Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CALLUM
Iwake up with Rose draped across my chest like she belongs there.
For a second, I don’t move. I just breathe her in. Her hair tickles my throat, smelling faintly of that floral shampoo she uses, and something warm and soft spreads through my chest. The kind of feeling I used to think only happened in movies or songs meant to manipulate desperate people.
Her hand rests just under my hoodie, fingertips touching bare skin.
It’s innocent. And somehow not innocent at all.
The memory of her body pressed to mine last night rushes back.
The way she gasped when I kissed her neck, the way she whispered my name.
I’m in dangerous territory. I know it. And yet, I don’t care. Not when she’s curled up against me.
She stirs, a sleepy hum against my ribs, and nestles closer. I swear my heart could explode. I brush a strand of hair off her forehead, slow so I don’t wake her, but her eyes blink open anyway. Soft. Brown. Completely disarming.
“Hi,” she whispers, voice still thick with sleep.
Fuck me.
“Hi,” I whisper back, and my voice is embarrassingly wrecked for such a tiny word.
She smiles just a little, not the public smile she gives when she’s nervous, not the guarded one she uses around new people. This one’s different. This one’s for me.
“You snore,” she mumbles.
I scoff. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“No,” I say, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “That was you.”
Her mouth drops open in mock outrage. “I don’t snore!”
“Sure,” I tease, “whatever helps you sleep at night.”
She pokes my ribs and I tense, not because it hurts but because having her hands on me at all makes my brain shut down. She feels it and her fingers still. We stare at each other, and everything goes silent.
Her phone buzzes, sharp and jarring, somewhere under the blanket. She reaches for it, but I grab her wrist gently.
“Don’t,” I murmur, leaning my forehead to hers. “Not yet.”
She hesitates. Then relaxes. “Okay.”
I don’t deserve how easily she trusts me. Not when I haven’t fully handled what I need to handle.
Talia.
The thought slams into my chest, leaving a sour taste behind. I tighten my hold on Rose without thinking, like I can shield her from the parts of my life that could hurt her. The parts I’m disgusted by.
She looks up, brows pinching slightly. “You okay?”
I nod. Lie. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
I almost say you. But that’s too honest. Instead, I say, “Training. We’ve got morning ice tomorrow.” It’s weak and cowardly.
She sees through it but she lets it go. She opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something else, but her stomach chooses that moment to growl violently. We both freeze. Then laughter bursts out of me, loud and unfiltered, and she buries her burning face in my hoodie.
“Shut up,” she groans.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re laughing.”
“It’s a charming sound,” I tease, fingers slipping into her hair. “Like a tiny bear mating call.”
That earns me a swat to the chest, and it was totally worth it. I sit up, shifting her so she stays against me. “Breakfast?”
She hesitates as though she’s not sure she’s allowed to say yes. Like she’s expecting me to suddenly change my mind and shove her out the door. As if this is temporary.
Fuck no. “Stay,” I say firmly. “Let me feed you.”
Her breath catches. “Okay.”
I press a quick kiss to her lips before I chicken out, then stand, stretching, trying to gather myself. She watches me move around the kitchen, and I’m uncomfortably aware of every muscle, every step, every stupid action I’m doing as though I’m auditioning to be a functioning adult.
I pull eggs and bread out of the fridge.
She sits on a stool, head tilted. “Do you know how to cook?”
“I know how to scramble eggs.”
“And?”
I gesture to the eggs with over-the-top bravado. “What more could you ask for?”
She laughs that soft, warm one that hits somewhere behind my ribs.
I crack the eggs into a bowl, and she watches me like I’m fascinating. Me. Callum fucking Fraser. Just scrambling eggs. Her smile is small and secret and somehow the most intimate thing anyone has ever given me. “Do you always stare this much?” I ask.
“Only when I like what I’m looking at.”
The spatula nearly slips from my hand. I turn, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says simply, kicking her heel against the cabinet, cheeks flushed.
I want to cross the space between us. I want to pull her against me. I want—
A buzzing cuts through the moment. Her phone. Again. The name on the screen snags my attention before she flips it face-down.
Mum
A different tension knots in my chest.
“Everything okay?” I ask carefully.
She forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “She’s probably just checking in.”
Probably. But the way her shoulders tense tells me there’s more.
Things she doesn’t say. Pain she hides. We’re the same that way, always pretending.
Before I can push, my phone goes off. Of course it does.
And of course it’s Talia. I inhale sharply, jaw clenched.
Rose is staring at her hands, doing that thing where she tries to make herself small.
Like she’s bracing for the moment I make this ugly. Ruin it.
I grab my phone, open the message, and read it:
Talia: You can’t just ignore me forever. We need to talk. You owe me that.
Anger flashes hot and fast. I type back before I can think too hard.
Cal: No. Don’t text again. We’re done.
I hit send.
Rose watches me with a careful, unreadable expression.
“It’s over,” I say, honestly. “It’s been over for a while. I’m just finishing it for good now.”
She nods, but uncertainty flickers across her face and I know she’s waiting for the twist. The part where I choose wrong. I set my phone aside and close the distance between us. One hand cups her cheek, encouraging her to meet my eyes.
“She doesn’t get to be in this anymore,” I whisper. “She doesn’t get to be in my life or my head. And she sure as hell doesn’t get to make you doubt anything.”
Her breath stutters. “I don’t want to be the reason you fight with someone.”
“You’re not,” I say, voice low, steady. “She’s the reason I stopped fighting for something that wasn’t good for me.”
Rose’s throat works around a swallow. “Callum,”
“I want you,” I cut in, before she can talk herself out of believing it. “Not her.”
Silence hangs heavy in the air. Then she surges forward and kisses me like oxygen finally returned to the world.
Her fingers twist in my hoodie, and I lift her onto the counter, slotting myself between her knees, swallowing every soft sound she makes.
I’m starving for her laugh, her lips, the way she looks at me as though I’m good enough.
Her hands slide under my hoodie again and a low groan escapes me before I can stop it.
“Breakfast,” she whispers against my mouth, breathless.
“I’m having breakfast,” I murmur back, kissing down her throat.
She laughs, breath hitching when my lips find a sensitive spot.
“Eggs are burning,” she gasps.
I turn, swear loudly, and yank the pan off the burner while she’s giggling behind me.
“See?” she teases. “Distraction.”
“The best kind,” I answer, kissing her forehead because I can’t not touch her.
We sit at the counter, plates of slightly charred eggs between us. I keep catching her looking at me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. The truth is I’m terrified of the same thing.
When the plates are mostly clean, and she’s teased me relentlessly about my “culinary crimes”, I finally ask the question I’ve been chewing on all morning.
“Are you going to show your mum the photos? Of the games, I mean.”
Her laughter drops off. Her gaze falls to her lap.
“She doesn’t think photography is an actual job,” she admits softly. “She says it’s a hobby. Something that won’t pay the bills. She wants me to do something safe. Responsible.”
I frown. “That’s bullshit.” She looks up, startled. “You’re brilliant, Rose,” I say, not softening a single word. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”
She blinks rapidly. “You’ve only seen a few shots.”
“I’ve seen enough. And the team’s seen the rest. Every guy on that bus looked at those photos like you’d made them invincible.”
Her lips part, shock and a kind of pride blooming in her eyes.
“You don’t need her permission to be who you are,” I add quietly. “You choose your life.”
She exhales shakily, like she’s been waiting years for someone to say it. I want to punch her mum’s doubts into a wall. I want to protect Rose from the weight she carries alone.
“You make it sound easy,” she whispers.
“It’s not,” I admit. “But it’s easier when someone believes in you.”
She’s looking at me as though I just gave her something precious. And maybe I did. The atmosphere shifts around us, no longer awkward or new. Something settled. Solid. She reaches for my hand and I lace our fingers together without hesitation.
“Thank you,” she says. And it feels like more than thanks. It feels like trust.
I squeeze her hand gently. “Anytime.”
A soft, shy smile curves her lips, and I fall a little harder.
She finishes the last bite of egg and hops off the stool. “I should head back soon. My friend will wonder where I am.”
I don’t hide my disappointment well. She laughs and lifts onto her toes to kiss my cheek.
“I’ll see you later?” she asks.
“You’d better.” It comes out as more of a promise than a question.
I take her to the door, reluctant to let go of her even for a second. She pauses, fingers brushing my hoodie drawstring like she might change her mind and stay. But she doesn’t. She gives me one last lingering look, cheeks flushed, then slips out into the hallway.
When the door clicks shut, the flat feels cold. I stare at the door like my body wants to chase after her. Drag her back. Wrap her up and refuse to let anything hurt her, especially me.
My phone buzzes again. I grab it, expecting Talia, ready to unleash hell. It’s not her.
Ryan: Morning skate – 9am tomorrow. Turn up on time, lover boy. We can smell your ego from here.
I roll my eyes but a smile tugs at my mouth anyway. I shoot back a reply.
Cal: Eat shit. See you tomorrow.
Training. Focus. Season. That’s the plan.
That’s my job. It’s what I’m good at. But I want more than the rink.
I want the girl who slept in my arms and laughed in my kitchen.
The girl who makes me feel the future isn’t just pressure and noise.
I scrub a hand over my face and let the truth settle as heavy as it is exhilarating. I’m falling for her.
Fast.
And I’m barely holding on to the brakes.