Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ROSE
The morning light filters through Callum’s flat as though it’s been softened on purpose, warm and slow, I think the world knows I need gentleness today.
I wake curled into him, his arm heavy around my waist, his breath steady against the back of my neck.
For once, I don’t wake with a jolt of panic.
I don’t feel as though the world is waiting to pounce the moment I check my phone.
It’s because of him.
His thumb starts tracing slow circles on my hip even before he’s fully conscious. “You awake?” he murmurs, voice gravelly with sleep.
“Mm-hmm.” I turn, and he’s already watching me, hair messy, eyes warm enough to melt bone.
“Morning, beautiful.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. Soft at first, then firmer, as if he can’t help it. I feel the warmth of last night flood through me again. The way he held me as though he’d been starved for touch and I was the only thing that could satisfy him.
I curl into him, and his hand slides through my hair, fingertips brushing the nape of my neck. “You overthinking again?” he asks.
“What makes you say that?”
“You always go silent like this. Eyes soft. Breathing slow. Like you’re bracing for the world to ruin something.”
Heat pricks behind my eyes. “Maybe I am.”
He presses his forehead to mine. “No one is ruining us,” he says, firm and gentle all at once. “Not her or strangers online. Not anyone. Understand?”
I nod, even if I’m not fully sure I believe it yet.
Callum pulls back just enough to study my face. “There’s something I want to ask you.”
My heart stutters. “What is it?”
“There’s a charity thing today at the rink. Annual fundraiser. Families, kids, games, skating, stalls, all that.” He shrugs as though it’s no big deal, but there’s something careful in his eyes. “The team go every year. And I want you with me.”
My pulse jumps. “Are you sure? I mean, won’t that be…”
“Public?” He finishes for me, then nods once. “Yeah. Very.”
I swallow hard. “Callum,”
“I’m sure,” he says before I can talk myself out of it. “I want the world to see me with you. And I want you to see that everyone who matters supports us.”
“But Talia’s—”
“I don’t care what she’s doing.” His voice dips into something protective, almost fierce. “And neither does the team. They’re ready for us to show up together. Properly together.”
“You’d do this? For me?”
“For us.” He cups my cheek. “I’m not hiding you anymore.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest, so tender it almost hurts. I bite my lip, trying not to let the emotion spill over. “Then, yes. I’ll go with you.”
His smile is devastating. “Good. Because I didn’t plan on taking no for an answer.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time, hand sliding behind my neck, pulling me closer.
I melt into him, every nerve buzzing with the echo of last night’s intimacy.
When he finally pulls away, he smiles. “Let’s have breakfast,” he murmurs.
“Then get you something warm to wear. It gets cold on the ice.”
“Are you sure I won’t be in the way?” I question.
He scoffs. “You’re never in the way. You’re exactly where I want you.”
It shouldn’t make me blush as much as it does. He sees it and grins like he was hoping for that reaction. And the anxiety loosens its grip. He wants me there. With him. Publicly.
The world can say what it wants; Callum’s made his choice. And I start to think I’m allowed to believe in us.
He holds my hand the entire drive to the rink, thumb brushing the back of mine in silent reassurance.
When we pull into the familiar car park, nerves spike in my stomach.
There are families streaming in and out, kids clutching plastic hockey sticks, volunteers hanging signs, a fundraiser tent bustling near the entrance.
The whole place has the hum of a community gathering, but my heart thumps so hard I can hear it.
Callum notices instantly. “Hey.” He squeezes my hand. “We go in together. Or we don’t go in at all. Okay?”
“Okay,” I breathe.
“And if you want to leave? We leave. Doesn’t matter when.”
“Okay.”
“If anyone speaks to you in a way I don’t like…” His jaw clenches slightly. “I’ll handle it.”
I try to smile. “I’m not sure you threatening parents at a charity event is the image the team wants.”
“I said I’ll handle it.” He leans closer. “Not necessarily badly.”
My stomach flips.
He steps out of the car first, coming around to open my door like it’s second nature now. When our fingers lace, something shifts, something grounding, like I’m stepping into a new reality with him.
There are eyes, of course. There always are.
Fans, parents, volunteers; they all notice him first. He’s recognisable even without his kit.
But today, their eyes keep drifting to me too.
And this time, instead of letting me shrink back, Callum shifts closer, placing his hand at the small of my back.
A protective, unmistakably intimate gesture.
One that says; Yes. She’s with me. And I’m proud of it.
Inside, the rink is buzzing. Kids are skating in mismatched helmets, players mingling and laughing, tables filled with raffle baskets and baked goods. Bright lights glimmer off the ice, and familiar faces wave at Callum as soon as they spot him. He nods back, keeping me tucked into his side.
“Callum!” Laura calls out as she approaches. She spots me and softens. “Hi, Rose. We’re glad you’re here today.”
I blink. “You are?”
“Of course.” She smiles warmly. “If you’re comfortable, we’d love a few photos of you and Callum together. Nothing posed. Just natural. Supportive. We’ll be capturing the other players and their significant others, too.”
I feel my pulse spike, but Callum squeezes my waist.
“Only if she wants to,” he says firmly.
His protectiveness washes through me like a steadying force. “I think that’s okay,” I manage.
Laura gives me a reassuring nod before moving off.
We continue walking through the stadium, and everywhere we go, people look. But it’s different than the whispers at uni. These looks aren’t mocking. They’re curious. Some even approving.
Callum must sense my confusion, because he leans in, lips brushing my hair. “Told you.” he murmurs. “Different world. These people know me. They know the truth and they know what she’s like. They’ll take you over her any day.”
And maybe I’m starting to believe it.
We make it to the edge of the rink, and Callum slips his arm fully around my waist, pulling me back against his chest as we watch kids chase a puck in clumsy zig-zags. “Look at them go,” he murmurs, chin on my shoulder. “Awful skating. Anarchy. Love it.”
I laugh, nerves easing. “You were that chaotic once?”
“Still am, sometimes.” He kisses my cheek, its quick and soft. “You just make me want to pretend I’m put together.”
Warmth blooms behind my ribs. “You don’t have to pretend anything,” I murmur.
He kisses me again, lingering this time. “I don’t want to pretend around you.”
Someone snaps a photo nearby, it’s one of the media staff catching a candid moment. I stiffen for a second before realising it doesn’t bother me like I expected. I’m used to being behind the camera, not in front of it but somehow, I feel relaxed and almost happy.
Callum senses it too, because his grip tightens slightly, a silent I’m here. I’ve got you.
We spend the next half hour wandering the event.
Kids run up asking Callum to sign plastic sticks or mini jerseys.
Parents thank him for helping with the local youth program.
Every time someone approaches, he keeps me close, introducing me.
“This is Rose”, without hesitation or awkwardness.
And the reactions? They’re warm and genuine.
Nothing like the online version of strangers forming opinions from curated toxicity.
Being here, seeing this, I start to understand his world more clearly. The online noise is just that; noise. But this is real.
At one point, one of his teammates skates over, stopping near the barrier. “Callum! You bringing her to the players’ skate-off later?”
Callum grins. “If she wants to see me show you all up? Absolutely.”
His teammate laughs. “Good luck with that.”
Callum leans in, whispering near my ear, “He’s lying. I’m winning.”
He makes me laugh more in one hour than I’ve laughed all week. It’s almost enough to make me forget why I was ever scared of being attached to him publicly.
When things settle, and the buzz around us thins, Callum turns to me fully, expression softening into something serious. “You doing okay?” he asks.
“I think so.” I nod slowly. “It feels different here. Safer.”
“That’s the point.” He strokes his thumb along my cheek. “My world isn’t Talia. Or trolls. Or gossip. It’s this. It’s community. It’s support. It’s the people who know me, not the people who think they do.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“And I want you in it,” he adds quietly. “I want you beside me. Everywhere. Not just when you get asked to take photos of the team.”
Something in my chest warms until my eyes sting.
Before I can respond, Laura returns, phone in hand. “We’re posting the first photo in a few minutes,” she says. “If that still works for both of you?”
“Yeah,” Callum says immediately. “It works.”
Laura nods and slips away.
I look up at him, heart pounding. “You’re sure about this?”
“I’ve never been surer about anything in my life.” He cups my cheek. “People will talk. That won’t stop. But they’ll talk anyway, whether you’re hidden or next to me. I’d rather they talk while you’re in my arms.”
Warmth blooms in my chest.
“And I want you to be able to walk into uni tomorrow with your head high,” he continues. “With everyone knowing that I chose you. That I’m with you. You’re not a rebound. You’re not whatever Talia’s trying to paint you as.” His voice drops to a low, protective rumble. “You’re mine.”
My heart stutters so hard I feel dizzy.
“Look at me.” His forehead touches mine. “I love being with you. I want everyone to see what I see when I look at you. And I’m done letting fear decide how we move.”
Emotion swells so intensely I have to cling to his jacket just to stay upright. “I want that too,” I whisper. “I want you.”
His smile is soft but victorious. “Good.”
He kisses me then with enough certainty to root me in place. The rink noise fades. Everything narrows to the warmth of his hands cupping my jaw and the soft press of his lips on mine.
When he pulls back, he keeps his lips ghosting over mine. “They’re posting it now.”
I swallow, my heart is lodged in my throat. “What picture?”
“The one where I kissed your cheek earlier.”
My cheeks warm. “That one?”
“Yeah.” His smile widens. “Because it looked natural. And it looked like us.”
A second later, our phones buzz with notifications. He doesn’t even check his. Instead, he wraps an arm around my waist and turns me toward the rink, pulling me back to his chest as though he’s shielding me from the world even as he opens us up to it.
“You ready?” he murmurs against my ear.
I let out a slow, shaking breath. “Yes,” I say. “I’m ready.”
And I mean it. Because in his arms, with his heartbeat pressed against my back and his voice anchoring me, the noise doesn’t feel so loud. The world doesn’t feel so big. The fear doesn’t feel so powerful. What feels powerful is us. Callum’s hand slides into mine again, warm and steady.
And as families and fans continue to laugh and skate and cheer around us, as phones buzz with the beginning of our story reaching beyond these walls, and whispers of surprise ripple through the crowd, Callum leans down, lips brushing my temple. “You’re safe with me,” he whispers.