"Oh, Jane." Libby reached across to squeeze her sister's hand.
"You could always tell him how you feel. That you don't care about Liam's concerns."
"And create conflict between him and Liam during conference finals? Make him choose between his best friend and me?" Jane shook her head. "I can't do that to him. Or the team."
They'd had this conversation three times since Thursday. Libby wanted to rage at Liam for interfering, wanted to shake Chase for listening, wanted to fix this for her sister. But Jane was right—the middle of playoffs was no time for dramatic confrontations.
"I should pack," Libby said, though neither of them moved. The apartment felt like a shelter from the complications waiting outside—Liam's magnetism and distance, Chase's painful obliviousness, their careers balanced on the edge of these impossible relationships.
Libby grabbed her phone from where she'd deliberately abandoned it last night. Just the usual morning text from her mother—a TikTok link with the message "Is this you two??? So romantic!"—and one from her father with a hockey article link. But nothing from Lydia, which was strange. Ever since Wickham had been waived yesterday, she'd gone completely silent—no TikToks, no Instagram stories, no dramatic texts about her ruined future. The silence was actually more concerning than her usual dramatics would have been.
"Lydia's being weirdly quiet," Libby said.
"Maybe she's finally realized Wickham was bad news," Jane suggested hopefully.
By 1 p.m., Libby was showered, packed, and trying to look professional despite feeling like an emotional disaster. Jane drove her to Logan, both of them pretending this was totally normal and not at all avoiding their feelings.
"Text me when you land," Jane said at the departure curb.
"Text me if you need me to accidentally spill coffee on Chase," Libby offered.
Jane laughed, though it was watery. "I'll be fine. Go. Cover hockey. Be brilliant."
Libby hugged her sister tight, then headed into the terminal. She'd just made it to her gate when her phone exploded in a series of calls and texts that threatened to nearly vibrate it out of her pocket.
Her phone buzzed.
Clara
Check Twitter. NOW.
She opened Twitter to find her mentions exploding. The trending topics in Boston made her blood freeze:
#NHLInsiderScandal #BostonSteelLeaks #BennetCrossSisters
"No," she whispered, clicking on the first link with shaking fingers.
The OnlyFans page loaded, and Libby felt the world tilt.
"The Bennet-Cross Sisters' Guide to Inside the NHL" sprawled across the top in garish pink letters. The preview image showed Lydia in nothing but a Boston Steel jersey—Jane's jersey, Libby realized with horror—and barely-there panties, and was shelickinga hockey stick?! Libby kept scrolling. Below the suggestive photo was another that Libby recognized instantly: the three sisters from their family vacation to Cape Cod four years ago, all in bikinis on the beach. Lydia had cropped out Mary, Kitty, and their parents.
The description was worse:
"GetEXCLUSIVEinsider tips from the Bennet-Cross sisters! We've got the medical expert (Jane) feeding us who'sREALLYinjured and the reporter (Libby) with all the locker room secrets! Subscribe forPREMIUMbetting advantages and sexy content! First exclusive: Why Gray Wickham wasREALLYcut from Portland and which Steel player won't make it through playoffs!"
Her phone rang. Jane.
"I'm being called into an emergency meeting," Jane said, her voice eerily calm. "HR, legal, and the league's integrity committee. Libby, they think I've been selling medical information."
"Jane—"
"I have to go. They're talking about suspension pending investigation. My license could be—" Jane's voice cracked. "I could lose everything."
Libby ran.
Not toward the gate, but away from it, through the terminal, her heels clicking against the floor as she sprinted back toward ground transportation. The airport sports bar had ESPN on every screen, and she could see the chyron scrolling beneath the anchors: "Breaking: NHL Gambling Scandal - Sisters Accused of Selling Insider Betting Tips."
Her phone rang again. Reid.
