Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CALLUM
The bus smells of coffee and too much aftershave. Morning light catches the frost on the windows as the team loads up outside the rink. I toss my duffel into the storage compartment and pull my hood tighter against the cold, trying not to think about the last message she sent.
Can’t believe I get to come. Thank you again, Cal. Two sentences. Harmless on their own. But they’ve been echoing in my skull since last night.
Brennan claps me on the back as he passes, his grin already too awake for this hour. “You look rough, mate. Late night?”
“Didn’t sleep much,” I mutter.
“Let me guess, too busy texting the photographer?” Ryan chimes in, smirking as he hoists his stick bag into the hold.
I roll my eyes. “You lot don’t miss a thing, do you?”
“Not when you’re staring at your phone as if it’s a love letter.” Brennan winks.
“Drop it.”
He laughs, holding up his hands. “Hey, we’re just happy for you. Or terrified. Depends how Talia takes it.”
That name hits harder than I expect. I shove it aside and climb onto the bus.
The air inside is warm, thick with chatter and the rustle of snack bags.
Lukas sits a few rows back, earbuds in, scrolling through something on his phone.
He’s still new, still half polite, almost too confident.
Typical Canadian transfer. Talented, good-looking, doesn’t yet realise the hierarchy he’s walked into.
“Morning, Cap,” he says, nodding as I pass.
“Don’t call me that. I’m not captain.”
He grins. “Yeah, but you play like one.”
I snort. “Play like an idiot lately.”
I take a window seat near the middle, dump my backpack beside me, and stretch my legs into the aisle. The hum of voices rises as the others file in. Then a low ripple moves through the bus as Laura from PR steps on, clipboard in hand, followed by Rose.
My pulse stumbles. She’s in jeans and a soft grey jumper with her camera strap looped around her neck.
Her hair’s damp from the rain, curling at the ends, and she’s biting her lip as she scans the rows.
She doesn’t look at me right away, but when she does, just for a second, it’s enough. The spark is there, immediate, sharp.
Laura gestures for her to sit near the front with the staff. I should be relieved. I should want the distance. But all I can think about is how close she is. How the back of her head is directly in my line of sight.
Ryan drops into the seat across the aisle. “So that’s Rose, yeah?”
I grunt, keeping my gaze on the window.
“She’s cute.”
“Watch it.”
He chuckles. “Relax. You’re the one acting like she’s radioactive.”
“Because she is,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
The engine rumbles to life, and the bus eases out of the car park.
The city fades into grey drizzle with the roads slick and quiet.
Brennan and Ryan start arguing about playlists; Lukas joins in, laughing, his accent soft and easy.
I try to focus on their noise, but my mind keeps drifting forward, to her, to the way she leans toward the window with her headphones in, to the way sunlight glints off the metal buckle of her camera strap.
Half an hour in, I catch Lukas watching me with a grin. “What?”
He shrugs. “You keep looking up there. You know her or something?”
“She’s the photographer,” I say flatly.
“Yeah, but like do you know her?”
Brennan snorts. “He’s trying not to.”
“Christ,” I mutter, sinking lower in my seat.
They all laugh, but the truth is, it’s not funny. Every time I catch a glimpse of Rose, something tightens in my chest. I broke things off with Talia. I told myself it was clean, the right thing. But guilt has claws. It doesn’t let go just because you sign off on good intentions.
When the bus stops at a service station, the team piles out in search of caffeine and food.
I lag behind, stretching my legs. Rose’s group climbs down too, Laura chattering beside her about schedules and passes.
I tell myself to stay back. To give her space.
But when I see her standing by the coffee kiosk, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, I move before I think.
“Long ride,” I say, stepping up beside her.
She turns, startled, then smiles. It’s small, but genuine. “You could say that. Is this how you travel every week?”
“Pretty much. Charter bus, bad snacks, worse playlists.”
She laughs softly. “I can see that.”
Her hand brushes mine as we reach for the same sugar packet, and the tiny contact sends a jolt through me. I pull back, clearing my throat. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
We stand there, both pretending to focus on our drinks. The silence stretches. Then she looks up at me, eyes warm and uncertain. “You nervous about the game?”
“Always,” I admit. “But this one feels different.”
“Because of the league standings?”
“Because you’ll be watching,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her breath catches, and for a heartbeat, the everything narrows to that space between us; the smell of coffee, the soft sound of rain on the awning. Then Laura’s voice cuts in, calling her name, and the moment’s gone.
Back on the bus, Brennan elbows me as I slide into my seat. “You and the photographer looked cosy.”
“Drop it.”
He grins. “Hey, I get it. She’s got that whole mystery thing. Dangerous combination.”
Ryan leans over. “Talia know you’re flirting with the staff?”
“Not funny.”
“Didn’t say it was.”
“And she’s not technically staff.”
I stare out the window until the blur of motorway and trees steadies my pulse. But even as I try to shake it, her face lingers with the way she smiled without meaning to, the way her voice softened when she asked about nerves.
Hours later, Glasgow appears through the drizzle, the skyline sharp against low clouds.
The bus pulls up outside the hotel, and everyone stirs, stretching, gathering bags, snapping headphones back into cases.
Laura stands, briefing the group about call times and schedules.
Rose listens carefully, pen tapping against her notebook.
When she stands to get off, our eyes meet again. It’s quick, barely a glance, but something unspoken moves between us. She smiles faintly, it’s polite, professional. Then she’s gone, stepping onto the pavement with Laura.
Inside the hotel, the noise is immediate with staff shouting room numbers, players joking, Brennan tossing his keycard at Ryan. Lukas bounds up beside me, juggling two bags at once. “So, this is Glasgow, huh?”
“Welcome to Scotland,” I say dryly.
He grins. “Can’t wait to see how the locals handle my charm.”
“You’ll be lucky if they understand you.”
He laughs, slapping my shoulder. “You seem wound up, man. Big game?”
“Kind of,”
When I reach my room, the silence hits hard. I drop my bag, peel off my hoodie, and stand by the window. The city glows in the rain, neon lights blurring across wet pavement. My phone buzzes on the nightstand with a new message from Rose.
Rose: Just wanted to say thanks again for sorting all this. It means a lot.
I stare at the screen too long before typing back.
Cal: You earned it. See you at the rink tomorrow.
I hesitate, then add,
Cal: Sleep well, yeah? Big day.
I set the phone down, but my chest feels tight. I shouldn’t text her. I shouldn’t think about the way she looked at me. But the more I tell myself to stop, the more I want to keep going.
I sit on the edge of the bed, head in my hands. Talia’s face flickers through my mind; her practiced smile, her filtered life. We’d been over long before I said the words out loud, but ending it doesn’t erase the history. Doesn’t erase the guilt.
Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to Rose, because she’s real in a way that terrifies me. No performance, no script, just honesty. She sees through me, and suddenly, I don’t feel like I’m performing either.
A knock at my door startles me. Brennan’s voice filters through. “Team dinner in twenty, you coming?”
“Yeah,” I call back.
When his footsteps fade, I glance once more at my phone. No new messages. I tell myself that’s good.
Still, when I close my eyes, all I see is her with her camera in hand, rain on her hair, the soft curve of a smile meant for no one else.
And I’m not sure what scares me more; losing control on the ice, or what’s happening off it.
Because either way, I know I’m already too far gone.