Page 22 of Face Off
I tell myself it’s nothing. Just Ollie being Ollie. Just a wink.
And yet, when I step out into the cold night air, the echo of it warms me all the way home.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
OLLIE
The locker room buzzes in the same rhythm it always does after a win; loud, sweaty, and euphoric, but there’s a hitch in it tonight. Murphy’s pacing by his stall, tugging at the strap of his gear bag like it personally offended him. Dylan’s trying to calm him down with that low, even voice he uses when Murph’s spiralling, but it’s not working.
“Relax,” Dylan says. “They’re fine.”
“They’re not fine,” Murphy snaps back. His eyes flick toward the hallway like he can see through concrete. “Sophie’s out there. With Finn. With…” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening.
And with Chloe. He doesn’t say it, but we all know that’s what he means.
I’m halfway through unlacing my skates, pretending not to listen while every word lodges itself in the pit of my stomach.
Murphy mutters, “I told her not to come tonight. Too many cameras, too much noise. Finn’s still so little.” He drags a hand through his hair. “And then there’s her. The last thing I want is Soph thinking I feel anything other than anger towards the stupid girl.”
The room dips in volume. A couple of the rookies exchange glances, and Dylan sighs like he’s aged ten years in the last five minutes.
“She’s just doing her job, and Soph knows how you feel, man.” Dylan says carefully.
Murphy snorts. “Her job? Don’t start defending Tabloid Girl to me.”
My laces snap in my hand. I grit my teeth, keeping my head down. The nickname slices through me even though it’s not aimed at me.
Tabloid Girl. Chloe Miller.
I tell myself it shouldn’t matter what Murphy calls her. He’s earned his right to hate her after what went down. But the thing is, watching her tonight, the way her shoulders stiffened when Sophie’s voice carried over the crowd, I felt something twist sharp and wrong in my chest.
She heard them. Of course she did.
And then I went and winked at her like an idiot. Couldn’t help it.
I’m in deep trouble.
Jacko chooses that moment to barrel into the room with a Tupperware box balanced on one arm. “All right, guys, calm down and eat something before Murph combusts. Carrot cake muffins. Protein-heavy. Good for recovery.”
Half the team groans. The other half makes a beeline for the muffins.
“You’re like an overgrown grandma,” Dylan mutters, but he still takes one.
Jacko grins. “Say thank you and shut up.”
Even Murphy slows long enough to grab one, though he just turns it over in his hand like it might bite him.
I catch myself staring across the room, unfocused. Not on the muffins, not on Murphy, but on the memory of Chloe scribblingin her notebook, lips pressed together, pretending she wasn’t rattled. Professional mask, but I’d seen the crack in it.
And now I’m sitting here, chewing the inside of my cheek, wanting to find her just to say…what? That she’s not Tabloid Girl to me? That she doesn’t deserve the contempt the others drip every time her name comes up? I know what she did, but I think the level of contempt still floating around is juvenile.
That’s a dangerous thought.
“Ollie.” Dylan’s voice pulls me back. He’s watching me too closely, like he knows exactly where my head’s gone.
“Yeah?” I yank at my skate, too forceful.
“You good?”
