Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Libby woke on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket she and Jane had shared while pretending not to think about certain members of the Boston Steel organization.
Saturday morning sunlight streamed through Jane's apartment windows, catching the two wine glasses on the coffee table and the remains of last night's Thai takeout.
The television was paused on Bridgerton season two—Anthony and Kate frozen mid-argument, which felt a little too on the nose given their current situations.
Jane was already in the kitchen, moving with the forced brightness of someone determined to be functional despite emotional upheaval.
"Coffee?" Jane asked, though she was already pouring a second mug.
"Bless you." Libby accepted the cup gratefully, noting her sister's perfectly composed appearance—hair neat, workout clothes pristine, not a trace of the tears from last night when Chase had texted asking about Henslar’s shoulder recovery timeline.
"Your flight's at three?" Jane asked, though they both knew she'd memorized Libby's schedule.
"Yeah, need to be at the airport by two, so I'll leave after lunch.
" Libby was grateful the team had flown out early this morning on their charter.
Being trapped on a plane with Liam for two hours wasn't something she could handle right now.
The memory of their last flight together, when he'd shut down Peterson's snide comments with quiet authority, only made the memory of his mouth on hers more confusing.
"You could come with me, you know," Libby said. "Tell Dr. Patel you changed your mind about sending Ryan and Keiko in your place."
"I can't do it, Lib." Jane's composure cracked slightly.
"Watching Chase maintain professional distance, seeing him barely look at me.
.. The other staff were giving me these sympathetic looks.
Even the players noticed. I'd rather stay here and help Mom with her latest craft disaster than be that pathetic in Montreal. "
"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 she licking a 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:
"Get EXCLUSIVE insider tips from the Bennet-Cross sisters!
We've got the medical expert (Jane) feeding us who's REALLY injured and the reporter (Libby) with all the locker room secrets!
Subscribe for PREMIUM betting advantages and sexy content!
First exclusive: Why Gray Wickham was REALLY cut 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.
"Whatever family emergency you're about to have," he said without preamble, "take it. Deal with this. The Herald will cover you for forty-eight hours, but Libby—this is bad. The league is launching an internal investigation."
"Sully, I had no idea—"
"I know. Anyone with half a brain knows. But perception is reality right now, and the perception is that the Bennet-Cross sisters have been running a gambling ring using insider information. Fix this."
He hung up. Her phone rang again. Stewart Phillips from ESPN.
"Libby, I heard about the situation," Phillips said without preamble. "We need to postpone your interview until this is resolved."
The floor seemed to tilt beneath her. "Mr. Phillips, I had no idea—"
"I believe you didn't," he said, and she could hear him choosing his words carefully.
"But we're covering this story regardless—it's already breaking nationally.
And it's a slow news day, which means it's going to be on every local sports segment tonight.
If you have family who watches the eleven o'clock news, I'd call and warn them.
I wanted to give you the option to respond on our platform if you choose to.
No pressure, but the offer's there if you want it. "
A chance to control her narrative, not exploitation. But still—they'd be covering her family's scandal either way.
"I appreciate that," Libby said carefully. "But I need to handle my family situation first."
"Understood. The Bristol position is on hold until this resolves, but I'll be in touch. For what it's worth, Libby—I hope this clears up quickly." He paused. "And if you do want to make a statement later, my number's open."
They wouldn't hire her yet, but at least he wasn't treating her like just another scandal to exploit.
Her phone buzzed with a text from her mother:
Mom
Call me RIGHT NOW. Lydia has DESTROYED us all. I can't breathe. Your father won't speak. CALL ME.
Then her father in the family group chat:
Dad
Family meeting at the house. 4 PM. Everyone needs to be here.
Mary
I’m upstairs
Kitty
why am I always the last to know ANYTHING in this family
Jane
I’ll be there
Libby
on my way
Then, ominously, nothing from Lydia. No response, no Instagram stories, no TikToks. Just silence.
Libby looked up from her phone. Gate B21 to Montreal. The game, the coverage, her entire career... it was all right there. Then she looked back at her father's text: Family meeting at the house. 4 PM.
It wasn't a choice. Not really.
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. She ordered an Uber to Jane's apartment—then they'd drive to Springfield together—then called Jane back.
"I'm not going to Montreal," she said when Jane answered.
"Libby, no—your job—"
"Do you really think the Steel is going to let me anywhere near their press box right now? Reid's already called me off the game. I'm heading to your place to pick you up. We'll drive to Mom and Dad's together."
"Libby, they had me clean out my office," Jane said quietly.
Libby's rage at Wickham crystallized into something sharp and deadly. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"How are we going to fix this?"
Libby didn't have an answer.