Chapter 18

Riley

The realization of who Amelia's brother is, the very bane of my existence on the ice, plays on repeat in my head. The same guy who'd sooner throw down gloves than shake hands with me is kin to the woman who's been driving me crazy in every sense.

Amelia and him, twins? It's a twisted thing I didn’t see coming.

Practice is a blur today as I skate in tight circles, trying to wrap my head around this mess.

"Cap, you're zoning out, man." Jasper swipes the puck from under my stick, but I barely register the loss.

"Amelia's brother," I repeat, to no one in particular.

"Say what?" Another voice pipes up, confusion painting his tone. It's not their fault they're out of the loop, but I can't dive into this with them.

I need answers, fast. My mind races through the possibilities, each more disturbing than the last. Who would want to hurt Amelia like this? By releasing those photos, they didn't just invade her privacy—they dropped a bomb on her life. And if it was her brother, the implications would be dark.

"Hey, Coach!" I call out to the bench, slamming the door open with force. "I'll be back."

"Where’re you going?" Coach barks back.

"Got some personal stuff to sort out," I say, knowing full well it sounds like the worst kind of excuse.

"Make it quick, Watson. We don't have time for—"

But I'm already gone, out of the practice rink and walking down the hall.

I barely make it to the locker room, when Zach's figure blurs into view. His eyes are dodging mine, and I can tell something's off.

"Riley," he starts with a scratchy voice. "We need to talk."

"Spit it out," I say, my tone sharp.

"It's about Amelia's photos." Zach's words crash into me, sending my senses into a tailspin. "I was the one who leaked them."

Suddenly, I see red.

"Are you kidding me?" I lunge towards him before I can stop myself, gloves bunched in the fabric of his practice jersey. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Hey, hey!" He stumbles back, hands raised defensively, and I remember we're not on the ice right now. There are rules against fighting in the locker room.

"Fuck," I breathe out, releasing him. "Why?"

His shoulders slump, and the easygoing joker I know disappears behind a mask of guilt. "I screwed up, okay? I thought it would be funny—a prank."

"Funny?" My jaw clenches, and I have to remind myself again not to start throwing punches. “Amelia’s reputation is on thin ice because of your 'prank.'”

"I know, I know." Zach rakes a hand through his sandy hair. "It was a stupid move. I didn't think it through."

"Think? You didn't think at all!" My temper is boiling. "You don't just play games with someone's life like that. She's more than just locker room talk, man!"

"I get it, Riley, I do." His voice cracks, and I see it—the regret, the realization of the damage he's done.

"Does Amelia know it was you?" My question hangs in the air.

"No. I'll understand if you wanna tell her. I'd deserve it."

"Deserve doesn't even begin to cut it. I can’t fucking tell her; she’s blocked me from everything." I walk over to the bench, slamming my stick down. "How are you going to fix this?"

"Whatever it takes," he says. "I'll apologize, take it all back, face the consequences."

"Consequences." The word feels hollow. How do you measure the weight of betrayal?

"Look, I can help you talk to her," Zach offers.

"This isn't about me talking to her." I glare at him, hoping he understands the gravity of his actions. "This is about making things right for Amelia."

"Right." He nods, swallowing hard.