Chapter 37 #2
"I can't survive being loved one way alone and another way when people are watching anymore."
Calder visibly absorbs every word like something sacred and devastating simultaneously. No defensiveness. No instinctive retreat. Just grief and understanding existing openly across his face.
"And my career matters too. Not against us. Not in competition with hockey. Just…" I exhale slowly. "Part of me."
I'm no longer asking permission to remain fully myself while loving him.
"I don't want either of us shrinking around the other one. Not your hockey. Not my skating. Not us."
Calder stays quiet for a long moment after I finish speaking.
Not withdrawn. Thinking. Actually letting the words settle instead of reacting to them.
He looks tired tonight. Emotionally stripped open in a way the old Calder would have hated anyone witnessing for this long. Still he doesn't retreat from it.
Finally Calder exhales slowly through his nose and drags a hand once across his jaw.
"I think," he says carefully, "for a long time I treated fear like responsibility."
The honesty lands heavily between us. No excuses inside it. No attempt to soften what happened. Just truth.
"I told myself I was protecting hockey. Protecting you. Protecting us."
A humorless breath leaves him.
"Really I was just trying to control how exposed I felt all the time."
He says it without defensiveness. No resistance. No need to preserve ego inside the conversation. Just accountability.
"That night at the restaurant," he says softly, "I remember seeing cameras turn toward us and immediately feeling like I had to get control over everything before it became bigger."
Pain flashes low through my chest. Calder notices. Still he keeps going instead of retreating from the discomfort.
"And now all I can think about is that the first thing my brain reached for was distance from you instead of standing beside you."
The grief inside his voice nearly wrecks me. I can hear how deeply he understands the wound now. Not abstractly. Physically.
"I loved you the entire time," he says quietly. "I just kept acting like loving you publicly was something dangerous we had to survive instead of something good."
Calder pushes slowly away from the counter then, moving closer carefully enough that I can feel the choice inside every step. Still giving me room to stop him if I want to.
"I don't want that version of us anymore," he says.
The certainty in his voice feels steady enough to lean against. Not sharp. Not desperate. Certain.
"I don't want a relationship built around management."
His eyes stay locked on mine.
"Or one where either of us has to become smaller to keep the other comfortable."
"I don't need you smaller to love you safely anymore," he says quietly.
That one almost breaks me completely.
Calder reaches toward me slowly then. Not grabbing. Not pulling. Just his hand brushing lightly against the outside of my wrist while giving me every possible chance to step away if I need to.
I don't.
The contact settles warm and grounding against my skin.
"I'm not asking you to trust me blindly. I know rebuilding this takes time."
No frustration attached. No urgency.
"And I know I can't promise I'll never get scared again."
A small painful smile flickers briefly across his mouth.
"Honestly I'm pretty sure loving you is always going to terrify me a little."
A startled breath almost-laugh leaves me before I can stop it.
Calder's thumb strokes once lightly against my wrist.
"But fear doesn't get to decide what happens to us anymore."
The silence after Calder finishes speaking feels enormous. Not awkward. Sacred somehow. Rain still taps softly against the apartment windows while city light spills pale gold across the kitchen floor between us. Calder's hand remains warm around my wrist. Loose. Careful. Giving me room.
"You really mean that," I say quietly.
Calder's expression softens.
"Yeah."
No hesitation. No performance. Just certainty.
Something inside me gives way softly after that. Not collapse. Release. I look away briefly toward the windows just to steady myself.
Calder notices. Still he doesn't crowd me. Doesn't start trying to fix the emotion the second it becomes visible. He just waits. Open. Patient. Steady.
I look back at him slowly. He's looking at me like I'm something precious now instead of something dangerous to survive.
I move first.
The decision feels quiet and enormous simultaneously. One small step forward until almost no space exists between us at all. Calder's breath catches softly. Still he doesn't grab for me. Doesn't rush.
My hand lifts slowly toward his face before I fully think through the movement.
Calder goes completely still when my fingers brush lightly along his jaw.
Heat floods beneath my skin at the contact. I missed touching him. Not desperately. Not painfully anymore. Just honestly.
Calder closes his eyes briefly for one tiny shattered second before looking back at me. The vulnerability in that nearly breaks my heart.
"Can I kiss you?" he asks quietly.
The words land low and devastating inside my chest. Not demanding. Not pleading. Permission. Choice. The emotional difference between that and who we used to be feels enormous.
I nod once before I can overthink it.
Calder kisses me like something precious. Slow. Careful. Emotionally devastating in its gentleness. No urgency. No desperation trying to consume the moment before it disappears. Just warmth. Relief. Love.
His hands cup my face, thumbs stroking gently across my cheekbones.
The first touch feather-light, almost hesitant.
The kiss deepens softly when I move closer willingly, Calder responding without ever taking control away from me.
My hands slide into his hair while Calder holds me against him like he finally understands closeness does not need to be controlled to survive.
The kiss slows naturally. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breathing as ragged as mine.
For the first time in a very long time, being here doesn't hurt. Not in the old way.
"I love you," he says quietly.
Simple. No panic attached to it. No urgency. Just truth.
"I love you too," I whisper.
Calder's thumb strokes slowly against my waist while he studies my face.
"You know," he says softly, "Maddox is going to make this unbearable."
A startled laugh escapes me.
"There's genuinely no surviving that."
"He's already emotionally insufferable."
"Already?"
Calder grins for the first time all night. Real and warm and devastating enough that my chest physically aches around it.