She nods, eyes bright. “Always.”
The lads whistle and mutter behind us as we walk out, but I don’t look back. When we hit the corridor, she brushes her fingers against mine, it’s a barely-there touch that ruins me completely, and I take her hand properly. She smiles, its soft but there. I’m not looking over my shoulder anymore. I’m not doubting or apologising for wanting something good. If Talia tries again, she’ll learn fast. I don’t let go of what matters. I don’t let go ofher.
Not now. Not ever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ROSE
The car is quiet as Callum’s hand rests on the gear stick, the veins on his forearm catching the faint orange light from the dashboard. His jaw is tight, unreadable. The wipers squeak against the glass as rain taps a steady rhythm on the windshield.
I glance at him, then back out at the blurred city lights. “I saw her leaving,” I say softly. “Talia.”
His hand tightens slightly. “Yeah?”
“She looked… furious.”
“She was.” His tone is flat, but his eyes flick to me, softening for a moment before returning to the road. “It’s done now. It needed to be. She left knowing the truth.”
I want to ask what she said. But the exhaustion in his shoulders tells me not to. Instead, I reach across the console and let my fingers rest over his. It’s small but he exhales as if he’s been holding his breath for an hour. He flips his hand, linking our fingers together, palm to palm.
We don’t speak again until he pulls into a space outside my building. It’s embarrassing. Cheap student flats stacked like cardboard boxes, one flickering security light, and a door that always jams unless you kick it twice. His fancy SUV looks like it’s made a wrong turn.
I can feel his frown before he even says anything. “This is where you live?”
“Temporarily.” I try to sound casual, but it comes out defensive. “It’s not that bad.”
He cuts the engine and turns toward me, one arm resting along the back of my seat. “Rose, the paint’s peeling off the windows.”
“Adds character,” I shrug on a smile.
“The kind of character that breeds mould.”
I roll my eyes, but my heart flips at how concerned he sounds. “Not all of us live in team housing, Prince Charming.”
“Correction,” he says, lips twitching. “Temporary team housing. It’s basically a glorified hotel room with a better fridge.” He grins, the tension finally cracking, and something warm settles in my chest. “Come back with me.”
My pulse skips. “To your flat?”
He nods, unbothered. “It’s closer than this, and I’m not leaving you here alone in this… haunted shoebox.”
“It’s not haunted.”
He gestures at the flickering light outside. “It’s auditioning to be.”
I try to keep my face stern, but laughter escapes. “You’re impossible.”
“Persistent,” he corrects, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch lingers. “Please. Just tonight.”
It’s the “please” that gets me. Not the protective tone, not even the grin, just the sincerity beneath it. “Okay,” I whisper. “But I’ll need to run inside and grab some things.”
“Okay, you need me to come with you?” he asks, still weighing up the possibility of ghosts hiding inside.
“Nah. I’ll be two minutes.” Actually, it takes me almost ten minutes to grab a few things and shove them into an overnight bag. But when I reappear his smile is small but real, and he pulls away from the curb, heading back toward his temporary flat near the training complex.
The warmth hits as soon as we step inside. It still smells faintly of his morning coffee and aftershave. A few things have changed since last time I was here, one of his is hoodies is draped over the sofa, and a new coffee mug sits on the counter, but it’s still neat and methodical.
He glances over his shoulder as I slip my boots off. “You know the drill, kick off your shoes, ignore the hockey gear, and pretend I’m a functioning adult.”
