“It’s subtle on purpose,” he says. “It’s designed to get under your skin without making her look unhinged. Classic PR-maintained toxicity.”
I blink. “That’s incredibly specific.”
He huffs. “I dated her for two years. Believe me, I recognise the pattern.”
My throat tightens. “I don’t want to be in the middle of this. I don’t want to be the reason for any bad press or be accused of breaking up hockey’s golden couple.”
“You won’t be.” He turns fully in his seat, his knee brushing mine, his voice steady and sure. “I’m handling it. I’m speaking to Laura in PR tomorrow. And to the coaches. I’m shutting this down. And as far as being the ‘golden couple’goes, that’s just media bullshit. It is not a true representation of my life over the last two years.”
I inhale slowly. “What if she gets worse?”
“Then she gets exposed,” he says simply. “But you? You don’t get touched by this. I won’t let her pull you into her mess.”
It’s protective. It’s fierce. But it’s also incredibly comforting. I feel myself lean toward him without meaning to. His hand comes up to cradle my jaw, thumb brushing my cheekbone.
“You okay?” he whispers.
I nod. “Now I am.”
He kisses me then, with a sort of intensity that feels like a vow. When he pulls back, breathing a little harder, he presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. “You’re not a second choice,” he says. “You’rethechoice. My choice.”
My breath stutters. “Callum…”
“I’m all in, Rose. I’m not going anywhere.”
The words settle through me, heavy and warm, and terrifying and perfect.
We drive in comfortable silence until he asks, almost shyly, “Stay with me tonight?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Yeah. I will.”
His fingers lace with mine on the drive home, and even though the storm is building outside the car, I feel like I’m somewhere safe.
Somewhere chosen. Somewhere he is.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CALLUM
Iknow I shouldn’t be refreshing my phone before I’ve even stepped out of my car, but the notification banners are everywhere. Talia’s posts. Again. Same game, new angle. More comments, more speculation, more people tagging Rose, like they’ve sniffed out blood in the water and want to see how deep it runs. My stomach feels tight, that familiar twist of dread that hasn’t let up since all this started. It’s not just the drama, it’s the sickening worry that any of this could push Rose away. Or worse, that something else will. Something she doesn’t know. Something she can’t know yet.
Walking into the rink feels like crossing into a storm. The air’s colder, sharper, and even though the lads yell out greetings, something sits wrong under it all. Eyes flick toward me, conversations pause, and I can feel the weight of it; they’ve all seen the posts.
Lukas is the first to get to me. Of course it’s him. He’s got that look on his face. The one that says he’s already laughing at me before I’ve opened my mouth.
“Morning, lover boy,” he drawls, skating past while I’m still tying my laces. “You might want to check the Panthers’ fan pages. Talia’s having a meltdown. Again.”
I glare up at him. “I already did.”
Ryan skates over next, snorting. “Mate, I told you she’d lose it when you started bringing Rose around. This is tame compared to what she’s capable of.”
I don’t want to hear it. My jaw tightens, and I shove my helmet on harder than necessary. “Drop it.”
But they don’t. It’s in the way Lukas bumps my shoulder a little too deliberately in drills. Ryan keeps glancing at me as though he’s waiting for a fuse to hit flame. Half the team skates past and throws me that sideways sympathy look that makes me want to break something. Coach sees it too. He doesn’t say a word but he watches me carefully the way he always does when I’m holding tension in my body. He knows how fast that can go wrong on the ice. He’s seen me spiral before.
We run through line rushes, then tighter passing sequences, then battle drills. Every shove feels sharper today. My stick feels welded to my hands; I’m gripping it too tight. I can’t stop replaying last night over and over in my head. Rose’s hands in my hair, her voice given over to me, her body pulling me deeper. And under that, the thing I hate thinking about: the crash. The split second of skidding tyres, the noise, me driving off without stopping to check everyone was okay because I panicked, and Talia screamed at me to go. No. Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t know that part. She doesn’t need to know. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Head up, Cal!” Lukas snaps as he cuts across my lane. “You’re in your own damn world.”
