Chapter 17

Amelia

My phone buzzes nonstop with notifications, not only from family, but my online accounts.

The OnlyFans app is a mixture of messages—some supportive, some vile. My subscriber count skyrockets while integrity plummets. They've seen me bare, in more ways than one, and they want more.

It's hard to tell what's worse: the shame of being exposed or the thrill of being desired by thousands.

The fallout is here, it's real, and it's only just begun.

I slam my laptop shut, the screeching of notifications from my OnlyFans account still ringing in my ears like an alarm I can't snooze. My breath comes in short gasps, and the screen's glow lingers behind my eyelids.

My palms are slick against the faux wood surface as I push back from the desk. I wipe them on my jeans. Then I walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water, pondering on my very few options.

I think it’s time for a break. From all of this.

I return to my desk, open my laptop again, and hover my fingers over the keyboard, hesitant but resolute. I navigate through the site with a practiced ease, but it’s uncomfortable because of the flood of attention.

Pause account.

The words on the screen are simple, unassuming, but my heart cracks even more. I click it, and a pop-up asks if I'm sure.

"Hell yes, I'm sure," I say out loud, clicking confirm with more force than necessary.

The page refreshes, and a banner now declares, this creator is on a break .

A tear escapes my eye and trickles down my cheek. If only pausing life was as easy as pausing an online profile.

I should feel relief, but there's only emptiness.

Offline means out of mind, right? I’m hoping that stepping back from the screen will give me room to breathe. A chance to regroup, to reclaim the confidence I had when it was just me, my camera, and the green wig that transformed me into someone braver.

The morning after the game, I talked to my supervisor with the Blades and requested to move to the night shift and week off. Luckily, he granted me both requests. So, I honestly don’t know what day it is. They have blurred together as I’ve been holed up in my place.

A knock at the door and multiple voices scares me. I'm not ready for this, to talk to anyone, but it's too late to hide. When I open the door, the collective scowl on my family's faces nearly knocks me back. Dad's jaw is set, Mom's eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and my brother, Leland, well, he looks like he's torn between wanting to protect me and joining in with the parental firing squad.

"Amelia," Mom starts, her voice quivering, "we need to talk."

"Can we not do this right now?" I try to deflect, praying that they'll just leave it be.

"No, we're doing this now." Leland’s tone brooks no argument, his athletic build filling the doorway, blocking any attempt at escape.

"Inside," Dad commands, and it's not a suggestion. So, I step aside, letting them in. "Sit." Dad points to the couch, and all three of them take seats opposite me. It's an interrogation setup if I've ever seen one.

"Why?" The question comes from Leland, and it stings more than if it had come from either parent.

"Why what?" I hedge, crossing my arms defensively.

"Why OnlyFans, young lady? Don't you have any self-respect?" Dad’s tone is rough.

"Robert," Mom hisses, reaching out to touch his arm, but he shakes her off.

"Let her answer, Tiffany."

"Because... because I needed something that was just mine," I say, but it sounds hollow, even to my own ears. They don't know about the confidence or how good it felt to control the narrative—even if just in front of a lens.

"Needed something yours?" Leland questions. "What about us? What about your family?"

"Leland," I whisper, feeling the sting behind my eyes. "It's complicated."

"Complicated," Mom repeats softly, finally letting the tears fall. "Your father and I, we're worried sick. We don't understand."

"Look, it wasn’t just..." I trail off, rubbing my hands together in my lap. There's no way to articulate the rush and thrill without sounding like I've completely lost it.

"Wasn't just what?" Dad prods, leaning forward and pleading with me to say something that makes sense.

"Never mind," I mumble. I stand abruptly, needing space, needing air. "I think you all should go."

"Amelia, please—" Mom stands too, reaching for me.

"I can't," I choke out, backing away. "Not right now."

They leave after that, no more words spoken. And when the door clicks shut, the silence is deafening. I've pushed away the only people who might care beyond the screen. And for what? A fleeting sense of power in a digital world where nothing is truly mine?

It wasn't just about the money. That much is clear in my head, but it feels like trying to thread a needle with my nerves on fire to say it out loud.

Only minutes after they leave, there’s another knock at my door.

"Amelia, seriously, can we talk?" It's Leland, his voice is muffled but still carrying that edge of frustration. I take a deep breath, steadying myself against the back of a chair.

"Fine," I grumble. Then I walk to the door and open it for him to step inside.

"You've got us all so worried about you. This isn't you." His eyes search mine, and it’s like I’m looking into the mirror at my own and searching for the same answers.

"Leland, it's..." I start, then stop. How do I explain that OnlyFans made me feel seen? That every like and every tip was a validation I couldn't find anywhere else?

"Look," I finally say, forcing the words out before they choke me. "It wasn't just about the money, okay? There was more to it."

"More?" He crosses his arms, leaning against my kitchen countertop. "Like what?"

"Confidence," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. The confession shifts something in his gaze.

"Confidence?" Leland echoes, and I nod, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks.

"Every time I turned on that camera... It was like stepping into a different world. A world where I wasn't just Amelia Brooks, locker room attendant with too many bills and not enough time. On OnlyFans, I was someone else—someone powerful and desired."

The admission tastes like freedom, bitter and sweet all at once. Leland watches me, his expression unreadable. I'm expecting judgment, but instead, there's a flicker of understanding.

"Powerful and desired," he repeats softly, and I can see him turning the idea over in his mind. "Didn't know you were looking for that."

"Yeah, it’s not like you know me all that well. We haven’t actually talked or hung out in a while," I confess. "There the feelings were though, every time I logged on. People wanted to see me. They paid to see me. Amelia Brooks… Not, Amelia Hutson, the sister of some up-and-coming hockey star."

"Amelia—" Leland starts, but I cut him off with a raised hand.

"Please," I say, "just let me have this one thing."

He nods slowly, the lines of his face softening. "Okay," he agrees, though it's clear he doesn't fully comprehend. I can only hope that he sees a glimpse of the sister who's been hiding from him all this time.

Whoever leaked my secret is still out there, and here I am, imprisoned in my apartment, while they are free.