I think about how she listened, how she didn’t look away when I told her things I’ve never said out loud. She made me feel I wasn’t beyond saving. I’ve spent so long pretending to be the man everyone wanted; the charming player, the media-friendly smile, the nice guy who keeps his head down. Rose sees right through that.
And maybe that’s what terrifies me most.
The next morning, Brennan corners me outside the weight room. “You’re off your game, Fraser. Not just on the ice.”
I grab a towel from the rack. “I’m fine.”
He folds his arms. “You’re not. You’ve been somewhere else for weeks. You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Then fix it. Because the team needs you sharp. I need you sharp.”
There’s no judgement in his tone, just honesty. I nod once. “Yeah. I’ll get there.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Good. And hey, whatever it is, don’t let it eat you alive.”
In the gym later, Ryan and Lukas are messing around, racing sprints on the rowers. Lukas’s shouting encouragement in French, Ryan’s laughing so hard he nearly falls off. It’s madness, the kind of easy camaraderie that reminds me why I love this game.
Luke catches my eye. “Come on, vet. You scared of losing to the new kid?”
“Scared? No. Just don’t want to make you cry on your second week.”
Ryan whoops. “That’s a challenge if I ever heard one.”
I roll my shoulders, sit down on the rower next to Lukas. “Two hundred metres. Loser buys post-practice protein shakes.”
Lukas grins. “Deal.”
Coach walks by just as we start, muttering something about idiots, but he doesn’t stop us. The two of us push hard, muscles burning, breath ragged, and for the first time all week, my head actually clears.
Luke edges me out by half a second, throwing his arms up in triumph. “Rookie wins!”
Ryan groans dramatically. “God help us all.”
I’m laughing, actually laughing, and it feels good.
Luke leans over, grinning. “Told you I’d keep you sharp.”
I grin back, breathless. “Don’t get cocky.”
That night, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, phone on the pillow beside me. Rose’s message from earlier still glows on the screen.
Maybe you’re just better than you think.
I want to believe her. I want to be that guy. But I’m still the one who caused her accident. Still the one lying to her every time I look at her. And that’s the thing about wanting something this badly. It doesn’t matter how much you know it’ll burn you in the end. You reach for it anyway. Because for now, I can see a version of my life that feels real.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ROSE
Ikeep rereading his last message like it might change if I stare long enough.You made us look better than we are. Appreciate it.On the surface, it’s harmless, polite even, the kind of thing any player might text a photographer after a shoot. But I can feel something beneath the words, a pulse that won’t let me go.
I sit there with my phone glowing in my hand, heart skittering as if it’s forgotten how to keep a steady rhythm. Three drafts later, I give up and send a single heart emoji because anything else feels too much. Too much, too soon, too risky. And then, of course, I don’t sleep. I lie in bed listening to the city breathe outside my window and wonder if he saw it, if he knew what I meant without me saying a word.
By morning, I’ve given up on pretending I’m fine. The light coming through the curtains is the washed-out kind that belongs to half-hearted mornings. There’s a cup of tea gone cold on the table beside my laptop, and the same folder of Panthers photos is still open from last night. I should move on to editing other work, but every image seems to drag me back to the rink, the camera clicking, his laugh echoing off the boards. I tell myself to focus, but all I can think about is the way he said my name in that café, low and careful, like he wasn’t sure if saying it might change something between us.
My camera sits on the counter where I left it. I pick it up and scroll through the shots on the memory card. The one that catches me every time is the one I didn’t mean to take. Cal laughing, head tilted back, a streak of light across his jaw. It’s imperfect, slightly out of focus, but authentic. Honest in a way that most of my photos aren’t. I should delete it. Instead, I drag it into a private folder. Just for me.
