Reckless on Ice

6. Scandal

ASHLEY

Insider: Ashley Brooke is a w***e. Langley’s w***e.

This isn’t—

This can’t be—

My brain glitches. My hands tremble as I grip the phone, not believing what I just f*****g read. This is not true. This cannot be real. But it’s there, black and white—on a f*****g website. I blink, my vision blurring as I stare at my laptop. Beckett was still sleeping earlier when I left his room. It’s been just five hours since that happened, but the world feels like it’s collapsing in on me.

I’m not ready for this. I wasn’t ready for any of this.

My hands shake harder as I scroll through the damn page, images flashing. There’s a photo of me from earlier. In Langley’s shirt. Stepping out of his room, wet hair, flushed cheeks, looking like I just got ruined and liked it. Another one. Beckett kissing me—my smile visible mid-laugh, my hands in his hair.

I look happy. I look soft. I looked like a f*****g w***e, and someone just made sure the whole damn world would see it.

How the hell did this happen?

The phone rings again. I don’t check who it is. I already know. Half the campus is probably calling to ask what position I was in when they took the picture.

Ryan: Ashley, I'm outside your apartment.

Beckett: Are you home? I'm going there right now. I'm sorry Ash. f**k. I didn't know who took those.

I wiped my tears and decided to reply to Beckett. The last thing I want it is for him to come here while these pictures are still going viral. He got a hundred thousand followers on his i********: account, so I know the stakes. I also know how scandal works. Funny, because I used to be the one who wrote the headlines.

Now I am one.

Ashley: Don’t come here.

Ashley: Talk to your coach please. Do damage control.

Ashley: And for the love of God, don’t say a f*****g word to the press.

I stare at the messages, jaw clenched, chest hollow. The replies hit seconds later.

Beckett: Already on it. I swear I didn’t know, Ash. I’m sorry. Please—

Beckett: Let me come over.

Beckett: Let me fix this.

Fix it? How?

The phone buzzes again.

Ryan: Ashley. Open the door, or I’m knocking the whole damn building down.

I groan, pressing my head into the pillow. Ryan. I don’t want to face him. But I know Ryan’s stubborn, so I drag myself to the door, open it wide. Ryan stands in the hallway, coat on, phone in hand. His jaw is tight, eyes flicking between me and the device. Without a word, he holds up the screen: Insider: Ashley Brooke is a w***e. Langley’s w***e.

I can’t look. My throat seizes. “No,” I choke out, my voice cracking. “No, it’s not real.”

He steps in, closing the door behind him. “It is,” he says softly, though his fists are clenched. “It’s been retweeted a hundred thousand times.”

I slam my palm against the wall, nails biting my skin. “They’re lying,” I sob. “It’s a prank—someone hacked it—”

He kneels in front of me, grabs my shoulders, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Look at me, Ash. This is real.” His voice breaks. “And I need you to tell me everything so we can spin and fix it.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Tears spill over. “It’s everywhere, Ryan. I can’t—”

He wipes a tear from my cheek. “I’ve called the lawyer. I’m on the phone with the department head. We’re going to fight this. But first—” He pauses, voice gentle but urgent. “You need to breathe. We need you to focus.”

I close my eyes, pressing my palms into my face. I don’t know how to make this better, and I sure as hell don’t know how to make him understand. Ryan keeps talking about what he’s doing to fix this mess, but I don’t look at him. I can’t. I can’t meet his eyes because if I do, I’ll break.

Ryan stands there, silent for a moment, his eyes heavy on me, waiting for something I don’t know how to give. Then he lifts a brow, “Is he good?”

I snort, a bitter laugh tearing from my chest, hollow and raw. “Dumbass,” I mutter under my breath as I push him away.

“What?” Ryan stares at me, surprised. “I mean, that’s Langley.”

I know he's just trying to make me feel better, but I’m just so lost. I don’t know how this could happen to me in one f*****g night. They say once it's on the internet, it’s forever going to be there and that's what scares me the most.

“Ashley…”

Ryan’s about to say something when a new message pops up on my screen and I swear to God, my heart stops.

Ms. Roberts (Dept. Head): Good day, Ms. Brooke. Please come to my office at your earliest convenience. The Ethics Board would like to speak with you regarding recent developments. Your journalism scholarship is currently under review.

My heart stutters for a second, then starts racing in overdrive. "What the hell?" I mutter under my breath, the words barely even registering. I stare at the screen like it’s going to rewrite itself, like it can just disappear.

Ryan’s eyes dart towards my phone, his lips parting like he's about to say something, but he doesn’t. He just watches me, probably seeing the same thing I do.

“My scholarship's under review,” I choked out, barely able to get the words out past the lump in my throat.

Ryan doesn’t even know what to say. His mouth opens and closes, like he's trying to piece together something that makes sense out of this disaster. "Are they f*****g serious right now?

How did this happen?

Fuck. Ryan says something—his voice distorted—but I can’t process it. I couldn’t hear him. My head is spinning too fast. This cannot be happening. I push myself off the couch, standing on shaky legs.

“Where are you going?” Ryan asks, standing quickly when he sees me move.

I could barely hear him. My vision is already tunneled. I’m not sure what I’m doing. Not sure what I’m going to say when I get to that meeting. All I know is I have to go. I can’t lose the f*****g scholarship and go back to my father’s payroll. No, that will never happen.

This is unfair.

I nearly dropped my phone, unlocking the building’s front door. My reflection stares back at me from the glass—eyes blown wide, hair a mess, mouth parted like I’m about to scream. I look like I’ve been hit by a truck. And in a way, I have.

Do they have any idea what it cost me to claw my way out from under a senator’s shadow? A corrupt, abusive bastard who uses power like a weapon? If I lose this, if I lose it all because of one photo—because of a boy—I’ll be right back in his cage.

I can’t go back. I won’t.

Tears sting, but I blink them away.

I worked too hard for this. I bled for this. I am not going down.