Chapter 12
CALLUM
“How’s the shawarma?” Alia asks.
I nod, munching on my wrap. “Don’t tell the team nutritionist, but this cheat meal is so worth it.”
Alia grins, picking up her falafel. The chill in the air is made bearable by the sun, and we’ve managed to snag a bench at the park.
People mill about, enjoying a weekend off.
But, with every breath, I get a whiff of lemon and mint, reminding me I’m sitting next to a girl I’m attracted to but have promised to only be friends with.
Which is proving to be harder than I thought.
Is Moore right? Am I incapable of friendship with the opposite sex?
I scoff the thought away. There’s no reason to piss off my teammate to get laid when I have an inbox with dozens of unread DMs from available women.
“Why Spuddy?”
I glance at Alia, hoping she didn’t hear me talking to myself.
“I was thinking about that the other night.”
“You think about me at night, gorgeous?” I wink, disgustingly happy to see her pinken.
“Stop it,” she mutters, blushing furiously. “It was only about your nickname.”
“That’s how it all begins,” I sing-song, barking out a laugh when she glowers at me. “Okay, okay. I’ll lay off. What about my nickname concerns you, Tots?”
“Callum and Spuddy can’t be farther apart. How did you get that nickname?”
“It’s media-given. My rookie season, I had a pretty slow start.
Got ripped apart at every chance, criticized for my mediocre performance.
Took me nearly half the season to make my first goal.
But once I did, I was unstoppable. One of the reporters wrote I was racking up points like spuds multiplying underground, an ode to my Irish roots.
The name stuck. Callum became Spuddy and, eight years later, kept Aloo up at night. ”
Alia tries her hardest not to react. The failed effort only makes her that much more adorable. “When did you start playing hockey?”
“Dad took me to see a game when I was five and I fell in love. Once I started playing, all my energy found direction. Haven’t stopped since.” I recall the first game where I watched my home team, Calgary, win. It set the course for my life.
Which, inevitably, reminds me of Alia’s own history.
“Tots, we’re friends now, right?”
“Would you take no for an answer?”
“Nope.”
She huffs out a soft laugh as she picks out an olive from her wrap and plops it into her mouth. “Fine, we’re friends.”
“Then, as a friend, I’d like to ask you a question.”
Her gaze swings to me, waiting.
“The first night we met, and at the café before, you said you used to play cricket. What happened?”
Her eyes dart between mine, trapped, her color draining instantly. I can guess her mind is churning, trying to figure out how or if she wants to answer me. Finally, she sets her wrap down on the stack of napkins beside us with a sigh.
“You looked me up, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Then I’m sure you saw the articles as well.”
Articles with contrasting statements—some lamenting the loss of a capable player, some hypothesizing that she’d been inebriated behind the wheel.
“I want your side of the story, not the media’s.”
She glances away. Either I’ve made her uncomfortable or she’s figuring out how to tell me to fuck off. Finally, Alia slumps back and clears her throat.
“International women’s cricket was my dream. Playing on the world stage for India—it’s all I ever thought about. One night, I went out to celebrate—a birthday party of all things. Next thing I know, I was waking up in a hospital bed.”
She gulps, the emotional toll this is taking on her evident with each strained breath. I almost ask her to stop. Her nostrils flare as she blinks rapidly, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.
“I know what the articles say. That I deserve it for being careless. But I wasn’t drunk, Cal.” She says it like she’s begging me to believe her. Like she isn’t sure I will. Like she’s afraid of being judged.
Her guilt rips into me like talons digging into tender flesh. But she’s not done.
“My friends wanted to go cruising, I joined in. That’s it. I’d always missed out on parties, my own graduation, dances, dates, movies—everything others experienced and constantly talked about. Cricket was my life, but, for once, I wanted to fit in. I got greedy and I lost everything.”
She wipes her tears angrily before they can even fall.
“You’d think I would’ve learned from my mistake, but I only made more.”
I have no idea what to do. I slide closer to her, my arm pressing into hers, unsure if she wants to be hugged or consoled. She sighs, her weight growing against me.
“I was a coward. I ran from India instead of facing the reality. Marrying Namik—my ex—for the wrong reasons was bound to implode. I didn’t consider the consequences.
My family cocooned me in their care once I left him.
But every step I’ve taken since then has been scrutinized and debated.
They act like I’m broken. When people tell you something often enough, you eventually start to believe it.
I’m trying to shed that fear, but it’s hard when I can’t be honest with the people I love about the choices I want to make. ”
“What sort of choices?”
“Like, maybe I don’t want to get married again.
At least, not soon. Maybe I want to bring cricket back into my life.
Maybe I’ll fail, but at least I would’ve tried.
Maybe.” Her voice tapers off into a whisper, like she’s unsure she should’ve wished this out loud.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. ”
She lets out an embarrassed laugh. I hate that she feels the need to minimize her problems.
“Have you tried speaking with Rohan or Irsia?”
One slim shoulder lifts in a half-hearted shrug. “A little. I’d rather they go about their day without worrying about me. They have enough going on in their own lives.”
“Then you can talk to me.” The offer leaves my mouth before I have the chance to think it through. Something within me refuses to let her leave believing she needs to deal with everything alone. She looks only slightly more surprised than I feel.
“If you want,” I mutter, as if that makes me seem any less eager. “I know nothing about marriage, but I approve of not committing to just any dickhead out there.”
She snorts, and the strain in my chest eases.
“And. . . cricket.”
Excellent. I’ve forgotten how to form full sentences.
“What about it?” she asks, scrunching her nose in that sweet way that tempts me to tweak it.
“You can talk to me about it as well,” I explain like the dunce I’m starting to believe I am.
“I can?”
“As your friend, I will listen to you and be openly offended that you have such bad taste in sports, despite being in the presence of an incredibly handsome hockey player.”
Her lips part and she stares at me like she can’t believe the utter bullshit I’ve spewed.
Fuck, I’ve gone too far. I’ve ruined it. What am I doing? Why am I flirting with my teammate’s cousin?
I should stop before I do something stupid, like asking her if she wants to be brave and wrap her tongue around mine.
But then, she giggles. And it’s the sweetest fucking sound I’ve heard apart from the buzzer when I score.
I break into a relieved grin. I can totally be around her without ruining this with sex. Hell, I’m overdue for a new friend.
Her eyes crinkle at the sides, and her face flushes. I want her to keep riding this wave of happiness.
“Are you laughing? At me?”
“Wouldn’t dare,” she says, trying valiantly to hold back her chuckles.
I gasp, bringing a hand to my chest, drawing upon my minimal acting chops from that one Shakespearean school play I participated in.
“My fragile masculinity can’t handle not being adored by you.”
Okay, so maybe I’m the kind of friend who flirts with her. No big deal. We’re both two attractive individuals with working eyes. Flirting is natural and healthy. We still have our clothes on so, technically, I’m already winning at this whole friendship-with-the-opposite-sex thing.
“Sorry to disappoint,” she gurgles, giving up all pretense.
“Easy fix: say you adore me.”
“Callum.” Her voice is light and her lips twitch. I lean in, incapable of staying away, giving her my best puppy-dog eyes.
“Say it,” I cajole. She shakes her head, like she’s lost a battle I was unaware she was fighting. Her gaze softens, her lips gentling into a shy curve which mesmerizes me.
“I adore you.”
My heart pounds fiercely against my ribcage like an absolute fucking fool.
“See? Was that so hard to admit?” I tease, nowhere near as unbothered as I sound. My body is straining to hide its reaction to those words while my mind cautions me.
She is a friend. Only a friend. One who is beautiful and vulnerable. I have no business imagining what her laugh would feel like against my mouth.
“Not hard at all,” she concedes, her admission doing nothing to quell my interest.
And damn if that isn’t terrifying.