Page 11 of Ripple Effect

My brows shoot up at his comment, a shake of my head following suit. Typical Beck, a flippant remark just when things are getting heavy.

“Alright, lover boy. Your humor is appreciated, as always,” I tell him, forcing cheer into my voice.

There’s another bout of laughter from him, a joyous sound that takes the edge off my own worries, if only for a moment. Then, Kaia’s back on the line, her voice low. “I mean it, E. Think about therapy. And talk to Luca. He’ll understand.”

“I will, Kai, I promise,” I reassure her, though I’m not sure I can keep it. I’m still wrestling with my own stubbornness, a reluctance to admit that I might need to look outside myself for once.

“I hope so,” she says quietly. “We worry about you, you know? You’re not alone in this.”

Her words stick with me, long after the call ends. It’s comforting to know I have people who care about me outside of my own family. But it also magnifies the reality of the situation.

You’re not alone, she said. But as I sit here in my empty apartment, with the early morning light trickling in, I’ve never felt more isolated.

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I head to my bedroom. There’s an uneasiness clawing at my gut, the ghost of Friday night’s panic attack still too fresh in my head. I know I should take Kaia’s advice, maybe even talk to my siblings about it.

But I’m not sure that my ego can take the scrutiny.

With a heavy sigh, I wander over to my workspace and flip open my laptop, a familiar routine to start my Sunday. Everett’s world, as usual, is a contradiction to mine, a realm where I’m always wanted, always needed.

And right now, I could use that reassurance.

My screen lights up, AfterDark’s familiar interface coming into view. My inbox, usually a quiet corner, is abnormally crowded today—live one-on-one requests pouring in from users I don’t recognize. But one message, in particular, catches my eye.

SapphireDream.

“Really enjoyed our last session,” she writes. “I may have shared your profile with a few of my friends. Hope that’s okay.”

A spark of gratitude lights inside of me, tinged with a layer of apprehension. The attention is welcome, but it also equates to higher stakes.

The second part of her message nudges at the boundaries I’ve carefully constructed around my work. “I was wondering if we could try something different. Something personal this time?”

Something personal.Well, fuck. I don’t do personal, not in this world. Everett’s no more than an invention, an illusion, not meant to be tangible or real.

My gaze flickers across her request once more. It’s daunting, the idea of stepping out of my carefully curated persona. But there are realities I can’t ignore.

My sisters need the little extra I send their way each month, next semester’s tuition isn’t going to pay for itself, and Bentley’s recent health decline has led to more vet visits and a special, expensive diet.

And then there’s my fucking heart issue to top it all off.

I’m still trying to chalk things up to anxiety, a simple series of panic attacks, but I’ve been feeling faint since Friday night, making it impossible to film any new scenes with a partner. If this keeps up, who knows when I’ll be able to return to my usual tempo.

Swallowing hard, I hover over the Reply button. I can’t afford to turn away business, especially when it’s something this promising. The solo pleasure sessions can only keep Everett—keep me—afloat for so long.

With a deep breath, I type my response. The truth is, I need this just as much as she appears to, maybe even more. “So, you want something more personal,” I write. “I might be able to arrange that. What did you have in mind?”

* * *

Later in the day,Bentley and I head over to a nearby café. It’s a place I used to visit with Kaia back when she was a student here. There’s this little blue door that leads to an outdoor courtyard, and it’s dog-friendly, making it a perfect study spot for the two of us.

I secure Bentley’s leash to a pole and assure him, “I’ll be back, buddy.”

He responds with a contented huff, and I keep an eye on him while I head inside.

Returning from the counter, my Americano and a muffin in hand, I find the blonde girl from the beach kneeling down beside my dog. Her face is a picture of delight as she showers him with affection.

Clearing my throat, I slowly approach them. “Hey,” I say, my voice sounding gruff even to my ears.

She glances up, brows furrowed, but her features soften when she recognizes me. “Oh, it’s you! I knew this one looked familiar.” She pushes onto her feet, giving him one last pat to the head. “Such a sweetie pie.”

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