Brennan claps me on the back as he passes, his grin already too awake for this hour. “You look rough, mate. Late night?”
“Didn’t sleep much,” I mutter.
“Let me guess, too busy texting the photographer?” Ryan chimes in, smirking as he hoists his stick bag into the hold.
I roll my eyes. “You lot don’t miss a thing, do you?”
“Not when you’re staring at your phone as if it’s a love letter.” Brennan winks.
“Drop it.”
He laughs, holding up his hands. “Hey, we’re just happy for you. Or terrified. Depends how Talia takes it.”
That name hits harder than I expect. I shove it aside and climb onto the bus. The air inside is warm, thick with chatter and the rustle of snack bags. Lukas sits a few rows back, earbuds in, scrolling through something on his phone. He’s still new, still half polite, almost too confident. Typical Canadian transfer.Talented, good-looking, doesn’t yet realise the hierarchy he’s walked into.
“Morning, Cap,” he says, nodding as I pass.
“Don’t call me that. I’m not captain.”
He grins. “Yeah, but you play like one.”
I snort. “Play like an idiot lately.”
I take a window seat near the middle, dump my backpack beside me, and stretch my legs into the aisle. The hum of voices rises as the others file in. Then a low ripple moves through the bus as Laura from PR steps on, clipboard in hand, followed by Rose.
My pulse stumbles. She’s in jeans and a soft grey jumper with her camera strap looped around her neck. Her hair’s damp from the rain, curling at the ends, and she’s biting her lip as she scans the rows. She doesn’t look at me right away, but when she does, just for a second, it’s enough. The spark is there, immediate, sharp.
Laura gestures for her to sit near the front with the staff. I should be relieved. I should want the distance. But all I can think about is how close she is. How the back of her head is directly in my line of sight.
Ryan drops into the seat across the aisle. “So that’s Rose, yeah?”
I grunt, keeping my gaze on the window.
“She’s cute.”
“Watch it.”
He chuckles. “Relax. You’re the one acting like she’s radioactive.”
“Because she is,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
The engine rumbles to life, and the bus eases out of the car park. The city fades into grey drizzle with the roads slick and quiet. Brennan and Ryan start arguing about playlists; Lukas joins in, laughing, his accent soft and easy. I try to focus on theirnoise, but my mind keeps drifting forward, to her, to the way she leans toward the window with her headphones in, to the way sunlight glints off the metal buckle of her camera strap.
Half an hour in, I catch Lukas watching me with a grin. “What?”
He shrugs. “You keep looking up there. You know her or something?”
“She’s the photographer,” I say flatly.
“Yeah, but like do youknowher?”
Brennan snorts. “He’s trying not to.”
“Christ,” I mutter, sinking lower in my seat.
They all laugh, but the truth is, it’s not funny. Every time I catch a glimpse of Rose, something tightens in my chest. I broke things off with Talia. I told myself it was clean, the right thing. But guilt has claws. It doesn’t let go just because you sign off on good intentions.
When the bus stops at a service station, the team piles out in search of caffeine and food. I lag behind, stretching my legs. Rose’s group climbs down too, Laura chattering beside her about schedules and passes. I tell myself to stay back. To give her space. But when I see her standing by the coffee kiosk, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, I move before I think.
