Page 29 of Pucked On Camera

"Men," my voice slices through the low murmur of conversation, "we need to talk."

Silence instantly ensues as they turn to face me. My teammates, their expressions are both curious and uneasy. I'm usually the one rallying the team, not calling emergency meetings.

"Why are we here?" Jasper asks.

"It's about Amelia," I say. They all know her from her working here. "Her private images got leaked online. Before any of you ask—no, it wasn't me."

A collective exhale, a few nods. They believe me. They have to trust me to tell them the truth.

"Anyone know anything about this?" My gaze studies each of them, searching for a twitch, a glance away, anything that screams guilt.

Silence stretches out as my heartbeat pounds in my ears. They exchange uncertain looks.

"Cap, come on, man. We wouldn't do that to you—or her," says Alfie, his brow furrowed.

"Then who did?" I press. I only get shrugs and head shakes that settle nowhere.

"Look," I start again, softer this time. "This has really hurt her. She thinks I did it. She's blocked me everywhere. I just… I need to set things right."

They're listening, really listening now.

"None of us would backstab a teammate. Not like that," one of our first line defensemen says. His voice is firm, resolved, and I want to believe him. I really need to, but these guys are the ones that have been around both me and Amelia. All logic points to the people in this room.

"Alright," I nod, clenching and unclenching my fists, trying to let go of the tension. "If any of you hear anything, anything at all, you come to me first. We clear?"

"Clear, Cap," they echo.

Chapter 17

Amelia

My phone buzzes nonstop with notifications, not only from family, but my online accounts.

The OnlyFans app is a mixture of messages—some supportive, some vile. My subscriber count skyrockets while integrity plummets. They've seen me bare, in more ways than one, and they want more.

It's hard to tell what's worse: the shame of being exposed or the thrill of being desired by thousands.

The fallout is here, it's real, and it's only just begun.

I slam my laptop shut, the screeching of notifications from my OnlyFans account still ringing in my ears like an alarm I can't snooze. My breath comes in short gasps, and the screen's glow lingers behind my eyelids.

My palms are slick against the faux wood surface as I push back from the desk. I wipe them on my jeans. Then I walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water, pondering on my very few options.

I think it’s time for a break.From all of this.

I return to my desk, open my laptop again, and hover my fingers over the keyboard, hesitant but resolute. I navigate through the site with a practiced ease, but it’s uncomfortable because of the flood of attention.

Pause account.

The words on the screen are simple, unassuming, but my heart cracks even more. I click it, and a pop-up asks if I'm sure.

"Hell yes, I'm sure," I say out loud, clicking confirm with more force than necessary.

The page refreshes, and a banner now declares,this creator is on a break.

A tear escapes my eye and trickles down my cheek. If only pausing life was as easy as pausing an online profile.

I should feel relief, but there's only emptiness.

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