Page 23 of Pucked On Camera

"Sounds like a real charmer," I counter.

She chuckles, and I feel the tension in her body let go. "Yeah, well, after him, I wanted control over my own life, my image, my choices. That's why I started my OnlyFans. It was empowering, being able to make decisions for myself without someone breathing down my neck."

"Control is important," I agree, thinking about how much I crave it on the ice, in every aspect of my game.

"Exactly. The only good thing out of that relationship was that I found my love in building a fantasy and role playing it out." She takes a deep breath. "But it's more than that. It's about trust, too. Finding someone who gets that... it's not easy."

"Trust has to be earned," I say earnestly, meaning every word. "And I'm all about putting in the work, Princess."

“Good,” she whispers.

"For trust, you need to know about certain things that come with my job," I start, choosing my words carefully. "With the team, it's like, there's an energy, right? We feed off each other on the ice, but that same energy spills over into everything."

Amelia turns her body towards me in order to try to understand.

"Like, the puck bunnies," I say, and even just mentioning them feels like tainting the air around us. "They're everywhere—after games, at events, sliding into DMs. They act like they're part of the game, but they're not. They're a distraction." I pause, feeling a flush creep up my neck. It's one thing to deal with them myself; it's another to admit their existence to Amelia.

"Distractions can be fun," she teases, trying to keep it light, but I can tell she's waiting for more of an explanation.

"Sure, they can be," I agree, "but when you've got goals... long-term ones, they're more like detours. Detours that can end you up lost." I reach for her hand, needing to connect, to make her understand without saying too much. "For me, playing hockey—it isn't just a job. It's my future, my legacy."

Her fingers lace with mine, grounding me. "So you stay away from the detours?"

"Damn right I do." My grip tightens with my conviction. "I've seen too many guys get caught up in that scene. One minute they're rising stars, next they're benched, traded, or worse… forgotten. I won't let that be me."

"Cap, untouchable by puck bunnies," she chuckles, but I can see the respect in her eyes.

"Untouchable by anyone who isn't you. You get both CapandRiley Watson," I correct her.

"Good answer," she whispers, leaning forward, closing the distance until her lips meet mine.

Chapter 13

Amelia

I tug at the hem of my uniform, and my fingers fumble on the buttons, clumsy from the restless night. Riley's absence in my apartment made my space unsettling. I glance in my bathroom mirror and fix my ponytail.

If I were to go to work, then I would for sure see Riley again. I'm supposed to be part of that world now, right?

My reflection is pale, and I tug again at my uniform, wishing it could shield me from the rapid pace my life has taken since Riley and I... well, since we became whatever 'we' are now.

And then there’s the weight of those confessions from last night, heavy on my heart and mind. It's odd how the words spilled outso easily to Riley, truths I've kept tucked away under layers of sarcasm and late-night snack wrappers.

My chest tightens, pulse racing. So many pieces of myself - raw, unfiltered bits of Amelia Brooks - now rest in Riley's hands. My secret OnlyFans gig, the dreams of my own wellness studio, even the quirks of my guarded nature; he knows them all. Trust is a slippery slope, and I've never been great at it.

I reach for the countertop, steadying myself against the cool metal, trying to calm the flurry inside me. Openness was never my strong suit, yet here I am, decked out in fear and hope, wondering if I’ve said too much.

Doubt in my head needs to be smoothed out before I step into the Blade’s, ready to tend to jerseys, towels, and egos.

I shove my makeup to the side to reach for the hand towel to wipe the beads of sweat on my forehead. The sudden shift makes my mascara roll off and land on the floor with a clank. It reminds me of the falling out with my brother—the silence that followed our last harsh words still echoes louder than anything hitting the floor would. I haven’t told Riley about that, about the gaping rift between family ties that once bound us together. How do you explain to someone that your own flesh and blood feels like a stranger now?

The weight of all these confessions still not made sits heavy on my chest as I lace up my work shoes; they're sturdy, meant for navigating slippery floors, but no amount of traction can keep my thoughts from skidding uncontrollably.

My fingers brush against the soft comfort of my bed sheets, or maybe in search of some grounding.

I just can’t.

The light of my phone on the nightstand pulls my attention and I reach for it.

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