CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ROSE
The knock on my door comes at eight in the morning, sharp and sure. Nobody in this building knocks that hard. Most of my neighbours barely knock at all, but the second I hear it, my stomach flips. Callum. It’s ridiculous how quickly I’m on my feet, tugging my oversized hoodie straight and running a hand through my hair. I open the door, and there he is, filling the frame like the universe finally remembered to give me something good.
He looks annoyingly handsome for someone who’s been awake only a short while. He’s wearing his training gear; black joggers and a navy hoodie, his hair is still damp from the shower, and he’s holding a takeout coffee cup in each hand. His eyes soften the second he sees me. “Morning, freckles.” The smile he’s sporting is mesmerising, and the dimples in his cheeks do something very strange to my insides.
My chest warms traitorously. “You’re here early.”
“I wanted to see you before practice.” He glances past me into the hallway, taking in the peeling paint and flickering lightbulb, and the faint scent of someone cooking questionable eggs. Student living is just the best. Not. His jaw tightens, but not in a judgmental way. More concerned. Protective. The kind of protective that should bother me but somehow doesn’t.
“Also,” he adds, lifting the coffee slightly in offering, “you left your charger in my flat. So technically I’m returning lost property.”
“You absolutely did not need to drive across the city at eight a.m. to return a charger.”
“Maybe,” he says, stepping inside when I move back. “But I wanted to.” He leans down and kisses me gently. “Morning, by the way.”
I reach up on tiptoes and kiss him again, because I can. “Morning,”
The flat feels smaller with him in it, but in a good way. His presence fills the space and makes the walls feel less thin. He even makes the pile of textbooks and cheap furniture matter a little less. He watches me sip my coffee, eyes warm, and something inside me loosens.
“I can take you to uni,” he says simply. “I’ve got to be at the rink by nine-thirty. It’s on the way.”
“It’s not,” I point out, smiling. “This building is out of the way for literally everyone.”
He shrugs. “Then I’ll go out of my way.”
It shouldn’t hit me the way it does. I grab my bag while he waits by the door, hands in his pockets, shoulders filling out his hoodie in a way that’s very distracting at this hour. When I return, he’s looking at his phone, scrolling through his hockey fan sites and all the social media tags. His eyebrows lift slightly. “She posted again.”
Heat rushes to my face. “I haven’t looked. I didn’t want you to think I was stalking her or anything stupid like that…”
“Hey.” He steps closer, gently turning my face toward him with one knuckle under my chin. “I’m not mad. I just… wish you hadn’t seen it before I did.”
“It’s fine,” I lie.
He gives me one of those looks that is steady, perceptive, and annoyingly accurate. “No, it’s not. And for the record, I don’t want you dealing with her mess alone.”
I swallow hard. “It’s just shade. Nothing direct.”
He huffs, frustrated. “Subtle shade is still shade when it’s intentional.”
“Callum…”
“I know,” he cuts in, voice softening. “I’m not here to make it worse. I just want to be clear about something.”
“What?”
His fingers slide to my jaw, warm and certain, before his hand moves and settles on the back of my neck. His fingers tangle in my hair as he angles my face towards him. “You’re the one I want. Not her. Not anymore. I don’t care what she posts, or what people say, or how messy it looks from the outside. I’m with you. You’re mine, Rose. And I’m yours. That’s not changing.”
The words hit like heat and gravity at once, pulling me toward him, before I realise I’m moving. He kisses me gently again, as if he’s trying not to push, and he’s giving me space to breathe. But the moment his mouth brushes mine, everything becomes electric.
I breathe against his lips, “You’d better take me to uni before I climb you like a tree.”
He laughs, low and warm. “That’s a threat I’m willing to risk.”
The car ride is gentle in that way early mornings sometimes are. A little sleepy, a little fragile. His hand finds mine over the centre console, his thumb brushing the inside of my wrist like he’s memorising the rhythm of my pulse. We don’t talk much, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels like understanding and so much more.
When he pulls up outside campus, he puts the car in park but doesn’t let go of my hand. “I’ll pick you up after practice,” he says, as though it’s already decided.
