Page 44

My phone won’t shut up. It’s been buzzing since seven this morning, long after Eli left. I buried myself in my sheets, pretended I didn’t hear the first ping, or the second, or the sixth. But now it’s vibrating across my nightstand like it has something important to say.

I groan, drag the pillow off my face, and finally reach for it.

My finger hovers over the screen. I’m ready to block Caleb. That has to be him. The texts, the missed calls, the drama. Probably trying to get in a last word after last night. After I told him to stay away. Maybe he’s decided he’s not done playing the victim. Whatever. I’m not in the mood.

I swipe to unlock, preparing for a barrage of pathetic apologies.

But that’s not what I find.

My breath catches.

There’s an email. No subject. Just an anonymous address. I frown and tap it open.

Attached is a screenshot.

Then another.

Then a short video clip.

My blood runs hot and cold all at once. The clip’s less than ten seconds, blurry at first, until it zooms in.

It’s me.

Me in bed.

Me with Eli.

The sheet is barely covering anything. His hand is on my hip. My lips are parted. It cuts before it gets worse. But it’s enough.

Enough to make my fingers go numb.

There are more screenshots. Text threads. Cropped photos. Pixelated, but damning. Some of them aren’t even from my phone. The angles, the timestamps. These were taken from a distance. Monitored. Saved.

My entire chest tightens.

Another message blinks in, same sender.

This isn’t even the worst of it. Forwarded to Coach Jacobs in 12 hours unless you play nice. Consider this a teaser. A souvenir. A warning.

I don’t breathe. I just stare. My name feels foreign in my head. My skin crawls. My heart kicks once, then goes wild. My thumb shakes as I scroll, rereading the words like they might rearrange into something else.

Caleb.

It has to be him.

He threatened to ruin me before. I told him it was over, and he’s making sure I regret it. That I didn’t know what kind of mess I was walking into. That he always ties up loose ends.

This is what he meant.

I don’t think. I hit call.

The phone rings once before he picks up.

“Jesus, Sienna—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I snap. “Are you serious right now? Blackmail? Screenshots? Sending this shit to my dad? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He stammers. “Bunny, what—what are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You’re disgusting. You’re fucking sick. Stay the hell away from me, Caleb. I swear to God—”

I hang up before I lose it entirely.

My thumb lingers over the emails. Every word, every attachment feels radioactive. My entire body is vibrating with rage. With humiliation. With fear. My fingers move on autopilot as I select them all.

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

I wish I could delete more than just files.

I pause, hunched over, the room too quiet, the light too sharp through the blinds. I knew this would explode. I knew none of it was smart – sleeping with Caleb, letting Eli touch me like that, letting them both get under my skin. It was always going to end in disaster.

I should’ve listened to my gut.

This was all a mistake.

Every second of it.

I throw on the first hoodie I find and head downstairs. I’m not looking in a mirror. I don’t care what I look like. I just need air. I need noise. I need to not be inside my own head.

Dad’s already in the kitchen, flipping through the paper and sipping his coffee.

He looks up when he hears me. “Hey, kiddo. You okay?”

“Yes,” I say quickly. Too quickly. I don’t meet his eyes.

I head straight for the fridge and pour myself some orange juice. My fingers are clumsy on the carton. I nearly overfill the glass.

“You sure?” he asks again, gentler now.

I nod as I grab a bowl and box of cereal. “Just tired. Long night.”

He watches me for a moment but doesn’t push. I take a seat and focus hard on my spoon, letting the cold milk numb the inside of my mouth. The spoon clinks quietly against the side of the bowl.

I will not think about Eli.

Or Caleb.

Or how everything I’ve done with them is not normal.

I will not think about the way Eli made me forget who I was. Or the way Caleb made me ashamed of who I became.

They’ve both done nothing but cause me problems.

And I’m done.

By noon, I’m back upstairs, sitting on my bed with my laptop open but untouched. My screen saver bounces lazily around the edges. I stare through it, phone on silent beside me.

A small part of me wishes Eli would text. Just to check on me. Just to say he didn’t know, that he’s sorry. Even if it’s a lie.

But nothing comes.

Why would it?

He was never going to be the one to clean up the mess. He helped make it. Then he walked out of my room and out of responsibility. Like he always does. Leaving just enough behind to keep me wanting.

The rest?

The rest is mine to carry. Alone.

By nightfall, it’s like whoever’s sending these messages has found a rhythm. A sick kind of schedule. Every hour, a new ping. A new email. A new attachment.

More photos. More clips. Some I didn’t even know existed. Different angles. Different lighting. One of me leaving Eli’s place. One of me arguing with Caleb in the parking lot. Some of me looking straight into the camera, like I knew I was being watched. What the fuck?

I don’t sleep.

By morning, I’m numb. Not angry. Not scared. Just done. Worn out, scraped thin, and done.

I get dressed.

And ignore the gnawing in my stomach. Ignore the string of unread messages. I toss on a jacket, grab my keys, and head to the one place I swore I wouldn’t go again.

The Ravens locker room.

The locker room smells the same. Sweat and detergent and leather. I can hear the familiar buzz of voices through the walls — practice drills being barked, someone cursing at a missed shot, the slap of sticks hitting the ice.

I push the door open without knocking. A few heads turn. Caleb’s sitting on a bench, taping his stick.

The second he sees me, he jerks upright. “Are you crazy?”

I stop in front of him with a dead tone, “You need to stop.”

He frowns, confused. “What?”

I clench my fists. “Just stop. With the threats. The emails. The games. Whatever the hell you think you’re doing, stop!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he says, getting to his feet.

“I know it’s you,” I hiss. “Who else would do this? You said you’d ruin me.”

“I didn’t send you anything,” he bites back, eyes flashing.

“You’re the only one with a reason!”

The door swings open behind me.

Eli.

He’s dressed in full practice gear, pads half-undone, helmet in hand. His jaw tightens when he sees me standing this close to Caleb. “What’s going on?”

Neither of us answers right away. I’m breathing hard, my head buzzing.

“Both of you,” Eli says. “Now.”

The classroom is cold. The blinds are drawn, the overhead lights flickering slightly like they always do in this building. Eli shuts the door behind us, then leans against it.

He crosses his arms. “Start talking.”

Caleb scoffs and throws his hands up. “She barges in and starts accusing me of sending her emails or blackmailing her or something. I don’t even know what she’s talking about.”

I turn on him. “You’re a liar.”

“You’re paranoid.”

Eli steps forward. “What emails?”

I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. My hands shake only a little as I unlock it and hand it to him. “Go ahead. Read them.”

He scrolls.

His expression doesn’t change, but the tension in the room shifts. Caleb leans over his shoulder and pales.

“What the fuck…” Caleb mutters. “That’s… that’s you and Eli.”

“Yeah,” I say flatly. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Eli keeps scrolling, his thumb moving slowly over each message. Then he clicks on a video. His mouth sets into a hard line.

“This wasn’t me,” Caleb says quickly.

“What?” I ask, looking at him. “You said you’d ruin me.”

“I was a fucking asshole before you let me have you, bunny. Now everything’s good between us. Why do I need to ruin you when I can just fuck you?”

Eli hands the phone back to me. “Who would it be?”

I look at Caleb. “Are you serious?”

He glares at me. “Dead fucking serious.”

“Are you playing games with me?” I snap.

Caleb’s pacing now, one hand on the back of his neck. “Someone’s watching you.”

I grip the phone tighter.

“It’s not just the pictures,” Eli says. “Some of these… you wouldn’t even know when they were taken. These were planned.”

A silence falls between us.

All the anger drains out of me and what’s left is confusion. Dread. Not because I know who’s doing it—but because I don’t.

“I thought it was one of you,” I say quietly. “But now I don’t even know who else would care enough to do this.”

Eli steps toward me. Not close, but closer. “You’re being blackmailed,” he says more to himself than anything.

I nod. “I don’t know by who.”