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RILEY

I haven’t made an Icing the Cake episode in ages or spent any time with my friends. Imani and Katerina have been blowing up my phone, suggesting shopping trips and girly dinners, but with my boys offering foot massages, pasta, and mind-blowing sex, I’ve hunkered down at the Draytons most nights.

Even Dad complained last night that I wasn’t home enough to concentrate on my studies, and I managed to get him off my back by telling him about the internship and inferring I was chosen for my skills rather than out of a hat. The guilt for lying is manageable because I know I focus on my work.

In between the foot rubs, carbs, and orgasms, me and the Draytons sit around in the den writing assignments and catching up on reading until Shawn cracks a joke and distracts us into a twenty-minute conversation about ducks or the time he fell into a dumpster or forgets I’m there and overshares about a past conquest. He got one pass for that, but last night, I tossed a shoe at his head. Hopefully, he’s learned his lesson. I’m cool, but I’m not a fool, and I don’t want images of my man with other women in my head, no matter how hilarious they might be.

Making another episode for my channel has to be my priority. I can’t let it lapse into obscurity. I need the money I make from monetizing the content and the merchandise I sell to support my dad’s efforts at paying for my education. I don’t want to take out huge loans and end up drowning in debt before I’ve even had a chance to earn a buck in my chosen career.

Dad thinks I make baking-inspired content because there’s always cake or cookies around after I’ve filmed. Telling him about the hockey aspect would reveal just how much I’ve focused on the Draytons over the years, with much of it negative or critical. Even thinking about some of the episodes I’ve made fills my belly with an anxious swell. Now I know them and care for them, the past episodes are disconnected. I’ve become divorced from the original purpose of the vlog, so maybe that’s why I’m having such a hard time thinking about how to approach it going forward.

Will people still watch if my content loses its edge? If I become too complimentary, will they wonder why it’s changed? That could result in people asking questions, which is never good when you’re trying to remain anonymous.

I stare at my laptop screen, the cursor blinking at me like it knows I’m avoiding everything I should be doing. The blank page taunts me, but I can’t seem to find the focus to plan my next Icing the Cake episode.

The Draytons are sprawled out in the den, Jacob half-asleep with his feet propped up on the coffee table, Hayes quietly reading some finance textbook, and Shawn flicking through channels with the remote like it’s an Olympic sport. It’s a scene I’ve come to know so well, comforting, familiar, safe.

But the longer I sit here with my untouched to-do list, the more the weight of my own choices presses down on me. I can’t keep using this cocoon of love as an excuse to ignore my responsibilities.

I glance at Jacob, his jaw slack in sleep, the dark circles under his eyes deep. He’s told me that his headaches have been less frequent, but I’m not sure I believe him. I’m worried that he’s not taking his symptoms seriously or that he’s unwilling to confide about his pain. I love him for the way he lets me believe he’s okay, even when he’s not, because he can’t stand the thought of me worrying. I love the strength he shows, even when I know he’s struggling beneath it all.

I love Hayes for his quiet, unshakable steadiness, the way he’s my anchor when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control. And Shawn, with his effortless humor and the way he can make me laugh when all I want to do is scream, reminds me that life can still be light and joyful, even in its heaviest moments.

These three men have become my entire world. I wouldn’t trade this love, this messy, complicated, beautiful thing we’ve built, for anything. But sometimes, it terrifies me how much of myself I’ve given to them, how much of my heart, my soul, my everything is wrapped up in theirs.

I pick up my phone and scroll through the dozens of unanswered texts from Imani and Katerina. They’re full of emojis and exclamation points, their unsubtle way of telling me they’re about ready to drag me out by my hair if I don’t come up for air soon.

Imani : RILEY!!! We need a girls’ night, or I’ll forget what you look like. Also, Katerina threatened to bake cookies without you, and you know how that went last time.

Katerina : Tell her you’re lying in a ditch somewhere because if your only excuse is “boys,” I’m going to throw a shoe at YOU.

I smile, but it’s tinged with guilt. They’re right. I’ve let myself disappear into the Draytons’ world, and while it’s been everything I’ve ever wanted, it’s not sustainable.

Lying in bed that night, I’m struck with the inspiration for a new episode. I roll over, grabbing my phone to text Imani.

Me : Okay, girls’ night tomorrow. Don’t let me bail.

Then I settle back into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. Tomorrow, I’ll tackle everything—my channel, my friendships, my future. But tonight, I’ll savor the quiet, the warmth of my men, and the knowledge that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, for now.