Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CALLUM
The pub is loud in that familiar, comforting way with its low ceilings, sticky floors, and laughter bouncing off brick walls, the smell of beer and fried food hanging heavy in the air. Normally, this place feels like decompression. A release valve. Tonight, it just feels like noise.
I sit with a pint in front of me that I’ve barely touched, my elbow propped on the table, phone face-down beside it like it might bite me if I look too closely. Every vibration, be it real or imagined, sets my pulse jumping. Every time it stays silent, something inside me caves in a little more.
Rose still hasn’t called. She hasn’t even read the last message I sent hours ago, the one where I told her I understood if she needed space but that I was here, that I wasn’t going anywhere.
I don’t know how many times I’ve replayed her face in my head from the last night I saw her properly. The way she looked at me like she trusted me completely, like I was safe. The memory feels like a bruise I can’t stop pressing.
Across the table, Ryan nudges my knee with his foot. “You gonna drink that or just stare it into submission?”
I snort weakly and lift the glass, taking a swallow out of obligation more than enjoyment. It tastes flat. Like my mood.
“Still nothing?” he asks.
I shake my head.
Lukas sits to my left, solid and unmovable as ever, his presence like an anchor. He’s been like this all evening. Protective in that understated way of his. He clinks his bottle gently against my glass. “She’ll reach out when she’s ready.”
“Or she won’t,” I mutter.
“That’s not helping,” he says calmly.
“It’s realistic.”
“It’s self-pity,” he counters. “There’s a difference.”
I drag a hand down my face, scrubbing hard. “I just want to talk to her. That’s all. Five minutes. I’d take her screaming at me at this point. At least then I could make her understand.”
“She deserves time,” Ryan says. “You dropped a fucking nuclear truth bomb on her life, mate.”
“I know,” I snap, then immediately soften. “I know. I just—fuck, I miss her. We had something good. I can’t watch that disappear.”
That part slips out before I can stop it. The table goes silent for half a beat, then someone clears their throat.
“You’re allowed to miss her,” Ben says from across the table. “Doesn’t make you weak.”
“Doesn’t make it easier either,” I reply.
The guys don’t push. They never do. They shift the conversation instead, like they always have when one of us is hanging on by a thread.
Someone starts talking about training tomorrow, about Coach’s mood, about how the playoffs are shaping up.
I half-listen, nodding in the right places, my mind a million miles away.
My phone stays stubbornly silent and I tell myself I deserve this. Every unanswered message feels like penance. Proof that consequences aren’t theoretical. They’re real and they hurt.
I glance around the pub, letting the familiarity ground me. These guys, my teammates, are my family in a way few people will ever understand. They don’t excuse what I did. They don’t try to sugarcoat it. But they also don’t abandon me when things get ugly.
Lukas leans closer, his voice low. “You did the right thing. Telling the truth. Even if it cost you.”
“Hasn’t finished costing me yet,” I say quietly.
“No,” he agrees. “But it could’ve cost you more.”
I nod. I know that. Intellectually, I know that. Emotionally, it still feels like I’ve been flayed open.
The pub door opens, letting in a gust of cold air and a burst of laughter that cuts through the room.
I feel it before I see her. That prickle at the back of my neck. That instinctive tightening in my gut. Lukas stiffens beside me and I look up.
Talia stands just inside the doorway with a group of her friends clustered around her, all glossy hair and sharp smiles and coats that cost more than my monthly rent. She looks exactly as she always does; effortlessly put together, eyes bright with something that’s never quite kindness.
Her gaze sweeps the room, lands on our table, and sticks as a slow smile curves her mouth.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
Ryan follows my line of sight and swears. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“She planned this,” Ben says flatly.
Talia says something to her friends and they all laugh, too loudly, before making their way toward the bar. She doesn’t look at me again, not directly, but I can feel her awareness like a spotlight trained on my back.
My chest tightens.
“Ignore her,” Lukas says immediately. “Don’t engage.”
“I’m not planning to,” I reply, though my jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it.
For a few minutes, it works. I keep my eyes on the table, on my glass, on literally anything else. I focus on breathing. On the hum of conversation. On the scrape of chairs against the floor.
Then I hear her voice.
“Oh my God,” Talia says, loud enough to carry. “Is that him?”
Laughter follows and my shoulders tense.
“Wow,” she continues, her tone saccharine. “I didn’t think he’d show his face in public so soon.”
Ryan starts to rise out of his seat. Lukas’s hand shoots out, gripping his wrist.
“No,” Lukas says sharply. “Not worth it.”
I stay seated, fists clenched, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s trying to escape my chest. I tell myself to be better than this. To not give her what she wants.
Talia doesn’t stop. She drifts closer, one step at a time, like a shark circling. Her friends hang back, eyes glittering with anticipation.
“Hi, Cal,” she says sweetly, finally addressing me directly. “Rough week?”
I look up at her then. At the cruelty in her smile. The satisfaction she’s barely bothering to hide.
“It’s Callum not Cal. You should leave,” I say flatly.
She laughs. “Still charming. Guess some things don’t change.”
“Back off,” Lukas warns, standing now, positioning himself half in front of me without making a show of it.
Talia’s gaze flicks to him, unimpressed. “Relax. I’m just here for a drink. Same as everyone else.”
“You’re here to provoke him,” Lukas says. “And you know it. You’re after some scandal to post on your shitty social media account.”
She shrugs. “If the truth provokes him, that’s not my problem.”
Something snaps and I surge to my feet, chair scraping loudly against the floor. The noise draws attention and all the nearby tables go quiet.
“You don’t get to talk about truth,” I say, my voice low and shaking with barely-contained rage. “Not after everything you’ve done.”
Her smile sharpens. “Oh? I think I get to talk about it as much as I like.”
“Say what you came to say,” I bite out. “Or get the fuck away from me.”
She steps closer, invading my space, her eyes glittering. “She still not talking to you?”
That one lands. Hard.
“You actually thought she’d stay,” Talia continues softly, cruelly. “After finding out what you did? God, Callum. You live in your own little fantasy world.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. I can feel my teammates shifting, readying themselves. I sense Lukas’s presence like a wall beside me.
“Get out,” I repeat. “Now.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “You know what the saddest part is? If you’d just stayed with me, none of this would’ve happened. I would’ve protected you.”
A bitter laugh tears out of me. “You don’t know the meaning of that word.”
Her eyes flash. “And she does?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “She does.”
For a split second, something ugly flickers across her face. Then she scoffs, masking it easily.
“Good luck with that,” she says lightly. “Hope she was worth it.”
She turns away, tossing her hair over her shoulder, rejoining her friends like she hasn’t just tried to rip me open in the middle of a crowded pub.
The room exhales collectively and my legs feel like they might give out.
Lukas grips my shoulder. “Sit down.”
I do, chest heaving, adrenaline roaring through my veins. My hands are shaking now, badly enough that Ryan notices and slides my glass further away.
“You good?” he asks.
“No,” I say honestly. “But I will be.”
“You handled that,” Ben states. “Didn’t swing. Didn’t shout.”
“Bare minimum,” I mutter.
“It wasn’t,” Lukas says. “And she wanted a reaction. You didn’t give her one.”
I nod, swallowing hard. The aftermath hits me all at once; the exhaustion, the hurt, the bone-deep ache of missing Rose so much it feels like withdrawal. I glance at my phone again, hating myself for the hope that flares every time. Still nothing.
“She’s hurting,” Lukas says gently, like he can read my thoughts. “And she’s allowed to be.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“And so are you,” he adds.
I lean back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling, letting the noise of the pub wash over me. Somewhere between the laughter and the clink of glasses and the low hum of conversation, I make myself a promise.
I won’t chase her. I won’t pressure her.
But I also won’t give up. Because what we had, what we have, is real.
It wasn’t a lie, even if it was built on one.
And if she decides she’s done with me, I’ll respect that.
But until she tells me herself? I’ll wait.
I’ll take the silence. I’ll take the pain.
And when she’s ready, I’ll be right here, standing in the wreckage I made, owning every piece of it.