Page 5 of Our Secret to Keep

In terms of wealth, River can’t top me. I come from Texas oil money and grew up knowing money can buy anything—including people’s silence and discretion.

As the girls dress, a cell phone dings.

River reaches into his pocket and stares at the screen, mouth hanging open. “Fuck, we’re so dead.”

He drags me into the bathroom and locks the door. Leaning against it, he shoves the phone at my chest.

“About those NDAs? You missed one.”

I glance at the screen and see an image of a blonde girl wearing a black lacy mask, her top half naked, with River and me bare-chested and sandwiching her between us.

“Riv, I’m?—”

“You’re sorry?” River snickers. “Yeah, you’re always sorry, Nate. That’s the fucking problem. Do you even remember her?”

Is this a trick question?

Can I phone a friend?

Get a lifeline?

He holds the screen to my face so I can get a better look. But with the mask, I can’t make out much more than her pretty, pink lips and big tits. Small nipples. Petite.

I swallow. “No, who is she?”

“The girl from the Delta Sig party,” he spits back, venom in his tone. “The Sinners and Saints masquerade. Ring any bells?”

I remember attending the party, but most of that night was fuzzy. Too much alcohol and pills to dull the nagging thoughts always running through my head on repeat.

“She hasn’t gone public yet. My dad’s lawyer just sent this.” He stuffs the phone into his pocket. “For the sake of our friendship, you better hope our parents can make this go away.”

CHAPTER2

RIVER

As a child,I was shy and preferred to be alone. The producers of my dad’s hit TV show,The Hockey Life, struggled to break me out of my shell. They even threatened to cancel the show if I didn’t give themmore. And by more, they meant personality—something for the viewers to love.

I couldn’t do it.

Imagine being a clueless eight-year-old with cameras following you to every room except the bathroom. Once I figured that out, I’d sit on the bathroom floor, read comic books, or play with action figures. That was my only saving grace.

It didn’t last long, though.

The producers didn’t want to see a mopey kid on camera. They decided Ryan’s son would follow in his footsteps, and I would become the next hockey great.

When they put me on the ice, I sparkled like a diamond. The fans loved me and begged for more. It was the only time I forgot about people watching me at home. After the show wrapped, I wanted to be like my dad—a professional hockey player.

So, when Nate asked me to have our first threesome, I was hesitant. Being the son of Ryan Rousseau has many disadvantages, such as keeping a secret life. Seven years ago, I made Nate promise our sex life would never go viral. That no one could ever use our sick and twisted actions against us.

Most boys dream of having a threesome at fourteen. It’s all the porn rotting our brains. However, those fantasies usually involve two women. Not your best friend.

Nate punches the gas as we get onto the highway, eyes on the busy road. “We’ll handle it. Don’t worry, Riv. Our dads will pay off that bitch and be done with it.”

“That’s not the point,” I fire back at him, clutching the door handle. “The video shouldn’t have gotten leaked, to begin with. You promised me?—”

“I know what I said,” he interjects, “and I meant it. This will all blow over by the end of lunch. My dad will take care of it.”

As he races down the highway, the road doubles before my eyes. Fuck, I hate the side effects of our wild nights. The pounding in my skull won’t let up. And despite drinking two bottles of water before leaving the hotel, I still feel like death.

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