Chapter 16

Riley

I'm standing there, in the Sin Bin, gear sticking to me like a second skin, with the feeling that the floor beneath my feet just cracked wide open. All the noise from around the rink fades away as I process these two bombshells that have just been thrown at me.

"Say that again?" I demand, though I heard him loud and clear the first time.

Across from me, he stands on the other side of the plexiglass, with the same set of striking eyes I've seen looking back at Amelia– except his are framed by a furrowed brow. "Amelia is my twin sister," he repeats with a steady and challenging tone.

My jaw clenches, a rush of blood pounding in my ears. It's not just the rivalry that has defined our seasons; it's deeper than that. Now, knowing Amelia's connection to this guy—my on-ice nemesis—it feels like I've been body-checked into the boards without my padding.

"Twins?" I echo, my brain completely scrambled. How did I not see it? They're identical in so many ways. The shape of their faces and those piercing eyes… Yet, they are so different in demeanor. Amelia always seemed like a puzzle. I tried to place the pieces together, but couldn’t no matter how hard I tried. Now this. Her brother. Here.

"Never pegged you for being slow on the uptake, Watson," he sneers, and I want to throw a punch, to wipe that smugness off his face. I can’t though. I’ve already cost us two minutes.

***

I'm pacing the length of my apartment, phone in hand, with a nagging feeling that's been clawing at my gut since those photos leaked. The ones that everyone thinks I spread around. My fingers hover over Amelia's contact. I take a final deep breath and press call.

The ringing is not a nice sound as the screen glares back at me, but it cuts short. The voicemail greeting comes on, making me grown.

"Amelia, it's Riley. Look, we need to talk about—" I stop myself, knowing full well she won't listen to a recorded plea. I end the call. Damn it.

My next move is a text—quick, to the point.

Me: We need to talk. It wasn’t me.

No response, not that I expected one right away, but the silence is really starting to get frustrating.

Fine.

I grab my keys, slip on my jacket, and head out the door, get into my car, and pull out of the parking garage.

Soon the familiar building looms ahead, and after I park, I bypass the buzzer, gaining access as another apartment resident enters. Her floor is eerily quiet. There's a tightness in my chest as I stand in front of her door, and my knuckles pound against the wood.

"Amelia!" I call out, hoping she's in there. "Open up, please."

However, the door stays shut, the silence from inside confirming what I already know—she's not going to make this easy. I lean my forehead against the cool surface, the fight in me simmering down to worry.

"Amelia, I didn't do this. You have to believe me," I whisper to the door, knowing full well it's pointless.

With nothing left to do, I shove my hands into my pockets and head back into the cold. My thoughts are all jumbled. Who would do this to her? To us?

I need answers, and I need them now. Although, I need Amelia to hear me out first. Somehow.

As soon as I get back inside my apartment I hit send again.

Message Undelivered .

I toss my phone onto the bed, and it bounces with a soft thud.

Then I snatch it back up. It feels heavy in my grip. My thumb hovers over the call button, heart jackhammering against ribs. I press down on the green icon, and the dial tone is a countdown to the inevitable.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system..."

"Dammit!" The word explodes out of me, and I'm pacing again. Each step is a pulse of frustration, my mind scrambling for explanations, excuses, anything.

I try her social media, but there's that same digital brick wall slamming up in my face.

Blocked.

On every platform.

My hands shake, a mixture of anger and something that feels dangerously close to desperation.

What the hell?

The realization that she's cut me off completely, that she thinks I could do something so awful, cuts me to my core.

I collapse back onto the bed. Amelia's face flickers behind my eyelids—those hazel eyes that used to light up when they met mine, now shuttered closed with hurt and mistrust.

Guess you made your point, huh?

I’m not giving up though. I have to clear my name, to make her see reason. I need to fight back somehow, prove I'm not the guy she thinks I am.

With new resolve, I grab my phone again and jump back into my car.

Only a few minutes later, I storm into the Blade’s locker room. My boots hammer against the floor, and I can feel every pair of eyes on me, but I don’t care.

"Men," my voice slices through the low murmur of conversation, "we need to talk."

Silence instantly ensues as they turn to face me. My teammates, their expressions are both curious and uneasy. I'm usually the one rallying the team, not calling emergency meetings.

"Why are we here?" Jasper asks.

"It's about Amelia," I say. They all know her from her working here. "Her private images got leaked online. Before any of you ask—no, it wasn't me."

A collective exhale, a few nods. They believe me. They have to trust me to tell them the truth.

"Anyone know anything about this?" My gaze studies each of them, searching for a twitch, a glance away, anything that screams guilt.

Silence stretches out as my heartbeat pounds in my ears. They exchange uncertain looks.

"Cap, come on, man. We wouldn't do that to you—or her," says Alfie, his brow furrowed.

"Then who did?" I press. I only get shrugs and head shakes that settle nowhere.

"Look," I start again, softer this time. "This has really hurt her. She thinks I did it. She's blocked me everywhere. I just… I need to set things right."

They're listening, really listening now.

"None of us would backstab a teammate. Not like that," one of our first line defensemen says. His voice is firm, resolved, and I want to believe him. I really need to, but these guys are the ones that have been around both me and Amelia. All logic points to the people in this room.

"Alright," I nod, clenching and unclenching my fists, trying to let go of the tension. "If any of you hear anything, anything at all, you come to me first. We clear?"

"Clear, Cap," they echo.