Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
The video cuts to black, and I drop my phone into my lap like it burns. “What the actual fuck?” I stare at the wall, wondering what kind of impact this post will have on Riley. If people start to blame her when we mess up on the ice, that could be dangerous. Then something about the video makes me pick up the phone again and rewind the episode until it’s midway through.
Something in the background caught my eye but didn’t register immediately, and I zoom in and take a closer look. The kitchen behind the host is covered by a large sheet with the Icing the Cake channel logo emblazoned across it, but it’s dropped down in one corner, and the cabinets and a coffee machine are visible. I squint, biting my bottom lip as it registers where I’ve seen these cabinets and that coffee machine before. They’re the same unusual green cabinets as in Riley’s father’s kitchen. And the coffee machine is in the same position.
What in the actual fuck?
I screenshot the images and start sending them to Jacob when the front door opens, and Riley calls out, “Anyone here?”
“Me,” I say flatly. “Come on through.”
Riley walks in like a breath of fresh air, with flushed cheeks and a pink nose, wearing an oversized sweater, leggings, boots, and legwarmers. She drops her bag on the floor and approaches me eagerly. The sight of her usually melts away all my stress, but not today.
“Hey,” she says cheerfully, bending to kiss me, but I turn my head.
“Sit,” I say curtly, pointing at the couch.
She freezes mid-step, brows pulling together. “Excuse me?”
“Sit,” I repeat, my tone sharp. My heart’s beating so hard it pounds in my throat, but I can’t ignore the way that voice, that filtered voice, has been clawing at the back of my brain since I started to put two and two together.
“What’s going on?” she asks warily.
I don’t answer. Instead, I pull up the latest Icing the Cake video and hit play. The distorted voice fills the room again, grating against every nerve in my body. I watch Riley’s face closely, looking for some kind of flicker.
Her expression doesn’t just flicker—it freezes. Her lips part slightly, and she sucks in a shaky breath, her cheeks losing their color.
“Riley.” My voice is low now, steady. “Say something.”
She doesn’t. Her arms wrap around her body like she’s bracing for impact.
“That’s you, isn’t it?”
“No.” The denial is soft, but her voice cracks halfway through.
I stare at her, a hollowness opening in my chest. “You’re the one running that channel.”
“Shawn, I—”
“Don’t lie to me, Riley,” I snap, my tone sharper than glass. “That’s your voice. The way you talk. The metaphors. The little digs you make. That’s you, isn’t it? You’ve been trashing us this whole time!”
Her face crumples, and she folds like she’s lost all her strength. “It’s not what you think.”
I laugh bitterly, standing and pacing the length of the room like I might explode if I stay still. “Not what I think? Not what I think? You called us names. Questioned our integrity and our skill. Talked about our father and our love lives. You made me sound like some brainless man-whore who can’t stop fumbling the puck.”
“It’s not what you’re making it out to be,” she says quickly, her voice cracking.
I stare at her, breathing hard. “So, what? This was a good thing, was it? You thought it would help? Help us?”
“No!” She pushes to her feet, swiping at her eyes. “It started as something stupid. Just venting, joking around. No one cared at first. It was anonymous and I had one subscriber. But then people started listening and asking questions, and it snowballed, and I... I couldn’t stop. I didn’t mean for it to get so big.”
I shake my head, taking a step back, squinting at her through new eyes, feeling like I don’t even recognize her. “You’re supposed to be on our side, Riley.”
“I am on your side!” she cries, her voice rising in desperation. “Do you think I want this? I care about you, Shawn. About all of you. I didn’t think—I didn’t know—it would go this far. If I could go back and erase it all, I would.”
I turn away, my hands shaking as I drag them through my hair. The betrayal hits me in waves, as memories of previous episodes rise to the surface, each one sharper than the last.
“You tore us down,” I say quietly. “And for what? To entertain a bunch of assholes online? To what? Make yourself feel better?”
“It wasn’t like that,” she whispers, her voice thick with tears.
“The episode you just made… you’ve exposed yourself and put yourself in danger. What were you thinking?” I ask, but I can’t look at her right now. I can’t be in this room with her, hearing her excuses when the sting of her words, her voice, still echoes in my head.