Chapter 19

Amelia

Leland has called, texted, and video chatted with me every day since the incident. He’s currently on my phone’s screen that’s propped up on an empty wine bottle sitting on my coffee table while I sit on the couch with my legs curled up underneath me.

"You remember why the Blades and Vikings hate each other so much?" He's fiddling with an old hockey puck, rolling it back and forth between his hands.

"Vaguely." I shrug, trying to seem uninterested even though I'm always half-afraid of being dragged into the middle of it. "Wasn't it some championship game gone wrong?"

"More than that." He stops rolling the puck and looks at me. "It was dirty plays and bad blood for years. But that one game? It was the tipping point. A dirty cheap shot from one of the Vikings took out the captain of the Blades in the playoff game just before the championship cup. Even though that was ten years ago, the teams have been at war ever since."

"Right." I shift on the couch and snuggle under the blanket a little more. "I guess the teams are never going to let that go, huh?"

"Exactly." He nods, pressing his lips together. "But you know, not everyone wearing a Vikings jersey is the enemy. And not every Blade is a hero."

"Easy for you to say," I mutter. "You don't have to face them every day."

"True," he concedes, tossing the puck somewhere that I can’t see.

Before I can respond, there's a knock at the door, startling me.

"Want me to let you go?" my brother asks, but I shake my head from side to side, standing up.

"No, just hang on." My voice doesn't tremble, which is a small victory.

I walk to the door and open it to find Zach Mickelson standing there with his sandy blond hair falling into his eyes and that easy smile that grates on my nerves when he jokes around the locker room. There's a tension in his shoulders that's new.

"Can we talk?" he asks softly.

"I don’t know," I state matter of fact. I glance at my brother on my phone, and he raises an eyebrow at Zach's presence.

"Please," Zach says, and there's something in the way he holds himself, a kind of earnestness that makes me nod despite myself.

"Fine," I relent, stepping aside to let him in and then closing the door behind him. "But this better be good."

Zach nods, swallowing hard, and I prepare myself for whatever is about to spill from his lips.

I eye my brother, catching the wariness in his gaze as he sizes up Zach as much as he can through the phone.

"Are you sure about this?" Leland’s rumbles into the small space of my living room.

"Yeah," I say, though it's not without a nervousness settling in my stomach. "I need to hear him out."

He nods, lips pressed in a thin line, and disconnects our video chat.

"Amelia, look," Zach starts, and I can practically hear the gears turning, trying to find the right way to drop a bomb. "I did something stupid."

"Define stupid." I cross my arms, my spine straight.

His eyes flicker away before locking back on mine. "I... I released the photos and your OnlyFans account." It comes out in a rush.

The air sucks out of the room. My pulse thunders in my ears.

"Excuse me?" The words are sharp, each one laced with anger and hurt. "You did what ?"

He scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at me. "I was the one who put them out there, on social media. I didn't think—"

"Clearly," I interrupt. "Did you have any idea what kind of mess you'd cause? What you'd do to me?"

Zach exhales, his jaw clenching. "I know, I messed up. Big time. I wish I could take it back."

"Sorry doesn't fix this." My voice trembles.

My mind races, flashes of the fallout from his actions playing on a loop. The two questions still remain.

"Why? How?" I finally whisper, the fight draining out of me as quickly as it flared.

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and I see the remorse etched into every line of his face. "I don't know, Amelia. I truly don't."

I rake my fingers through my hair, the strands catching on the edges of my nails. "You don't know? How can you not know?" There's an ache in my chest.

Zach shuffles his feet, the scuff of his shoes against the hardwood floor the only sound in the heavy silence. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched as if he's bracing against a storm.

"It was like... I dunno, a moment of insanity or something," he starts.

A laugh, bitter and short, escapes me. "Insanity? That's what we're calling it now?" I cross my arms over my chest, trying to steady the tremor in my limbs.

"Look, I saw Riley’s phone and…" Zach blurts out, finally meeting my gaze.

"Wait, what?" My arms drop to my sides. "And what?"

"I saw your name flash up on it while he was in the shower. So, I clicked on it, and a few texts back were your pictures and a screenshot of your OnlyFans account. You know, I thought it would be funny," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. It's almost comical, how lost he looks, like a kid who's just broken a window and is scrambling to explain himself before the adults come running.

"Riley and I..." I trail off, the words sticking in my throat. We were serious, at least to me. But now, with this mess splattered across every social media feed, it feels more like a joke—a really bad one.

"Amelia, I'm sorry," Zach says again, stepping closer. "I never meant to hurt anyone."

"Sorry doesn't quite cover it," I reply, but the heat in my voice has fizzled out, replaced by exhaustion. What am I supposed to do with this? With him standing there looking like a kicked puppy, and me, with my life turned inside out?

The room is too small suddenly, the walls pressing in.

"Zach," I say, not turning around, "you have no idea the shit storm you’ve brought on."

"Is there anything I can do?" he asks.

"Right now?" I shake my head, still staring out the window. "Just leave. I need to figure things out."

"Okay," he says quietly. And I hear him move towards the door, the click of the latch loud in the quiet apartment.

"Zach?" I call out, just as he's about to disappear.

He pauses, half in, half out. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for telling me the truth." It's hard to say, but I manage. Despite everything, knowing is better than not.

"Sure," he says, and then he's gone.

I lean against the cool glass of the window. My thoughts drift to Riley. I can't pin the blame on him for Zach's recklessness, not when my gut tells me he's been in my corner all along.

Anything happening relationship wise between Riley and I is more complicated than that, isn't it? We're two people stitched from different worlds—mine, working minimum wage and dodging judgment; his, tailored suits and ice rinks beneath spotlights.

How can I trust his teammates, those who see me as nothing more than a joke?

I press my palms against my temples, trying to squeeze out the doubts as I sit down on the couch again. Trusting Riley is one thing; his teammates are another entirely. They've shown their true colors, and there’s no respect there.

There’s no way of knowing if I could ever be part of that world. The loneliness is a gap between us that stretches wider with every minute that passes.

Unblock him? Talk to him? My thumb hovers over my phone, a breath away from making a decision. Something still holds me back—fear, pride, self-preservation.