“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?” she snaps. “You going to tell me you’re justfriends? That she ‘gets you’?”
I swallow hard. “I’m saying I care about you, but I can’t keep pretending this works.”
“You care about me?” She shakes her head. “Don’t insult me. You liked the version of me that looked good next to you. Now that you’re sulking through practice, you want somethingdeep, right? Something tragic?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” She snorts. “You think this is fair? You’re throwing away the best thing that ever happened to you because you’re bored.”
I take a breath, steadying myself. “I’m moving out tonight.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re joking.”
“I’ve already packed some stuff.”
She glares, a bitter twist of disbelief in her mouth. “You honestly think you can just walk away? After everything I’ve done for you? You think the team wanted you doing brand deals before I came along? You think the sponsors cared?”
“This isn’t about sponsors.”
“It’s always about sponsors!” she snaps. “You’re just too naive to admit it. You think she’s going to get you magazine spreads and charity gigs? Wake up, Cal. She’s a nobody. And you’re a fool.”
Her words sting more than I want to admit. But under the hurt, there’s a flicker of relief, because now I can finally see her for what she’s been this whole time. Not evil. Just shallow. Built for a world I don’t want to live in anymore. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Save it.” She turns away, voice clipped. “Go play your tortured hero somewhere else.”
I grab my bag from the hallway, pausing at the door. “You’ll be fine, Talia. You always are.”
She doesn’t answer. The click of the door behind me sounds like freedom and failure all at once.
The drive feels endless. Rain streaks the windscreen, city lights blurring in the dark. I should feel lighter, but instead I feel hollow, like a man peeling off one mask only to find another underneath. By the time I reach the empty flat the club keeps for players, I’m soaked through. The place smells of dust and emptiness, but it’s tranquil. Mine, for now anyway.
I drop my bag on the floor and sink onto the couch, phone heavy in my hand. No messages. No missed calls. I scroll aimlessly until I land on Rose’s Instagram. The newest photo stops me cold. It’s a close-up of the rink, light bouncing off the ice, captionedHome looks different when you’re behind the glass.
I know it shouldn’t mean anything. But it does.
I type a message before I can talk myself out of it:
Cal: Still on for tomorrow?
Her reply comes a minute later.
Rose: Wouldn’t miss it.
Sleep doesn’t come easily that night. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, the city bustle drifting through the window. Every time I close my eyes, I see her with her camera in hand, a smile tugging at her mouth, eyes that resemble morning over frozen water.
I think about what Talia said. About sponsors, about perception. She’s not wrong. My career has always been a balancing act; one part talent, one part PR gloss. But with Rose, none of that seems to matter. She doesn’t care seem to about the image. She cares about what’s real. And maybe that’s exactly what scares me.
Because the real me, the man who panicked at the sound of screeching tyres, who drove away instead of helping, doesn’t deserve someone like her. I turn over, restless, the sheets tangling around my legs. Somewhere in the distance, I can still hear the echo of skates cutting through ice, the rhythm that’s been my life for as long as I can remember.
Tomorrow, I’ll see her again. Tomorrow, I’ll tell myself it’s just coffee. Just conversation. Just friendship. But I alreadyknow better. Because somewhere between guilt and redemption, I’ve started falling.
And I’m not sure I want to stop.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ROSE
