The jealousy roared up so fast it choked me. I surged to my feet, the room spinning, whiskey sloshing over my hand.
"You're back with him now? That what this is? PR move? Safe choice? Let the NHL pretty boy claim you for the cameras while I'm standing there like some washed-up piece of shit who?—"
"I'm trying to protect you."
The words hit like a slap. I went still.
"What?"
"It's clear you and Nate have issues." Her voice cracked, just slightly. "I don't know what he has on you, what leverage, what—" She stopped. Breathed. "You're good for the team. And honestly? The team is good foryou."
I sank back onto the couch. The bottle dangled from my fingers, forgotten.
"Billie—"
"You think I wanted that?" Her voice rose, sharp and wounded. "You think I wanted his hands on me in front of everyone? To smile for those cameras like I'm some prop in his redemption story after what he did to me?"
"Then why?—"
"Because you said this couldn't happen again." The break in her voice was louder now, unmistakable. "You said we were done. You said it was a mistake. So I made sure it wouldn't happen again."
My throat closed. The words I wanted to say died somewhere between my chest and my mouth.
"You needed this job," she continued, quieter now. Raw. "You needed to prove you could stay clean, stay professional, not screw everything up. And I—" Another breath, shaky and small. "I wasn't going to be the reason you lost that."
"So you let him use you."
"I made a choice." Steel returned to her voice, hard and bright. "Don't you dare make me the victim in this."
"You think protecting me is worth destroying yourself?"
"I think one of us has to be smart." A bitter laugh. "And it sure as hell wasn't going to be you."
That cut deeper than anything. Because she was right. Because I'd kissed her in that locker room knowing exactly what it would cost, and I'd done it, anyway. Selfish. Reckless. Everything I'd sworn I wouldn't be.
"Billie—"
"Don't." Her voice broke completely. "Don't make this harder than it already is."
"I never wanted?—"
"Yes, you did. We both did. But we don't get to have what we want." She exhaled, long and shuddering. "Not when it ruins everything."
The line went quiet. Not dead—I could still hear her breathing, shallow and uneven, like she was fighting tears she wouldn't let fall.
"You still there?" I whispered.
"Yeah."
"Don't go back to him."
Silence stretched between us, heavy and aching.
Then she spoke, so soft I almost missed it.
"Goodbye, Calder."
The line went dead.
