Page 48 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys (Forbidden Fantasies #18)

GOAL

BEAU

I f there is a hell for hockey, it is this: waiting for the enemy’s guard to drop, with a team’s worth of secrets itching underneath your skin.

I try to keep my breathing steady, but the muscles in my jaw have been locked all morning, and my teeth are starting to tingle from the pressure.

Every step down the corridor is a countdown to impact.

My feet are too loud on the tile, the walls too thin, and every framed photo of the Storm’s core values glares down at me with the hypocrisy of a condemned man’s last meal.

Outside Talia’s office, I count to five.

Then I count again, just to see if it feels different the second time.

It doesn’t. She’s expecting me—her assistant made that clear in the email, with the time and location underlined twice—and I know better than to give her the satisfaction of seeing me sweat.

I flex my hands, roll my shoulders, and knock.

The door swings open before the sound has time to fade.

Talia is already behind her desk, perched on the edge of the seat like she’s rehearsing for a campaign ad.

She has two monitors up, both tuned to the same highlight reel from last night’s Storm Front segment.

Her eyes are glued to the video, but the rest of her is all performance: crisp blazer, silk blouse, hair in a ponytail so severe it looks like a threat.

The smell of her perfume—a hospital-clean thing with a chemical afterburn—hangs just long enough to make me regret every time I told myself she was “just doing her job.”

“Beau,” she says, not looking up from her notes. “Right on time. I like that.”

“Some of us still believe in clocks,” I say, keeping my voice at the same neutral chill as hers. “You wanted to see me?”

She gestures at the guest chair, the one angled so the afternoon sun catches you right in the retinas. I sit, planting my elbows on my knees and locking my hands together, the way I always do when I need to look like I give a shit.

Talia glances over the rim of her glasses. “You look tense,” she says, feigning concern so poorly it almost circles back to honesty.

I shrug. “Rough morning. I assume this is about Sage?”

“Isn’t everything these days?” She tilts her head, lets the silence balloon between us, then turns the monitor so I can see the freeze-frame: Sage on the stretcher, Finn at her side, the caption reading, Storm’s Own Family Drama .

The glee in Talia’s voice is so well concealed it’s practically a flavor.

“I wanted to see how you were holding up.”

I give her the courtesy of a smile, though it feels like breaking my own jaw. “You mean, how the team is holding up under constant investigation, or how I personally am coping with being a professional liability?”

She folds her hands. “You’re not a liability, Beau. You’re a leader. Which is why I’m coming to you first.” She lowers her voice, just enough to sound like she’s letting me in on the big secret. “I think we both know Sage has been…compromised, for a while. This isn’t just about the team anymore.”

“Right,” I say. “You mean the pregnancy.”

Her pupils flare, just a tick. “Among other things.”

The pressure in my head starts to mount, but I let her talk.

Talia leans back, crossing her legs, the hem of her skirt slicing a perfect angle.

“I know you and Sage had a history. I’m not here to judge.

But when a member of our medical staff puts three lives at risk, as well as her own, it’s not just a personal problem.

It’s a team issue. It’s my job to protect the franchise, even when it’s messy.

” She taps a pen against the legal pad on her desk, the rhythm steady and unhurried.

I look away from the monitor, letting my eyes roam over the wall of plaques and diplomas she keeps just out of reach.

“I trusted her,” I say, letting the words hang limp and helpless.

“I thought maybe if I just kept my head down, things would shake out. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should’ve picked someone… less complicated.”

That does it. Talia perks up, like a dog hearing the can opener.

She pushes her glasses up her nose, eyes suddenly hungry.

“Exactly. Sage always played the victim. Every time something went wrong, she had a story. A scapegoat. Even now, she wants everyone to feel sorry for her.” Her lips curl in a little sneer, so practiced she probably wore it to bed.

“You don’t really think the pregnancy was an accident, do you? ”

I let my face go blank, even as my hands curl into fists under the table. “What are you saying?”

She shrugs, as if the whole thing is a foregone conclusion.

“I’m saying some people are desperate enough to do anything to stay relevant.

Even if it means dragging everyone down with them.

” She checks her email, types a quick response, and then looks back at me with the coolness of a surgeon prepping for an amputation.

“The league doesn’t want drama, Beau. They want results.

If you’re smart, you’ll distance yourself now, before it’s too late. ”

“Did you know?” I ask, letting my voice drop just a fraction. “About the pregnancy? About the other stuff?”

Talia takes her time, composing her answer like a thesis statement. “Of course I knew. I’m the one who flagged her for misconduct.” She says it without a hint of shame.

I nod and pray the boys are getting everything.

She keeps talking, not noticing the way my jaw has gone stone. “Don’t take it personally, Beau. I’m looking out for the team. For you. For everyone who actually wants to win. Sage made her bed, and now she gets to lie in it.”

I adjust my collar, and watch her eyes follow the movement. She thinks I’m nervous. She thinks she’s winning.

She keeps rambling, and I wait it out. After a while of talking, she reaches for her tea, takes a sip, and speaks again.

“You think she told anyone when she found out?” she says, voice a touch amused.

“She didn’t. She kept working, lifting equipment, skipping protocols, putting herself and everyone else at risk.

I documented everything. Every skipped rest cycle.

Every time she overextended and brushed it off.

I knew she’d dig her own grave. I just made sure we had the paperwork ready when it happened. ”

I keep my face still, let her think I’m just absorbing it.

Talia sets her mug down and opens another window on her screen, the glow of the monitor reflecting off her glasses like a visor.

“The league’s not going to punish me for doing my job.

I didn’t break any laws. I accessed compliance logs, flagged irregularities, compiled private footage under a staff health clause that’s been on the books for years.

I didn’t even need approval. Just a signature from one of the assistant GMs, which I got—off the record, of course, but they won’t admit that now. ”

She smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that makes your skin crawl.

“And yes, I watched the collapse. I was the one who pulled the tape for the internal review committee before anyone else even knew something had gone wrong. I’ve been cleaning up behind her for months.

You think that was easy? You think I enjoyed it? ”

Her voice rises slightly now. “I’m not the villain here. I didn’t create the problem. I just made sure the fallout didn’t hit the people who matter.”

I wait a breath longer, long enough that the moment passes and she moves on, opening a folder marked Postseason Prep like none of this matters.

Like she hasn’t just admitted to surveillance manipulation, medical privacy breaches, off-record collusion, and deliberate targeting of a staff member in medical distress.

I let the silence stretch, just long enough for her to start fidgeting with her pen. “Thanks for the heads-up,” I say, standing. “I appreciate your honesty.”

It takes less than a minute for the walls to close in.

Grey pushes the door open, no knock, no warning, just the blunt force of inevitability.

Talia looks up from her email, surprise flickering before the old arrogance reasserts itself.

She’s about to say something—probably a dig about boundaries—when Grey holds up his phone and hits play.

The recording is crystal clear. For a heartbeat, nobody moves. Then Finn closes the door behind him. Talia’s mouth goes tight, her eyes darting between us. “What is this?” she says, trying for offense, but her voice wavers on the last syllable. “Is this some kind of intimidation?”

Grey sets the phone on her desk, playing the next excerpt.

She stares at the screen, then at us. Her fingers drum on the edge of her keyboard. “You’re recording me without consent. That’s a violation.”

I smile. “So is leaking confidential health information to the league. So is stalking a member of the medical staff. We’re all learning new things today.”

For a moment, I think she might try to muscle her way out, but then she recalculates. The mask comes back up, harder and shinier than before. “You don’t have proof,” she says. “You have a chopped recording and some rumors. HR won’t even listen?—”

Finn cuts her off, stepping forward. “We have emails. We have screenshots. We have the interview footage from the Front . It’s all backed up and time-stamped.” He leans over the desk, lowering his voice. “You’re done, Talia. You just don’t know it yet.”

The tremor in her hand gives her away. She yanks the phone cord, slams the handset into the cradle, and starts dialing. “I’ll have you all suspended by the end of the day. Do you know how many rules you just broke?” Her voice is rising, but it only makes her sound smaller.

Grey clicks the playback again. This time, it’s the part where she says, “If you’re smart, you’ll distance yourself now, before it’s too late.” The message is unmistakable: get out or get buried.

Talia’s eyes flick to the door. “Let me out,” she says to Finn, her tone half order, half plea.

He doesn’t move. “Not until you listen.”

She tries a different tack, aiming her words at me. “Beau, you’re a professional. You know what’s at stake. You let this spiral and you’ll lose everything—your contract, your endorsements, maybe your whole career. I can make this go away, but only if you play ball.”

I feel the anger all over again, hot and clean. “You ruined Sage. You tried to ruin all of us. Why?”

Talia drops the act. The venom comes easy now. “Because she was never supposed to be here,” she spits. “She lied on her resume, she cut corners, she slept her way into the program. I have to clean up the mess when people like you make bad choices. That’s my job.”

She looks at Finn, then Grey, then back at me, searching for any sign of weakness. “You want to make this official? Fine. Let’s do it by the book.” She reaches for her laptop, but Grey is faster. He slaps the lid closed, pinning her hand underneath.

“We already did,” he says. “GM’s on his way up.”

Finn checks his phone, then grins. “And legal. And HR. You’ll have a full house.”

Talia jerks her hand back, clutching it to her chest. “You can’t do this. You’re just players. You don’t run shit.”

“Maybe not,” I say, “but we know how to win when it counts.”

There’s a knock at the door, sharp and official.

The GM enters, flanked by two legal reps in suits so dark they seem to absorb light.

The first lawyer is stone-faced, hair slicked to the side in a style that screams billable hour.

The second is a woman with silver glasses and the kind of stare that could strip paint off an SUV.

The GM wastes no time. “Talia,” he says, voice so flat it could be a threat, “we have some questions about your handling of the Moretti file.”

She snaps into full crisis mode. “They’ve been threatening me,” she says, pointing at us. “They recorded me without my permission?—”

The silver-glasses lawyer cuts her off. “We’re aware of the recording. Our concern is the content.”

The first suit sits, opening a thick folder. “Do you deny orchestrating surveillance of a contracted medical professional on non-club time?”

Talia tries for outrage, but it lands hollow. “I was investigating an ethics complaint. It’s standard protocol.”

The lawyer reads from the folder. “You authorized the use of the Storm Front camera crew to monitor Sage Moretti outside of scheduled events. You accessed and distributed confidential health disclosures without patient consent. You reported Moretti to the league for ‘misconduct’ without consulting the medical director. These are all actionable violations under league and team policy.”

The words hit like pucks to the teeth. Talia’s hands begin to shake. “I was just following up on rumors?—”

The GM holds up a palm. “You weren’t. And you know it. We have three separate sources who confirm you targeted Moretti for personal reasons.” He looks at us, then back at her. “You’re on leave effective immediately, pending a formal investigation.”

Talia goes pale. “You can’t just?—”

The silver-glasses lawyer stands, gathering the evidence into a tidy bundle. “Security will escort you to your office. Please surrender your credentials and any Storm property before leaving the building.”

For a second, I think Talia might explode. Her lips tremble, her jaw works side to side, and her eyes dart to every corner of the room as if searching for an escape hatch.

She settles for venom. “You’ll all regret this,” she hisses. “The league won’t protect you. They never do.”

The GM sighs, as if he’s been waiting years for this. “We’ll take our chances.”

A security guard appears at the door. He’s young, bored, and twice the size of Finn. “Ma’am?” he says, voice gentle as a warning.

Talia stands, smooths her skirt, and tries to look unbroken. She picks up her purse, slings it over her shoulder, and walks out without looking back.

The legal team files out behind her, then the GM, who pauses in the doorway. “Thank you,” he says, almost too low to hear. “We’ll clean up the rest.”

He leaves, and the three of us are alone again. Finn lets out a long, slow breath. Grey cracks his knuckles, once for each finger.

I pull the tape from my collar, the residue sticky and satisfying. “Is it over?” Finn asks.

I shake my head. “Not for her. Not for us. But for Sage?” I think of her, wherever she is, alone or not. “It’s a start.”

Grey grins. “Let’s go get her.”

We leave the office, the air outside bright and new.