Collide

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

CALLUM

The boards rattle like gunfire as I slam an elbow into a Barons winger trying to dig the puck out of the corner. The bastard’s been chirping all night, and I’m done being polite.

“Shift change!” Coach bellows from the bench, but the adrenaline’s already roaring. I flick the puck free, send it up the ice, and only then let myself peel off. The crowd noise swells. Half boos, half cheers. Normal for Barons fans.

My lungs burn as I skate to the bench, dropping into my seat and tugging at my gloves. Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging. The scoreboard glares back:

Panthers 3 – Barons 2.

Two minutes left in the third. I should feel good about that, but all I can think about is the penalty I took earlier. It was dumb and selfish, two minutes for roughing that almost cost us the lead. Coach hasn’t said a word since, but I can feel the disappointment radiating off him.

When the buzzer finally sounds, it’s like a body slam. It’s a win on paper, but feels hollow in my chest.

The boys crowd the bench, sticks tapping the boards, slapping shoulders, swearing and grinning. I join in, because that’s what you do, but inside, I’m wound tight enough to snap.

I need air. I need out.

The locker room reeks of sweat and victory that doesn’t quite feel earned.

Someone’s blasting Stormzy from the speaker.

Ryan’s tossing tape balls at the rookies.

Finn’s still half in his gear, chirping everyone about his assist. Me?

I’m sitting in front of my stall, staring at the blade of my stick as if it holds all the answers.

“Cal, mate, lighten up.” Ryan tosses me a grin. “We bloody won. You look like someone nicked your last rolo.”

I grunt something that could pass for a laugh, but my heads already elsewhere.

“Talia’s in the car,” I mutter, peeling off my jersey. “Wants to get going.”

“Ah, right.” His grin fades, just a little. “That one’s… high-maintenance, eh?”

“Yeah.” I don’t deny it. “She’s…”

“Hot,” Ryan says. “And terrifying.”

“Both are accurate.”

I grab my bag, avoiding the knowing looks from the lads.

They’ve seen her around. Perfect hair and smile, phone always out.

“The hockey girlfriend,” Talia calls it.

Always filming and posing. Always making sure people know she’s with Callum Fraser of the Manchester Panthers.

And yeah, she’s gorgeous. She knows how to make a man feel like the centre of the room. Until she doesn’t.

By the time I climb into the driver’s seat, she’s already mid-rant.

“Took you long enough.” She flips down the visor, checking her reflection. Her lipstick’s immaculate. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting?”

“Had to talk to Coach,” I say, starting the engine.

She gives a delicate snort. “You’re always talking to someone. Coach, press, your bloody teammates. I swear, I date a ghost half the time.”

I grip the wheel tighter. “You knew what the job was.”

She sighs, tossing her phone into her lap. “I know. I just,” She glances over, softening the edges. “I just wanted to celebrate with you, yeah? We won.”

That we grates on me, but I don’t say anything. I shift into first and ease out of the car park.

The roads are slick, February drizzle turning to mist. Manchester’s streetlights smear gold across the windscreen.

“Can you believe they didn’t put me on camera during the game?” Talia says, scrolling through her phone again. “I was literally right behind the bench.”

I hum noncommittally, keeping my eyes on the road.

She keeps talking about hashtags, follower counts, some brand wanting to send her free skincare.

I nod when I’m supposed to. My head’s still back in the rink, replaying that penalty.

I can hear Coach’s voice in my skull, stupid and reckless, you can’t keep doing this.

I flick the wipers on higher. The rain’s thickening, hammering against the glass.

Talia’s hand slides onto my thigh. “Don’t be grumpy, Cal.” Her tone shifts to something more sultry. “You were hot tonight. That fight in the first? My followers went mental.”

My jaw tightens. “Not why I did it.”

“Maybe not, but it worked.” Her nails trace circles against my leg, its irritating the shit out of me. “You were trending.”

I shoot her a look but she’s smiling at her reflection in the window.

We hit the A57, dark and mostly empty. The rain hasn’t let up, in fact, it’s hammering it down now. My stomach’s twisting with leftover adrenaline and exhaustion, with an edge of something worse.

“Pull over,” she says suddenly.

“What?”

“I need to film a story. This light’s perfect.”

“You can’t be serious.”

She pouts. “Two seconds. Come on.”

I’m about to argue when the traffic light ahead flips from green to amber. Without thinking, I hit the accelerator.

“Cal…”

The red flashes. I shoot through. Behind us, there’s a screech of tyres. Then the unmistakable, heart-stopping sound of metal crunching against metal. I look in the mirror just in time to see two cars collide, spinning sideways, glass spraying across the tarmac.

“Holy shit,” Talia breathes.

My chest goes cold. “Jesus—”

“Keep driving.” Her voice is sharp now, panicked.

“What?”

“Keep driving, Cal!”

“I need to stop.”

“You can’t!” She grabs my arm. “You’ll ruin your career. They’ll blame you. You ran the light!”

“I didn’t.” The words rasp out. “Did I?”

“Doesn’t matter! If you stop now, they’ll know. The cameras, your sponsors, everyone. Think about what how this looks!”

My hands are shaking. The rearview mirror is filled with flashing hazard lights and mayhem.

And I keep driving. The silence after is deafening.

The rain, the tyres on wet road, her shallow breathing beside me.

My heart’s thudding as though I’m still on the ice.

I can’t see straight. Every instinct screams turn around, but my foot stays heavy on the accelerator.

Talia’s already on her phone, refreshing feeds. “Nothing yet,” she mutters. “It’ll be fine. Accidents happen all the time.”

I can’t speak. If I open my mouth, I might throw up.

She glances at me. “Cal. Look at me. You didn’t hit anyone. You just… didn’t stop. It’s not the same.”

I swallow hard. “Doesn’t feel different.”

“Then you need to make it feel different,” she says, her tone sharp again. “Sleep. Forget it happened. Focus on the next game.”

I don’t sleep. Not that night.

The screen on my laptop blurs with headlines and blurbs about the collision. My stomach twists with every story. Then I see it:

“Local Woman Injured in Deansgate Collision: Hockey Fan Recovering in Hospital”

Rose Bennett. Twenty-two. Photography student. Works retail part-time. And, according to one article, she’d been on her way to her shift after leaving a hockey game that night. My stomach drops.

I can’t stop thinking about her; her life, her independence, and being caught in the wreck that wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Cal?” Talia’s voice drifts from the sofa. She’s scrolling through her phone, probably live-streaming some disaster-clickbait content. “You’ve been glued to that screen for hours. Chill.”

“I can’t,” I mutter. “Someone got hurt. She got hurt.”

Talia looks at me, unimpressed. “It’s just—”

“No,” I cut her off, my voice sharp. “She’s a hockey fan. She’d been at the game. I caused the crash. I saw the mess behind me. I can’t just do nothing.”

I know I can’t.

The next morning, I find myself outside the hospital, my nerves on edge.

I tell the receptionist I work for the hockey team she’d been attending, that I was at the game too, and that I happened to drive past the accident.

I phrase it carefully, leave out the part that makes me the reason for it.

“I just want to check she’s okay. She’s a fan of the team. ”

The receptionist hesitates, then nods. “I’m not supposed to give out information on patients but… Room 212. But she’s resting. Please, don’t get her wound up. And don’t tell anyone I gave you the room number.”

I take the elevator up to the second floor, my heart pounding. I pause outside her door, listening. Inside, she’s sitting up in bed, camera in her hands, reviewing photos from the previous day. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun, glasses slipping down her nose. Focused, determined, unaware of me.

“Um… Rose?” I ask.

She glances up, startled, then frowns. “Do I… know you?”

“I… I was at the game last night,” I say quickly, hoping my explanation is enough. “I drove past the accident on Deansgate and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Her eyes narrow, assessing me. “And you’re… a hockey fan too?”

I nod, cautiously. “Kind of. Manchester Panthers. I…play for them. Cal… Callum Fraser.” I swallow, aware of the weight those words carry. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She studies me, still wary, but not hostile. “Fair enough,” she says finally. “Most normal people don’t check on strangers.”

I let out a breath. “I guess I’m not most people.”

A pause stretches between us, awkward but charged. Then she gestures to the empty chair by the bed. “Sit. If you’re going to hover awkwardly by the door.”

I do, aware of every heartbeat and every flicker of guilt and adrenaline. And as I settle beside her, I realise this isn’t going to be simple. Redemption rarely is. But there’s something about Rose and her resilience that makes me want to try anyway.