Chapter 20
Careful
Privately, Calder is still Calder.
He still kisses me breathless the second my apartment door closes. Still reaches for my waist automatically while I make coffee. Still falls asleep with one arm wrapped tightly around me like distance physically annoys him. That part remains terrifyingly unchanged.
It's only in public where things start feeling different. Subtle at first. Small enough that I almost convince myself I imagined it until the pattern keeps repeating.
We walk into the rink together three days after Nationals.
Normally Calder's hand would settle automatically against the small of my back while we move through the doors.
Today it almost does. I feel the hesitation before I see it.
His fingers brush briefly against the fabric of my hoodie, then disappear again before the touch fully lands.
The tiny movement hits strangely hard inside my chest.
Not because I need public affection. Because Calder never used to think before touching me. Now he does.
It follows me through the entire morning.
Calder keeping slightly more distance between us whenever staff move through the rink.
Calder dropping eye contact first when somebody passes too close.
Calder visibly catching himself before instinctive touches fully happen.
Like visibility quietly rewrote the rules between us without either of us actually discussing it.
At one point I nearly lose balance coming out of a spin. Normally Calder would react instantly. Reach first, think later. This time his body starts to move toward me before he visibly stops himself halfway through.
That hurts more than it should.
Because the instinct is still there.
He's just fighting it now.
Confusion settles heavily beneath my ribs. Because last night Calder had me pinned against my kitchen counter kissing me like he forgot how breathing worked. This morning he barely lets his shoulder brush mine in front of other people. The emotional whiplash leaves me strangely off-balance.
And once I notice it, I can't stop noticing it.
Calder stopping himself before touching my thigh while we sit beside each other. Calder pulling his hand away too quickly when reporters walk past the café. Calder watching cameras now. Always watching them. Like part of his brain stays permanently aware of who might be looking at us.
The tension only exists in public.
That's the part I can't stop thinking about.
Because the second we're alone again later, everything changes.
Calder crowds me against the elevator wall before the doors even fully close, one hand firm against my waist, mouth against mine, breathing rough like he's been holding himself back all day. The intensity of it nearly steals the air from my lungs.
The second Calder closes my apartment door behind him, the tension from the rink disappears completely.
His bag barely hits the floor before his hands are on me again.
Warm palms against my waist. Mouth against mine.
Breathing already rough enough that the force of the kiss knocks me backward a step.
Not aggressive.
Desperate almost.
Like he spent the entire day forcing himself not to reach for me.
I exhale softly against his mouth. Calder makes a low rough sound in response, and something unknots in my chest. That version of him. The one that looks overwhelmed every time we're alone together. The one that touches me constantly without thinking first. That part never disappeared.
Calder pulls back just far enough to breathe. I feel the pull to close the distance first. To reach up, pull him back in, smooth this over the way I always do. My hands stay where they are. I wait. It costs something, that waiting — small and quiet and entirely invisible to him — but I feel it.
His forehead presses briefly against mine. "You have any idea how distracting you are?" he mutters.
I laugh softly. "You ignored me for half of practice."
Calder's eyes close briefly like the comment physically pains him. "Exactly."
Something eases through me at that. Because suddenly I can feel how hard he's trying.
How exhausting the restraint probably feels for him.
Calder kisses me again before I can think too hard about it, slower this time, still intense but softer underneath, emotion threaded through every touch.
His thumb brushes absently along my jaw while he walks me backward toward the couch, touching me somewhere different every few seconds.
Waist. Hair. Shoulder. Thigh. Like his body keeps unconsciously checking I'm still here.
Calder stretches out beside me on the couch, one arm dragging me automatically against his chest, completely relaxed now, all the tension from earlier gone. He presses a distracted kiss against the top of my head while reaching for the remote.
Domestic.
Comfortable.
I tilt my head slightly so I can look up at him. Calder notices, and his entire expression softens in that way that still completely undoes me. Like being close to me physically lowers the pressure inside him somehow.
But once I notice the shift, I can't stop noticing it. Not because Calder becomes cold. He doesn't, and honestly that would almost be easier. Instead he keeps splitting himself in half depending on who might be watching.
At practice the next morning, Calder barely touches me.
Not obviously. Not enough that anybody else would notice.
But I notice. I notice the extra space he leaves between us whenever rink staff walk past. I notice him stepping back automatically when somebody lifts a phone nearby.
I notice the hesitation every single time instinct almost wins.
Because instinct still exists. That's the part that keeps getting to me.
I see it happen constantly. His hand twitching toward my waist before he stops himself.
His attention locking onto me automatically across the rink.
The way his entire body still angles toward mine unconsciously before restraint crashes back down over him again.
Controlled. Careful. Like affection became something dangerous to manage instead of something natural.
I've started waiting for things. A touch. A look. The version of Calder that only seems to exist fully behind closed doors now.
Coffee after practice two days later. The café is quiet enough that we get a table near the window without waiting.
I take the seat facing inward without thinking about it — away from the glass, away from anyone walking past outside who might look in.
Then I realize what I've done. I've given Calder the seat with the better sightline to the street, and I've put myself with my back to it, and I didn't decide to do that. It just happened.
I sit down anyway. Say nothing about it.
Outside, a group of people walks past with phones already out, and Calder shifts slightly away from me on instinct.
Tiny movement. Still enough that my stomach tightens.
Then they disappear down the street. Less than thirty seconds later his hand settles automatically against my knee again, warm and familiar like it never left.
I let him. I don't move toward him or away. I just let his hand sit there, warm and easy, and I look out the window I've deliberately faced away from, and I think: this is fine. This is still fine.
Calder still comes home with me almost every night. Still kisses me like he's starving for it. Still sleeps curled around me like his body refuses to settle properly otherwise. Nothing important has technically changed.
Except somehow it has.
And somehow that uncertainty hurts in a way I wasn't prepared for.
It happens three nights later.
Late. Quiet. The kind of soft exhaustion that usually ends with Calder wrapped around me while we talk about nothing important.
We order takeout after practice, watch half a terrible reality show, spend most of the night touching each other absentmindedly without fully noticing it.
Calder's hand stays against my thigh while I steal fries from his plate.
He kisses the side of my neck while walking past the couch.
I end up half-curled against his chest sometime during the second episode. Every part of it feels warm. Easy.
Until suddenly it doesn't anymore.
Not because something changes.
Because Calder looks at me. Really looks at me. And something inside the room shifts.
The conversation fades first. Then the space between us. Calder's hand slides slowly up my arm while his eyes stay locked on mine. Heat curls low through my stomach. That look again. Like Calder wants me strongly enough to scare himself a little.
I lean forward first this time. Calder exhales sharply the second my mouth touches his.
Then everything escalates. His hand tightening against my waist. My legs sliding automatically across his lap.
His mouth turning rougher against mine within seconds.
The intensity hits fast enough to leave me dizzy.
Not rushed.
Overwhelming.
Like he spent days holding himself too tightly together and finally stopped trying.
He kisses me deeper. One hand in my hair.
The other gripping my hip hard enough to keep me close.
I can feel the emotional loss of control in every movement.
Not confidence. Need. Calder looks wrecked every time we do this now.
Like closeness with me keeps reaching somewhere deeper than he knows how to protect anymore.
I push my fingers into his hair. Calder makes a rough sound against my mouth that vibrates through my sternum. Then his forehead presses briefly against mine. Breathing hard. Eyes closed.
"Arabella," he says quietly.
The way he says my name nearly destroys me. Wanting. Overwhelmed enough that it sounds pulled out of him instead of spoken.