Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CALLUM
Ican still feel her shaking against me long after the arena empties.
The noise fades first; the chants, the music, the scrape of skates being dragged back to the tunnel, but the weight in my chest doesn’t lift. It settles. Heavy and suffocating. Rose’s words replay on a loop, each one another crack spidering through the careful control I’ve been clinging to.
She told me to ask you what secret you’re hiding.
I keep my arm around her as we walk out together, my hand firm at the small of her back, protective by instinct and need.
Cameras flash. People call my name. Someone congratulates me on the win.
I nod, smile automatically, like none of it matters.
Because none of it does. All I can think about is the night that ruined everything before I even knew her name.
Rose leans into me in the car, her head resting against my shoulder, eyes closed like she’s exhausted down to her bones. I thread my fingers through her hair, breathing her in, grounding myself in the warmth of her, the reality of us. She feels safe with me. She trusts me. And I am lying to her.
The drive back to the flat is uneventful. It’s not tense, just weighted. She’s still processing what Talia said. I’m still trying not to unravel.
“You don’t have to worry,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “She’s trying to get inside your head.”
“I know,” Rose states. “I just hate that she made me doubt things for even a second.”
My jaw tightens. If only you knew.
I pull us closer, my arm tightening around her shoulders. “There’s nothing to doubt,” I say, the lie sliding out smoothly, practiced. “I’m here. With you.” She hums, trusting, and I feel it like a blade under my ribs.
Back at the flat, I kick the door shut behind us and lean my forehead against it for half a second, forcing myself to breathe before turning back to her. She watches me with those eyes that see too much, even when she doesn’t know the whole truth.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say automatically. Then, because I hate myself for it, I add, “Just a long day. Tough game.”
She nods, accepting it without question, and the guilt twists tighter.
We end up on the couch, her curled into my side, legs tucked beneath her, fingers idly tracing the seam of my hoodie. The TV is muted, light flickering across her face. She looks peaceful now.
I should tell her. The words sit right there, pounding at the back of my throat.
Rose, there’s something you need to know.
I need to tell you something before it comes out another way.
I was there that night. I’m the reason you crashed your car and ended up in hospital for the night.
My chest tightens until it’s hard to draw breath. I remember the rain first. The way it blurred the lights. The way Talia screamed at me not to stop when it happened. The sound of metal hitting metal. The moment of stunned silence afterward, broken only by my own heartbeat roaring in my ears.
Drive, she’d said.
Just drive. Someone else will stop.
And I did. I hate myself for it. Every single day.
Rose shifts, lifting her head to look at me. “You’re miles away.”
I force myself back into the present, plastering on a small smile. “Sorry. Come here.”
She moves closer without hesitation, tucking herself under my chin, her breath warm against my chest. I wrap myself around her like a shield, and if I hold her tight enough, I can keep the truth from reaching her.
She fits against me too easily. Like this was always meant to be us. That’s what makes it unbearable.
Later, in bed, she’s half-asleep, limbs tangled with mine, one thigh slung over my hip. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, every muscle locked tight. This is the moment, a voice whispers. This is when you tell her.
The room is peaceful. No distractions. Just us.
I roll onto my side, propping myself on my elbow, studying her face. The faint crease between her brows. The soft part of her mouth. The scar she doesn’t talk about but I know too well. I reach out, tracing the line of her jaw with my thumb, careful not to wake her.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper into the dark.
She stirs, murmuring my name, eyes fluttering open just a little. “What?”
My heart slams into my ribs. This is it. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I swallow hard. “Nothing,” I say hoarsely. “Go back to sleep.”
She blinks at me for a moment, searching, then relaxes again, her trust wrapping around me.
I lie there until dawn, guilt crawling under my skin, my thoughts circling the same impossible question.
How do you tell the woman you love that you’re the reason she was broken?
The next morning, I’m a mess.
I go through the motions of making coffee, grabbing a shower and pulling on clothes, but everything feels off, as if I’m watching myself from the outside.
Rose hums softly as she moves around the kitchen, barefoot and wearing one of my jerseys, my name and number emblazoned on the back, it’s domestic in a way that feels dangerous.
She smiles at me over the rim of her mug. “You’ve got practice later, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Late one.”
“Okay.” She hesitates, then adds, “I don’t have any lectures today. Do you want me to stay here or I could bring my camera to the rink maybe?”
“Stay,” I say immediately.
Her smile softens. “Okay.”
I watch her turn away, and my chest aches. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her.
At the rink, everything is noise and impact and control. I throw myself into drills harder than usual, taking hits I don’t need to take, skating until my lungs burn. The guys notice.
“You trying to kill yourself today?” Ryan mutters as we line up.
“Just working,” I snap.
He eyes me. “You look like shit.”
I don’t argue. Every time my mind wanders, it goes back to Rose. To Talia’s words. To the truth clawing its way closer to the surface. It’s only a matter of time before someone connects the dots. Before Talia decides to go nuclear. And when that happens, Rose will find out anyway.
Better it comes from me. I know that. I just don’t know how to survive it.
That night, when I get back, Rose is curled up on the couch with her laptop, editing photos. She looks up when I come in, smile bright and unguarded, and something in me fractures.
“Hey,” she says. “I ordered food.”
“Thanks,” I manage.
We eat together, knees brushing under the coffee table, her foot nudging mine playfully. She laughs at something on her screen, then sobers, studying me. “You’ve been quiet all day.”
I nod. “Just tired.”
She sets her fork down. “You don’t have to protect me from everything, you know.”
The words hit too close to home. “I know,” I say carefully.
“If something’s wrong,” she continues, her voice gentle, “I want to know. Even if it’s hard.”
I look at her, and the urge to confess surges so violently it makes my hands shake.
Tell her. Now.
My mouth opens. The image of her face crumpling, of her pulling away from me in horror, slams into my mind. I close it again. “Nothing’s wrong,” I lie.
The disappointment flickers in her eyes before she smooths it away. “Okay.”
She doesn’t push. She trusts me. And that trust is going to destroy us.
That night, she falls asleep quickly, exhaustion finally catching up with her. I lie awake beside her, staring into the dark, the weight of my secret pressing heavier with every breath.
I know this can’t last. I know I’m running out of time. But as Rose shifts closer, curling into me as though I’m her safe place, I do the cowardly thing.
I hold her tighter and I keep hiding.