Page 85 of Face Off
Because part of me believes it.
I press my palms to my eyes, trying to block out the sting. I can still see those headlines, splashed across social media.Raptors’ Murphy Caught Cheating?I can still remember the storm I created. The way Sophie cried. The way the team circled Murphy, protecting him, freezing me out. I deserved it.
I’d told myself I was young, stupid, angry. That people change. But what if Murphy’s right? What if I’m just repackaging the same disaster in a prettier box, ready to detonate again?
And Ollie. God, Ollie. He doesn’t deserve the chaos I trail in my wake. He deserves the spotlight, the contract, the respect of his team. Not whispers in the locker room, not side-eyes from rookies, not suspicion from coaches.
My chest aches, but then I picture him on the ice, skating through the pain, jaw set like stone. I picture him in that hospital bed, pride stripped away but still fighting for every inch. And I remember the way his hand clutched mine like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.
He doesn’t see me as poison. He sees me as worth the fight.
That thought steadies me. Slowly, breath by breath, I let the fire replace the shame. Murphy’s hatred doesn’t define me. His voice isn’t the truth. He’s clinging to the past because it’s easier than admitting he’s scared, scared of change, scared of me, scared of what Ollie and I might mean if we last.
I straighten, shoulders squaring.
I can’t undo what I did, but I can prove I’m not that girl anymore. And I will. For Ollie. For me.
Murphy can drown in his bitterness if he wants. I’m done letting it drag me under.
CHAPTER FORTY
OLLIE
The walls of the treatment room are closing in. Too white, too clean, too bloody clinical. The scent of disinfectant burns my nose, and the hum of the overhead lights drills into my skull. Every second I spend in this bed feels like another nail hammered into the coffin of my career.
Jonno left two hours ago, muttering about scans and treatment plans. Mia’s been in and out, checking vitals, making notes, trying to keep me from moving. None of it helps. The pain in my hip is constant, a low burn that spikes if I so much as shift. Apparently, we’re now waiting on the team doctor to get here and give me an injection. I don’t care what it is as long as it numbs this fucking pain.
But worse than the pain is the helplessness.
I should be in the gym, or on the ice, skating through drills until my lungs give out. Instead, I’m stuck here, useless.
And Murphy, fucking Murphy, he’s somewhere laughing about this, probably spinning the story to make me look like the reckless idiot who let a woman get in his head.
I dig my fingers into the mattress, jaw clenched so hard it aches.
A soft knock breaks through my spiral.
“Mind if I come in?”
Jacko pokes his head around the door, a paper bag in hand. He doesn’t wait for me to answer, just strides in, shoulders filling the doorway like always.
“Thought you could use this.” He pulls out a loaf of bread, still warm, the smell of rosemary and sea salt filling the sterile room.
I let out a shaky laugh. “You stress-baked again.”
“Of course I did. Nearly kneaded the bloody counter in half.” He shrugs, placing the loaf on the side table. “Better than punching walls, eh?”
I huff, but the tension in my chest eases just a little. That’s Jacko for you. Doesn’t say much, but when he does, it’s exactly what I need.
He sinks into the chair opposite the bed, studying me with those sharp, dark eyes. “How bad?”
“Bad enough.” My voice is rough, low. “Jonno says tear. Weeks, maybe longer. Playoffs if I’m lucky. Just waiting on Doc now, once he’s injected me, I can go home. Although, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to get there.”
Jacko whistles. “Shit.”
“Yeah.” I rub a hand over my face. “And the worst part? Murphy’s probably telling anyone who’ll listen that I went down because I’m distracted. Because of Chloe.”
Jacko leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Let him talk. The guys know you. They know how hard you work. Don’t let him write your story.”
