Cal: You earned it. See you at the rink tomorrow.
I hesitate, then add,
Cal: Sleep well, yeah? Big day.
I set the phone down, but my chest feels tight. I shouldn’t text her. I shouldn’t think about the way she looked at me. But the more I tell myself to stop, the more I want to keep going.
I sit on the edge of the bed, head in my hands. Talia’s face flickers through my mind; her practiced smile, her filtered life. We’d been over long before I said the words out loud, but ending it doesn’t erase the history. Doesn’t erase the guilt.
Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to Rose, because she’s real in a way that terrifies me. No performance, no script, just honesty. She sees through me, and suddenly, I don’t feel like I’m performing either.
A knock at my door startles me. Brennan’s voice filters through. “Team dinner in twenty, you coming?”
“Yeah,” I call back.
When his footsteps fade, I glance once more at my phone. No new messages. I tell myself that’s good.
Still, when I close my eyes, all I see is her with her camera in hand, rain on her hair, the soft curve of a smile meant for no one else.
And I’m not sure what scares me more; losing control on the ice, or what’s happening off it.
Because either way, I know I’m already too far gone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ROSE
The hotel window looks out over rain-slicked Glasgow streets, lights glittering like stars fallen too low. I should be asleep, big day tomorrow and all that, but my heart hasn’t slowed since the bus, since the way Cal looked at me like he was trying not to look at me.
I keep replaying our coffee date. Our conversations, the smiles we pretended were casual, the almost-touches that felt anything but.This is dangerous.I know it. But knowing doesn’t make me want it any less.
When morning comes, too early and too bright, I pull my hair into a messy braid, sling my camera over my shoulder, and meet Laura in the lobby. She’s organised and chipper, already juggling passes and schedules.
“Just stay close until you get your bearings,” she says. “Once the game starts, go where you need for shots. Just avoid the bench unless someone invites you there.”
Avoid the bench. Avoidhim.Easier said than done.
The arena is colder than I expect, even colder than Manchester, and the sound hits first: pucks slamming against boards, skates carving deep into ice, the echo of coaches barking orders. The Panthers are in warm-ups, black and teal uniforms contrasting sharply under bright stadium lights. My chest tightens when I spot him with his helmet off, hair damp, and laughing at something Brennan says.
He looks happy. Alive. As though the ice is the only place he remembers how to breathe.
I lift my camera, using the viewfinder as a shield. Through the lens, he sharpens. The effortless power in his stride, the messy curl of his hair against his temple, the fierce focus when he lines up a shot. Every frame feels intimate and as if I’m capturing something I shouldn’t.
He skates past where I’m standing near the plexiglass and flicks his gaze toward me, it’s a tiny flicker of recognition that sends heat spiralling into my stomach. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t look away either. His steely eyes hold mine just long enough to make my fingers stutter on the shutter.
Laura bumps my shoulder. “You’re doing great,” she whispers.
I’m not. I’m completely falling apart.
The game starts intense and only ramps up. Glasgow plays dirty. A shoulder check sends Cal into the boards so hard I gasp out loud. He shakes it off, jaw set, fires back twice as hard. He scores once, then again. The second goal followed by a triumphant grin thrown right in my direction. My camera trembles in my hands. God, what is he doing to me?
By the time the buzzer sounds the Panthers win by one and my heart is racing like I’ve been out there skating with them. Fans roar. Sticks slam against the ice. Cal’s teammates tackle him in celebration. He’s glowing, all flushed, sweaty, and downright beautiful.
And I’m hopeless.
Laura finds me in the crowd. “You can go down to the tunnel for a couple post-game shots if you like,” she says. “Locker room’s players only, but the corridor is great for candids.”
A warning tone hides beneath her friendliness.Keep a line. Remember the rules.I follow anyway.
