CALLUM
Ican still taste her.
That’s the first thought in my head when I tear myself away from Rose outside the rink doors, adrenaline and want coursing through me so hard my legs feel unsteady. Her lips were soft and warm and everything I shouldn’t want but everything I do. And the way her hands curled into my jersey, the tiny, surprised sound she made when I leaned in… I’ll hear that in my head forever.
I nearly kissed her again. Hell, I nearly dragged her back into that shadowed alcove and forgot the world existed. She looked up at me, eyes wide and shining, and the way she said my name, like she was afraid of what it meant, nearly did me in. I pulled away because I had to, not because I wanted to. If I stayed another second, I would have thrown every line I’m supposed to respect straight into the fire.
I push through the doors into the locker room, air thick with the sour-sweat smell of exhausted players and cut ice. The noise hits immediately; laughter, shouts, gear clattering. I should be part of it. I should be riding the high of a solid win. But all I feel is raw, like someone took sandpaper to every nerve and then poured gasoline over them.
The boys are already half out of their kit. Brennan catches sight of me first, eyebrows hiking up like he’s waiting for a show. Ryan’s grin is the kind that says he knows something Idon’t want him to know. Lukas, lacing his skates with all the hyper-focus of a rookie terrified of mis-stepping, glances up long enough to look concerned? Pitying? Christ, that’s worse.
“You look like you lost, not won,” Brennan says, slapping his stick against the bench as I drop into my seat. “Someone steal your favourite tape?”
I force a smirk. “Just tired.”
“Tired?” Ryan scoffs, stepping out of his pads. “You’ve been skating like you’ve got a death wish for weeks. Tonight was the first time you looked like yourself, and that was after she showed up.”
I freeze. They all notice.
“Who?” Brennan asks, and Ryan whistles low.
“Oh, that’s interesting. Fraser’s got secrets.”
Lukas doesn’t join in. He just studies me with this discreet, observant look, as though he’s cataloguing my tells. The kid sees too much. He’s going to be trouble.
“Drop it,” I mutter, yanking at my jersey. It sticks, because of course it does. Everything tonight is sticking. My skin. My thoughts. Her.
Brennan doesn’t drop it. He drops down beside me, shoulder knocking mine with captain-intentional force.
“Mate,” he says, voice low enough the others can’t hear but sharp enough to cut skin. “Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, get it sorted. Because if you’re spiralling? The whole team goes down with you.”
I can’t look at him. I know he’s right. I also know that I don’t give a single shit right now, not when my heart’s still racing from the way Rose looked up at me like I could ruin her with a whisper.
The coaches herd us through showers, debrief, and post-game checks. I nod where I’m meant to nod. I make the right noises. But my focus is locked on every glimpse of her throughthe open doorway when staff pass by. The camera bag slung over her shoulder. Her hair damp from the rain. The way she bites her lip when she’s thinking.
When we finally pile out to the bus, she’s there, already seated with the media team. Three rows ahead. A seat between her and Laura. Good. Too good. My hands itch to take the empty seat next to her, but Ryan drops down beside me like a prison guard.
My thigh bounces uncontrollably. Every time she laughs quietly at something Laura says, my stomach flips. Every time she reaches up to adjust her hair, I remember my fingers buried there.
I stare out the window hoping it’ll save me. It doesn’t. All I see in the blurred reflection is her mouth.
The ride back to the hotel feels endless. The bus is filled with the usual noise and Lukas getting grilled on how Canadians survive without proper tea, but none of it touches me. I’m trapped in my own head, replaying every second.
When we unload, Rose moves quickly toward the entrance, head ducked against the drizzle. I lag behind on purpose, because if I’m too close I’ll screw up and kiss her again right there in front of everyone.
But luck, or fate, or some cosmic bastard, lines up our paths. We reach the lift at the same time. There are too many players for the first group. I should wait. Give her space. Be decent.
I step in with her anyway.
The doors close. We’re at the back. Everyone’s talking, laughing. But we’re silent. And there’s barely a foot of air between us.
“You okay?” she whispers, eyes flicking over my face. She’s trying to read what’s wrong.
“I’m good,” I lie, pulse hammering. “You?”
Her smile is tiny but genuine. “Still… kind of buzzing.”
My breath leaves me in a rush. “Yeah. Me too.”
