Page 140 of Hawaii Can Suck It

I reach over, clasping his shoulder firmly. “Thanks,” I say, meaning it. “We’re cool.”

“So… the DareDuo is back?”

“DareDuo is best bros forever,” I confirm, the words unlocking something tight in my chest.At least I still have this—a friendship that predates the fame, the brand, the absolute circus my life has become.

Blaze’s face breaks into that familiar goofy grin as he launches himself at me, pulling me into a hug so tight it’s painful. I endure it, giving him an awkward pat on the back before extracting myself from his bear hug.

“Where’s Cam?” he asks, eyeing the corner of the room as if her five-foot-four-inch body is hiding behind a twelve-inch potted plant. “I thought you two were, like, sex friends.” He waggles his eyebrows.

The brief moment of normalcy shatters. The hot-pink scrunchie on my wrist suddenly feels as if it’s made of lead.

“You’re not the only heartbroken idiot at this table.”

Ten minutes later, the blue error message finally disappears, and there’s a wall of faces that are making up the world’s most depressing Zoom meeting. Twenty different people stare back at me, each tiny window a peek into a different flavor of the corporate world.

Some sit in sleek office settings with tasteful art, as if they’re ready to go on CNN. Others are clearly on vacation, squinting against the tropical sun or sipping coffee on a European balcony. Then there are the true victims—rumpled, dead-eyed, looking like they were dragged from their beds with disheveled hair that screams,What ungodly hour is it?

I clear my throat, sitting up in my chair. “Thank you everyone for coming on such short noti—”

“Let’s get down to business,” Gordon cuts me off. “Tell Reece what has happened to sales overnight.”

The first face to enlarge belongs to Marcus, the head of DareProductions. Behind him, an office wall covered in film equipment and framed YouTube Play Buttons serves as a reminder of better days.

“We’ve had three sponsors pull out of branded content,” he says, his voice tight. “BeastMode Barbells, TripleX Protein, and FearLess Sunglasses all terminated their contracts this morning, not wanting to be attached to the scandal. Without that revenue…” He swallows hard. “We don’t have enough projects to sustain our current staff. Layoffs are inevitable unless we can find replacement sponsors immediately.”

My gut churns at the word “layoffs.” DareProductions alone employs forty-seven people—editors, camera operators, production assistants, all with families and mortgages that depend on my videos getting views and my face selling products.

The screen shifts to Vanessa, the impeccably dressed head of DareWear, who appears to be sitting on a luxury yacht. Her designer sunglasses are perched on her head, and the sparkling Mediterranean Sea appears to be mocking our collective misery.

“I was on a call with the DareWear factory,” she says with crimson lips pressed into a tight line. “Orders have dropped by fifty percent overnight. On top of that, we’ve already invested heavily in the new DareLove line following your waterfall kiss with Camila.” She pauses, letting the words sink in. “It’s most likely a loss in the millions unless we can turn public opinion around immediately.”

The screen shifts again to Derek, head of DareFuel, who’s in his kitchen. His usual polished appearance has been replaced by a rumpled T-shirt and a bad case of bedhead.

“DareFuel has the same problem with the new couples’ flavors we were rushing to market,” he explains, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Production is already underway for ‘Love Potion Peach’ and ‘Coconut Kiss.’ We’ve invested—”

“Daddy! I have to go poo-poo!”

A tiny tornado in princess pajamas crashes into the frame, clutching a well-loved teddy bear. Her pigtails are askew, one significantly higher than the other, and her face bears the remnants of what might be chocolate milk.

“Can we PLEASE keep your offspring out of this CRISIS MEETING?!” Gordon explodes.

“Sorry, sorry!” Derek looks mortified as a lovely woman—presumably his wife—darts into the frame, scooping up the toddler.

The little girl’s innocent face tugs at my chest—a memory of Nalani, the Akana family’s daughter, clutching her stuffed turtle while standing in the doorway of their temporary housing unit. Cam captured their tragedy with grace and kindness. Her storytelling instincts turned what could have been exploitation into a powerful, deeply human moment.

That day in Lahaina had sparked a fire in me—a realization about what my platform could be. What itshouldbe. For the first time in years, I’d felt a sense of purpose beyond chasing views and selling merch.

I’d thought maybe Cam could be part of that vision.

I trace my thumb over the scrunchie clinging to my wrist—the tiny pink elastic carrying the weight of an entire imagined future.

But that was before I knew the truth. That I was dreaming about our future together while she was calculating how to use me to launch her career.

Now I’m back where I started. My companies are imploding, hundreds of jobs are at risk, and millions of dollars are disappearing by the minute. And for what? Because I was stupid enough to trust her. To think she saw me for more than my subscriber count?

“—been up all night securing a solution.” Gordon’s voice snaps my focus to the nightmare at hand. “A plan that will definitely pull us out of the downward spiral.”

With the dramatic flourish of a magician revealing his final trick, Gordon strides to the conference room door and flings it open.

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