Page 28 of Pucked On Camera

The ringing is not a nice sound as the screen glares back at me, but it cuts short. The voicemail greeting comes on, making me grown.

"Amelia, it's Riley. Look, we need to talk about—" I stop myself, knowing full well she won't listen to a recorded plea. I end the call. Damn it.

My next move is a text—quick, to the point.

Me:We need to talk. It wasn’t me.

No response, not that I expected one right away, but the silence is really starting to get frustrating.

Fine.

I grab my keys, slip on my jacket, and head out the door, get into my car, and pull out of the parking garage.

Soon the familiar building looms ahead, and after I park, I bypass the buzzer, gaining access as another apartment resident enters. Her floor is eerily quiet. There's a tightness in my chest as I stand in front of her door, and my knuckles pound against the wood.

"Amelia!" I call out, hoping she's in there. "Open up, please."

However, the door stays shut, the silence from inside confirming what I already know—she's not going to make this easy. I lean my forehead against the cool surface, the fight in me simmering down to worry.

"Amelia, I didn't do this. You have to believe me," I whisper to the door, knowing full well it's pointless.

With nothing left to do, I shove my hands into my pockets and head back into the cold. My thoughts are all jumbled. Who would do this to her? To us?

I need answers, and I need them now. Although, I need Amelia to hear me out first. Somehow.

As soon as I get back inside my apartment I hit send again.

Message Undelivered.

I toss my phone onto the bed, and it bounces with a soft thud.

Then I snatch it back up. It feels heavy in my grip. My thumb hovers over the call button, heart jackhammering against ribs. I press down on the green icon, and the dial tone is a countdown to the inevitable.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system..."

"Dammit!" The word explodes out of me, and I'm pacing again. Each step is a pulse of frustration, my mind scrambling for explanations, excuses, anything.

I try her social media, but there's that same digital brick wall slamming up in my face.

Blocked.

On every platform.

My hands shake, a mixture of anger and something that feels dangerously close to desperation.

What the hell?

The realization that she's cut me off completely, that she thinks I could do something so awful, cuts me to my core.

I collapse back onto the bed. Amelia's face flickers behind my eyelids—those hazel eyes that used to light up when they met mine, now shuttered closed with hurt and mistrust.

Guess you made your point, huh?

I’m not giving up though. I have to clear my name, to make her see reason. I need to fight back somehow, prove I'm not the guy she thinks I am.

With new resolve, I grab my phone again and jump back into my car.

Only a few minutes later, I storm into the Blade’s locker room. My boots hammer against the floor, and I can feel every pair of eyes on me, but I don’t care.

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