“What’s wrong?” I say, softer than I mean.
She shakes her head, hair falling forward as she turns to face me, back to the mirror. “Nothing. It’s stupid. I just—sometimes I wish I could be anyone else.”
I want to argue, to tell her that she’s the best person I know, but the words stick. Instead, I rest a hand on her shoulder, gentle, testing the weight. She doesn’t shrug it off.
She leans back, just a fraction, and says, “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
Her eyes are wet. “Don’t make this harder.”
It takes a full second for my brain to catch up. “I’m not.”
I move closer and press her against the sink, caging her in with my hips. She gasps, half a laugh, half a sob. She bites her lower lip, even as her mouth parts. “We can’t.”
“We can.”
19
SAGE
“Ican’t stop thinking about you,” he says, and his voice is so raw I have to look at his shoes to keep from falling apart.
I shake my head because there is nothing else to do. “This is a bad idea,” I say, but even I don’t believe it.
