Page 65 of Face Off
I touch her hand, subtle. “Go wait in the car,” I murmur, handing her my keys.
She hesitates, eyes searching mine. I can see the panic there, the guilt. It kills me.
“I’ll be right there,” I promise.
Finally, she nods and slips out. My chest hollows the second she’s gone.
Which is when Murphy explodes.
“The fuck are you doing, Taylor?” His voice slices through the locker room, sharp enough to cut. The laughter dies. Every head turns.
My stomach free-falls.
“Murph,” I hiss, shooting him a glare, praying he’ll shut up, at least until we’re alone.
But Murphy’s never been the type to hold his tongue.
“You think we wouldn’t notice?” he snarls. “You sneaking around withherin here? After what she did to me? To this team?”
The room goes dead silent.
I feel like I’m about to be sick.
“Murph, what’s this about?” Jonno pipes up from the corner, frowning.
“Nothing,” I bite out, too fast, too desperate.
Murphy laughs without humour. “Not nothing. He’s shagging the fucking tabloid leech who torched my life. As if it’s not shit enough that she’s shadowing the team all season, you’re fucking her.”
The words hit like a punch. The air shifts, thick and ugly.
Dylan rises slowly, his presence alone enough to steady the room. His eyes cut to me, hard but not cruel. “Ollie. That true?”
Every muscle in my body screams to deny it. To laugh it off. To make some joke. But I can’t.
I nod once. “Yeah.” My throat is raw. “It’s true.”
A ripple goes through the room - shock, disbelief, a mutteredyou’ve gotta be kidding me.
Murphy’s shaking his head like he can’t believe my stupidity. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You bring her in to the circle, and you drag all of us down with you.”
“She’s not like that anymore,” I snap, heat flaring in my chest. “She made a mistake, okay? She’s different now. She’s… she’s good.”
Murphy barks a laugh. “You think with your dick, mate, not your head. She’ll ruin you. And when she does, she’ll take us all with her.”
Something inside me cracks. “You don’t know her like I do!” I shout.
The silence after hangs heavy.
Jacko steps forward, calm but firm. “Alright. Enough. This isn’t the place.” His eyes pin me. “Ollie. Go.”
I swallow hard, my throat tight. Part of me wants to keep fighting, to prove Chloe isn’t what Murphy says she is. But Jacko’s tone leaves no room for argument.
So I grab my bag and get the hell out, the weight of everyone’s stares burning into my back.
The night air is cold when I step outside. Chloe’s in the car, hands clenched tight in her lap, her face pale and stricken. She looks up as I slide in, and the question’s already in her eyes.
“How bad?” she whispers.
