“Won three–two,” I say, dropping my gear bag in the hall. “Good game.”
“Perfect!” She doesn’t look up from her screen. “I filmed a reaction video for the win post. Can you just say something for the camera? Maybe, ‘We couldn’t have done it without you, babe’, you know, something sweet.”
I stare at her, dripping water onto the rug. “I just got home.”
“It’ll take two seconds.”
My jaw ticks, but I do it. Because that’s what I do. Smile for the brand. Play along. Pretend we’re the dream couple the internet thinks we are.
She blows me a kiss for the camera. “That’s my man. I’ll post it tomorrow morning.”
“Can we not?” I mutter, heading for the kitchen. “I’m starving.”
She huffs. “You could at least try to sound enthusiastic. People notice when you’re distant, Cal.”
People. Always people. Neverme.
I open the fridge, it’s full of protein shakes, cold pizza, and half a lemon. No comfort there. I grab the pizza and eat standing up, staring at the black window. My reflection stares back, pale and tired, a man-shaped ghost.
Talia chatters from the sofa about her brand trip to Paris next month. About a new sponsorship. About someone she met at an influencer dinner who “absolutely adores hockey players.”I barely listen. Instead, my head drifts back to the rink lights reflecting in Rose’s eyes. To the way she’d smiled when I teased her, quiet and authentic. It shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did. And now, standing in my own kitchen, with the sound of my girlfriend’s voice bouncing through the flat, all I can think about is another woman’s laugh.
“Are you even listening?” Talia says sharply.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Paris. Sponsorship. Something about a dinner.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re impossible lately.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’realwaystired. You think you’re the only one who works hard? I’ve been editing all night.” She gestures to her phone. “This stuff doesn’t film itself.”
I let out a slow breath. “Didn’t say it did.”
“You implied it.”
“Talia—”
“No, seriously, what’s going on with you? You’ve been weird for weeks. You barely talk to me, you never want to go out anymore, and you barely look at me unless there’s a camera between us.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “Maybe because the camera’s always there.”
She blinks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means I want to come home to something that isn’t content.”
Her mouth tightens. “This is our life, Cal. It’s part of the job. You knew that when we started.”
“Yeah. I did.” I swallow hard. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
Her face hardens. “So, what? Now you’re too good for me? For this?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
I close my eyes and count to three. “Forget it. I’m going to shower.”
“Fine.” Her voice goes cold. “Maybe try not to drown in self-pity while you’re at it.”
