His mouth curves into a small, surprised smile. “They’ll love that.”
There’s another pause, this one heavier. I take a breath and feel the floor solid beneath my feet. I feel present inside my own body, not floating somewhere above it as I have been. Living as an outsider to my life.
“I’m not here to forgive you,” I say gently.
His shoulders tense, just a fraction, then they relax again. “I know.”
“But I am here because I don’t want fear to keep making my decisions for me.” My voice wobbles, but I don’t stop. “I’m still hurt. I’m still angry sometimes. And I don’t trust easily anymore.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he says softly.
I meet his eyes. “I don’t forgive you yet,” I say. “But I want to try.”
The words hang between us, fragile and unfinished, but honest. Something breaks open on his face. Gratitude.
“Thank you,” he says, voice rough. “For even considering it.”
I nod once. “That’s all this is. Consideration. We take it slow. On my terms.”
“Always,” he says immediately.
Suddenly, the future doesn’t feel like something I’m afraid to imagine. It feels like a choice. And whatever happens next, I know I’ll be okay.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CALLUM
The rink is empty when I get there. It’s the kind of quiet that usually makes my skin itch, because I’m used to noise of blades on ice, pucks slamming the boards, and voices echoing off concrete and steel. Today, though, it feels right. I shouldn’t be here this early. I know that. Coach would tell me to get some rest, to stop overtraining and trust the work I’ve already put in. But sleep was impossible anyway. My mind wouldn’t settle, my body too wired and restless, buzzing with the echo of yesterday.
Rose.
The way she stood in front of me. The way she didn’t fold, didn’t soften herself to make it easier for me. The way she said she wasn’t ready to forgive me and still told me she wanted to try.
I lace my skates slowly, deliberately, like dragging the moment out will somehow help me process it. When I step onto the ice, the cold seeps straight through the blade and into my bones, sharp, familiar and grounding.
I push off. Just me. No drills or systems and no expectations, because I’ve come to learn that’s how this works.
I skate laps at first, long and steady, breath puffing white in the air. The rhythm settles me. Each stride feels like a promise to myself; it’s controlled and intentional.
I stop at centre ice and let myself look around. This place has always been my anchor. The one thing I understood without effort. The one place I never doubted myself. Somewhere along the way, I let it become a shield too, something I hid behind when the rest of my life felt too complicated to face head-on. I don’t want to do that anymore.
I take a puck from the bucket near the boards and start working on edge control, slow tight turns, focusing on balance instead of speed. I think about Rose’s face when she asked me those questions in the park.
Did you ever think choosing me would fix you?
The answer still sits heavy in my chest. I didn’t think it consciously. I didn’t frame it like that in my head. But somewhere, buried under fear and guilt and the pressure of being who everyone expected me to be, I think I hoped loving her would make the rest of it quieter. That was unfair.
Would you have told me if Talia hadn’t threatened you?
That one hurt worse, because the answer wasn’t clean. I don’t know. I want to believe I would have found the courage eventually. But wanting isn’t the same as doing. And that’s the truth I have to live with.
The sound of another blade cutting into the ice pulls me out of my thoughts. I don’t have to turn to know who it is.
“Coach is going to lose his mind when he realises you’ve been out here since dawn,” Lukas says mildly as he skates up beside me.
I snort. “He won’t notice if I don’t tell him.”
Lukas circles once, eyes scanning me, sharp as ever. “You look like hell.”
