Chapter Twelve Harper
CHAPTER TWELVE
HARPER
The moment I click Join Meeting, my computer speakers explode with overlapping voices.
“Move over. Your giant head is blocking the camera—”
“My head is normal-sized—”
“Actually, Mom said your head was the biggest—”
“Oh my god, Killian, shut up—”
The Haynes triplets—college seniors, elite athletes, and collectively a walking tornado—are wrestling for dominance on a shared dorm couch in front of the Zoom camera. Seeing them all on the other side of the screen is almost as if my eyes are playing tricks on me.
Triplets.
Identical. Triplets.
Jean didn’t tell me they were identical.
This is…well, I don’t even have words for it.
“Hello gentlemen,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “I can see all three of you regardless of head size, so please don’t injure each other before draft season.”
Three heads snap toward the screen.
According to the files Jean sent me a while ago, I’m looking at Shepherd, the quarterback—clean-cut, charming, and annoyingly beautiful— who gives me his best media-ready smile.
Seriously I think one of his teeth just sparkled at me.
Next to him is Killian, the baseball pitcher.
I only know it’s him because Jean said he’s the tattooed one.
He’s seemingly a bit more cantankerous than his brothers and currently munching on what appears to be a protein bar.
And on the other end is Bishop, the catcher to Killian’s pitches.
Surprisingly he’s the broadest of the three in size, though their faces look alike, and nodding like he’s mom’s favorite, which makes me smile on the inside.
Seriously.
Triplet pro athletes.
What are the odds?
“Hi,” they all say in unison. It would be cute if I weren’t certain they’d rehearsed it.
“I’m Harper Richardson,” I say, clicking my pen a few times out of habit.
“I know Jean informed you all that I would be in touch. I’m very excited to be working with you guys.
I’d love to chat for a bit and get to know each of you because, I’ll be honest, triplet athletes playing different sports and all looking for pro teams…
wow.” I shake my head, marveling at the boys.
“This doesn’t happen all the time. So, we have a lot to cover today, especially if your dream is to be on teams near each other.
So first let’s talk about draft projections. ”
Shepherd adjusts his backwards hat. “Hi Harper. I’m Shepherd and I’m hearing top ten. Maybe top five.”
“She knows who you are dipshit,” Killian mutters around his protein bar. “And that’s because you are top five. Tell her you threw a seventy-yard bomb in practice yesterday.”
“It was fifty-eight,” Bishop corrects.
Shepherd scowls. “It felt like seventy.”
I clear my throat. “All very interesting and yes, Shepherd, you’re getting legitimate first-round buzz. Several teams are circling, but the Portland Rush are paying the most attention.”
Three sets of eyebrows shoot up.
Okay this is good.
“We could live together again,” Killian says, horrified and delighted at the same time. “We’ll be like a sitcom from hell.”
“I’m not rooming with you two slobs,” Bishop deadpans.
Shepherd leans forward to look at his brother. “We’d get our own places, man.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m broke,” Killian says, popping the rest of his protein bar into his mouth.
“That’s because you spend your money on tattoos and limited-edition cleats,” Shepherd fires back.
I tap the table firmly. “Gentlemen.”
All three straighten like I barked attention.
“Now, Killian and Bishop,” I continue, “the Portland Lagers have expressed interest in both of you. They’re in a rebuilding phase. They want strong battery chemistry, and let’s face it, you two are basically a packaged deal and exactly what they’re looking for.”
“Like a two-for-one sale,” Bishop says proudly.
“Like a combo meal,” Killian adds.
Shepherd sighs. “You guys are gonna compare yourselves to hamburgers again, aren’t you?”
“Hell yeah. I’m the salty fries,” Killian announces.
“Then I’m the big ass slab of meat,” Bishop counters.
“Fuck that,” Killian shoots back. “You’re the side salad.”
“Enough,” Shepherd says, rubbing his temples. “Shut up and listen to what Harper has to say.”
All three instantly fall silent.
God bless their mother.
They’ll mature with time, right?
I mean…right?
“Here’s the deal,” I say, leaning forward. “Portland is the only city with both an NFL team and an MLB team actively scouting you right now. If everything aligns, I have the best chance at getting all three of you in the same place.”
Shepherd’s eyes widen. “Really? You really think you can do that?”
“I do,” I confirm. “But you have to help me help you. I need clean tape, updated stats, interviews without profanity—”
My eyes fall to Killian and his brothers laugh.
“What?” Killian protests. “That was ONE TIME!”
Bishop cocks his head, scowling at his brother. “Killian, you literally just swore like two minutes ago and that one time, you called the reporter a ‘sentient oatmeal bowl.’”
“In my defense,” he says, pointing at the camera, “he looked like one.”
Bishop covers his face with his hand. “We’re so sorry, Harper.”
“It’s fine,” I lie. “I’ve had worse clients.”
“I’m certain that’s not true but we appreciate you all the same,” Shepherd says cheerfully.
He has no idea how right he is.
My phone dings and the screen lights up, showing me a text from Harrison.
Harrison
Lunch today?
My cheeks blush and I bite the corner of my bottom lip to keep from smiling too hard. Ever since I watched Harrison with Connor last week I’ve done nothing but think about how good he was with him. How…fatherly he was.
It was a total surprise.
In every good way possible.
One of the boys clears his throat, bringing me out of my trance.
“Sorry. Where was I? Okay, yeah,” I continue, pulling up their documents. “Shepherd, I’ll be arranging an in-depth meeting with the Rush’s GM. Killian and Bishop, I’ll schedule private workouts with the Lagers’ scouts. You three keep your noses clean and your grades passable.”
Killian salutes, Bishop nods like a responsible human, and Shepherd winks, a dimple appearing in his cheek when he smiles.
Dear god.
He’s going to break someone’s heart one day.
Or totally heal it.
One or the other.
My laptop chimes faintly as I update the shared folder with their files. The triplets wait watching my movement like golden retrievers waiting for someone to throw a ball.
“Okay,” I say, exhaling slowly. “Before we wrap up, I’d really like to hear each of your goals in your own words. Not what your coaches want, not what your parents want. What you want.”
This should be simple, but I have a feeling with these three staring back at me, it will be anything but.
Shepherd lights up first because of course he does.
“I want to be the guy a franchise can depend on,” he says with the kind of sincerity that makes me understand why the sports world is obsessed with him. He has that reputation at school too. “Someone who wins games, yeah, but also someone who makes the people around him better.”
“The golden boy speaks,” Killian whispers with mock reverence.
Shepherd ignores him.
Bishop clears his throat. “I want to prove that catchers aren’t just brick walls with mitts. I want to call games, lead pitchers, run a clubhouse. And—I can’t believe I’m saying this—I want to play with Killian as long as I can stand him.”
Killian beams like a kid whose older brother just told the world he likes him.
“Aww, I love you too, Bro.”
Killian puckers his lips and tries to kiss Bishop’s cheek but Bishop raises his hand and pushes his face away. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck off.”
Biting back my laughter, I make a note of Bishop’s goals and then turn my attention to Killian. “And what about you, Killian? What’s important to you?’
“My goal,” Killian says, leaning into the camera like he’s about to divulge state secrets, “is to strike out every smug asshat first-rounder who’s ever said pitchers ‘aren’t real athletes.’”
Bishop elbows him so hard the camera shakes. “He’s joking.”
“I’m not,” Killian mutters.
“It’s charming,” I reassure them. “In a mildly terrifying way.”
My phone lights up beside me again.
A second text from Harrison.
Harrison
Or coffee? Doesn’t have to be lunch.
Harrison
Unless you WANT it to be lunch.
Harrison
Do you like hotdogs?
Harrison
Ignore that.
My face heats instantly.
Fantastic.
The triplets aren’t blind. They catch the shift in my expression like they’re watching the Jumbotron at a championship game.
Shepherd leans forward. “You can answer that if you want.”
I freeze.
Play it cool, Harper. Play it—
“Look at her smiling,” Killian gasps. “Like…smiling-smiling.”
Bishop squints thoughtfully. “Is it work-related?”
“Don’t ask that,” Shepherd murmurs. “Not our business.”
“No,” Killian fires back. “It’s not work related. It’s totally a dude.”
“I did not—there is no—” I point at them accusingly. “You three don’t get to interrogate me. I interrogate you. That’s how this works.”
Killian grins, wicked and delighted. “Told ya.”
I choke on my own saliva while trying to will my cheeks to remain neutral in color. “Guys we are not talking about my personal life.”
Shepherd raises his hands, surrendering. “Fair enough. Back to Portland?”
“Thank you.”
I click open the spreadsheet again, though my heart is still thundering in my chest.
Harrison texts AGAIN.
Harrison
If you’re busy, I can—
A second text…
Harrison
You don’t have to pretend you’re not busy just to be nice.
And a third…
Harrison
I’ll stop now.
My lips curve despite my best effort.
God, he’s adorable.
“Okay,” I say, trying to sound normal. “Next steps. I’m sending each of you a packet with everything I need from you. Shepherd, your film breakdown meeting with the Rush’s GM will be next week. Killian, Bishop, I’ll have the Lagers workout dates by tomorrow.”
Bishop nods. “We’ll be ready. Thanks.”
Shepherd softens. “Thanks for taking us on. We know we can be a lot.”