Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
ROSE
Afew days pass, but the ache doesn’t soften the way people say it does. It just changes shape.
It settles deeper, becomes something heavier and quieter, something I carry instead of something that knocks the breath out of me.
I go back to uni because routine feels safer than sitting alone with my thoughts, even if I’m subject to whispers behind hands and pointed stares.
I sit in lectures and take notes I barely remember writing.
I keep my head down, my headphones in, my circle deliberately small.
Clara checks in constantly, hovering without smothering, bringing coffee I don’t ask for and sitting beside me in silence when words feel like too much.
I don’t talk about Callum unless she asks directly. And even then, I keep it surface-level. Because if I open that door fully, I don’t know if I’ll be able to close it again. The statement changed things and not in the way I expected.
Reading it didn’t bring relief. It didn’t bring clarity.
It brought a different kind of pain, a sharper, more complicated type.
Knowing the truth doesn’t erase what it cost me by not knowing it sooner.
It doesn’t undo the feeling of being looked at and chosen under false pretences, even if his intentions weren’t malicious.
It doesn’t fix the way my chest still tightens when I see his name trending, or when someone mentions playoffs, or when I pass the rink and feel like I’m skirting the edge of a life I almost had.
I believe him. That’s the worst part. I believe that he panicked and that he hates himself for it. And I truly don’t think that he ever meant to hurt me. But believing him doesn’t mean I’m ready to forgive him, or if I ever will.
So I protect myself the only way I know how, by shrinking my world until it feels manageable. Uni. Home. Work. Clara. Sleep. Repeat. No scrolling. No comment sections. No re-reading messages I already know by heart.
I haven’t replied to Callum. Not because I don’t care, but because I care too much.
Every time my phone buzzes, my heart jumps traitorously before I remind myself why I’m doing this.
Space isn’t punishment. It’s survival. I need to know what’s left of me without him in the centre of everything.
I need to know whether the ground under my feet is solid on its own, or if it only ever felt that way because he was there.
By the time the weekend creeps closer, I’m exhausted in a way sleep doesn’t touch.
That’s how I end up agreeing to an extra shift.
The shop is a short walk from the rink. On game days it’s pandemonium with fans pouring in, last-minute scarf purchases, kids begging their parents for merch. Today isn’t a game day, just the low hum of anticipation that settles over the area when playoffs loom close enough to taste.
I tie my apron on and focus on the familiar motions. Folding. Restocking. Smiling politely. It’s easier to be Rose-the-employee than Rose-the-girl-who-got-her-heart-broken-in-public. And for a while, it works.
The bell above the door chimes and I glance up automatically, already leaning halfway into my customer-service smile.
It freezes on my face.
Talia stands just inside the doorway. She looks immaculate, as always with her hair glossy, makeup flawless, and coat draped just right around her body. She scans the shop like she owns it, like she’s stepping onto a stage she knows how to command.
My stomach drops. For a split second, I consider pretending I didn’t see her. Ducking into the back and asking my manager to handle it. But something stubborn and tired settles in my chest instead. So I straighten myself and pull my shoulders back. This is my space, not hers.
She spots me then, lips curving slowly. “Well,” she says, voice light and amused. “This is… quaint.”
I say nothing. I busy myself with the display in front of me, hands steady through sheer force of will.
She strolls closer, heels clicking softly against the floor. “I wondered if you’d be here.”
That gets my attention. I look up, meeting her gaze head-on. “If you’re looking to shop, let me know. Otherwise, I’m working.”
She laughs, delighted. “Still trying to act like I don’t get under your skin. Cute.”
My jaw tightens. “What do you want, Talia?”
She tilts her head, studying me like a puzzle she’s already solved. “I wanted to check in. See how you’re holding up.”
“I’m fine,” I lie flatly.
“Are you?” she asks, eyes flicking over me, sharp and assessing. “You look tired.”
I bite back the urge to snap. “If you’re done—”
“Oh, I won’t be long,” she says smoothly. “I just thought you should hear it from me.”
A warning bell rings in my chest. “Hear what?”
Her smile widens. “Callum and I are talking again.”
The words land like a slap. My breath stutters before I can stop it. I force my face to stay neutral, even as something inside me fractures. “That’s… great,” I manage. “For you.”
Her eyes light up. “Isn’t it?”
I turn back to the shelf, pretending to straighten something that doesn’t need it. “You should leave.”
“I will,” she says easily. “After all, I’ve got places to be. He invited me to the weekend game. Family and friends box.”
My hands still but I don’t turn around. I don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing whatever flickers across my face. “That’s nice,” I say carefully. “Enjoy it.”
She hums, stepping closer until I can feel her presence at my back. “He always did hate disappointing people. I suppose old habits die hard.”
Something hot and painful coils in my chest and I grip the edge of the counter, grounding myself. “You’re lying,” I murmur.
She chuckles. “Am I?”
“Yes,” I reply, finally facing her. “Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Callum doesn’t invite people out of guilt.”
Her smile falters for a fraction of a second. Then it’s back, sharper than before. “Believe what you want, Rose. But if I were you, I wouldn’t pin my hopes on being the exception. Men like him don’t change. They just get better at justifying themselves.”
“I’m done with this conversation,” I say, voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “Please leave.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment, searching for something; weakness, maybe. When she doesn’t find it, she shrugs.
“Suit yourself,” she says lightly. “I just thought you deserved to know where you stand.”
She turns and walks away, the bell chiming as the door closes behind her and the shop suddenly feels too quiet.
My knees threaten to buckle, and I lean against the counter, breathing through the sudden rush of emotion that she’s stirred in me.
Anger, hurt, humiliation, doubt. It all tangles together until I can’t tell where one ends and another begins.
I’m almost certain she lied. But doubt is insidious.
It doesn’t need proof. It just needs a crack.
I close my eyes briefly, pressing my palm flat against the cool surface of the counter.
I remind myself of what I know. Of what Callum said and what he didn’t say.
Of the fact that he hasn’t reached out publicly since they released the statement, hasn’t tried to rewrite the narrative in his favour, hasn’t done anything that suggests he’s running back to comfort and familiarity.
Still, the seed is there now, and as much as I hate her for planting it, I hate myself more for feeling it take root. I straighten slowly, smoothing my apron, forcing my breathing back into something that resembles normal. I don’t have the luxury of falling apart here. Not now. Not over her.
As the next customer walks in, I paste on a polite smile and step forward to help them, my heart heavy but my resolve hardening. Whatever happens next, whatever truths come out, or choices are made, I refuse to let Talia be the one who breaks me.