Page 40 of Face Off
“Jesus, Mia!” I yelp, clutching the edge of the table. “What’d I ever do to you?”
“You keep pretending this isn’t getting worse,” she snaps. “That’s what.”
I grit my teeth, trying not to squirm as she finds the tender spots with surgical precision. She’s right, of course. The pain’s been sharper lately, lingering after games instead of fading with ice and rest. I’ve been compensating, skating harder with my left, trying to disguise the weakness in my stride.
But I can’t admit that. Not to her. Not to anyone.
So, I joke. “Come on, you’d miss me if I was perfect.”
Her hands pause for a beat, then resume their assault. “Ollie, I’m serious. You’re risking more damage if you don’t tell Coach the full extent of this.”
My stomach knots.Coach. Contract. The two words are inseparable in my head these days, and the thought makes bile creep up my throat.
If he knew how bad it was getting… No. Can’t go there.
“I’ll be fine,” I mutter, more to myself than her.
“You won’t be if you keep lying.”
Her voice is gentle now, which is somehow worse. I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on the sting in my hip rather than the truth in her words.
Training is a blur after that. Drills, sprints, endless skating patterns. I keep my grin fixed, keep chirping the lads, but my hip screams with every pivot. By the time Coach blows the final whistle, I’m drenched in sweat and holding myself together by sheer force of will.
“Ollie. My office.”
The words freeze me in place.
The guys groan in sympathy. “What’ve you done now?” but I can’t laugh along. My stomach’s a stone as I limp after Coach, praying this isn’t what I think it is.
His office smells like old coffee and damp kit. He shuts the door behind me, gestures to the chair opposite his desk.
I sit, trying not to fidget.
He steeples his fingers, eyes narrowing. “You’re not moving right.”
My throat goes dry. “What d’you mean?”
“You’re compensating.” His gaze is sharp, unflinching. “Favouring your left. Pushing off unevenly. It’s been building for weeks. You think I don’t notice?”
I force a laugh. “Maybe I just need more sleep.”
He doesn’t smile. “Ollie.”
The weight of his stare pins me to the chair. My usual excuses shrivel.
I swallow. “Bit stiff, that’s all. Nothing serious.”
He leans back, arms crossed. “Mia says otherwise.”
Bloody hell, Mia.
I scramble. “She’s exaggerating. You know how she gets.”
Coach doesn’t buy it. Not even close. “You need to be straight with me. If this hip’s becoming a liability, we have to plan around it.”
Plan around it. The words echo in my head, twisting into something darker.Phase me out. Cut me loose.
I grip the edge of the chair until my knuckles ache. “I’m fine,” I insist, voice low, desperate. “I can play through it.”
