At uni, the world feels louder, sharper. I catch snippets of conversation that might not even be about me, but my chest tightens anyway. Every laugh sounds as if it could be at myexpense. I keep my head down, counting steps, just trying to get through the day without shattering completely. When my phone buzzes in my bag I ignore it.
By the time I get home that evening, I’m hollowed out, scraped raw. I kick off my shoes and lean back against the door, staring at the ceiling as the reality settles in with a kind of finality. I don’t belong in his world. No matter how much he made me feel like I did. The thought hurts so badly I have to slide down until I’m sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest. Tears spill again, slower this time, heavier. This time it’s grief instead of shock.
I whisper his name once, softly, like a confession I never got to make. Then I press my forehead to my knees and let myself mourn the future I thought we were building. The one where I wasn’t a placeholder, or a mistake, or a girl he’d eventually realise he’d outgrown.
Somewhere, deep down, a small part of me wonders if I’m wrong. If there’s more to this than what I saw. But heartbreak is louder than hope right now. And all I can feel is the echo of his absence, ringing through me as though something vital has been ripped away, leaving nothing but pain in its wake.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CALLUM
Morning comes like a punishment.
I wake up already braced for impact, my heart hammering before my eyes even open, like my body knows what’s waiting for me before my brain catches up. The ceiling above my bed swims into focus, grey and unfamiliar, and then it hits me all at once.
Rose walked away after she saw Talia leaving. She didn’t come inside and she sure as hell didn’t give me a chance to explain. I roll onto my side and grab my phone from the bedside table, thumb already hovering over her name even though I know what I’m going to see.
No new messages.
No missed calls.
Nothing.
My chest tightens painfully and I know I have to I try again anyway. I debate whether I should get up and drive over there or phone her. Checking the time again, I realise I’ll be late to training if I drive to Rose’s flat first, it’s in the opposite direction to the rink. If I’m late today Coach will have my balls hung up to dry. Playoff week is not the time to piss him off.
My thumb hits the dial button and I lift my phone to my ear, preying Rose will take pity on me and answer, if only to tell me to fuck off and she never wants to see me again.
It rings. Once. Twice. Then straight to voicemail.
“Rose,” I say when it beeps, my voice rough. “Please. I need to talk to you. I swear to you, nothing happened. She came here to threaten me. That’s it. I should’ve followed you straight away and I didn’t, and that’s on me, but I didn’t cheat on you. I would never—” My throat closes around the words. “I love you,” I finish hoarsely. “Please call me back.”
I hang up and drop the phone onto the mattress as though it’s burned me. The silence that follows is brutal. It presses in from all sides, thick and suffocating, filled with everything I should’ve done differently. I sit up and rake a hand through my hair, elbows braced on my knees. The image of Rose standing across the street won’t leave me alone. The way she didn’t hesitate before turning away. The way she didn’t look back. She thinks I chose Talia. The thought makes me feel physically sick.
I drag myself into the shower, letting the water run scalding hot over my skin, hoping it might burn the guilt out of me. It doesn’t help. Nothing does. Every second leaves room for my mind to spiral—to imagine Rose alone in her flat, replaying what she saw, convincing herself that every insecurity she’s been carrying was right all along.
By the time I’m dressed and out the door, my phone is still silent.
Playoffs week doesn’t care that my life is imploding.
The rink is already buzzing when I arrive. Media vans outside. Fans clustered by the entrance hoping for a glimpse of the players. Inside, the air hums with tension and adrenaline, that familiar edge that comes when everything you’ve worked for all season narrows down to a handful of games.
Normally, this is where my head is sharpest. Where I’m focused and locked in. Today, I feel like I’m skating through fog.
Lukas catches me before I even reach the locker room. One look at my face and his expression hardens. I called him lastnight and told him about Rose walking away. It was his idea to let her calm down a little and not go after her.
“She hasn’t answered you,” he says. Not a question.
I shake my head once.
“She thinks you cheated,” he continues bluntly.
I flinch. “I didn’t.”
“I know,” he says. “But she doesn’t. And that’s the problem.”
I scrub my hands over my face. “I fucked this up.”
“You didn’t cheat,” Lukas says evenly. “But you did lie. And you’re still lying.”
