Page 95 of Face Off
“I don’t want to chat,” I say automatically.
“Good. Neither do I.” Her mouth tilts, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. “But I’ll say this: I don’t like you. I’m not going to pretend we’ll ever be friends. That ship sailed two seasons ago when you tried to wreck my life.”
The bluntness knocks the air out of me. I clutch my notebook tighter. “I know.”
“But,” She adjusts Finn on her hip, shifting her weight. “I’m secure with Murphy now. More than I’ve ever been. And whatever vendetta he thinks he’s carrying, it’s boring the hell out of me. I’ll speak to him. Get him to lay off.”
I blink, words tangling in my throat. “Why?”
“Because he’s wasting his energy. And frankly, you’re not worth the space in his head anymore. And I just want to him back to his usual easy going, witty self.”
It stings, but there’s something almost freeing in it too. She doesn’t say it cruelly, just factually, like she’s drawing a line under the past. Sophie adjusts Finn again, swapping him to the other hip, then she nods toward Ollie, who’s still grimacing under Mia’s careful eye.
“He’s got enough to deal with. Don’t make him choose between proving himself and protecting you.”
Then she’s gone, brisk steps echoing down the corridor as she heads out to find Murphy. I exhale slowly, the words settling in my chest. She doesn’t forgive me. She never will. But she’s going to try to soften Murphy’s grip, and that, unexpected as it is, feels like something close to mercy.
The rest of the day is a blur of note-taking, Ollie’s stubborn grunts during exercises, the steady drip of whispers I try not to hear. By the time we leave, the floodlights are glowing againstthe dusk. Ollie grips the crutch handles tighter, jaw set against the limp. I want to tell him what Sophie said. But I don’t. Not yet.
That night, his flat feels too quiet. We’re sprawled on his sofa, him with an ice pack on his hip, me with my notebook closed but balanced on my knees. The telly flickers, half-forgotten.
“Chlo.” His voice is low, rougher than usual.
I hum, not trusting my own voice.
“Do you regret it? Us?” His eyes are on me now, searching, sharp in a way that makes my throat ache. “You’ve been dragged through enough already. Everyone looking at you sideways. Murphy making your life hell. You could’ve walked away a hundred times by now.”
I set the notebook aside and shift closer, pressing my palm to his chest. His heart beats steady under my hand. “You really think I’d be here if I regretted it?”
“I don’t know.” His lips twitch like he hates admitting it. “Maybe you think it’s not worth it. Maybe I’m not worth it.”
My chest tightens. “Ollie. Look at me.”
He does. And I say it slow, clear, so he doesn’t miss a word. “I’m terrified. Every day. But I don’t regret us. Not one second. You’re worth it. Even when it costs. Especially then.”
His hand finds mine, big and warm, curling around it like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Maybe not,” I whisper, because I can’t lie. “But you’ve got me anyway.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, soft and broken all at once. He leans in, pressing his forehead to mine, and for a while neither of us moves. Just breathing, together, as if the world outside his flat doesn’t exist.
I can feel the weight of what waits for us. The rink, Murphy, the whispers, my father’s shadow I haven’t confessed yet. But right here, in this small, quiet moment, there’s only us. And for tonight, that’s enough.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
OLLIE
The rubber mat under my trainers smells faintly of disinfectant and sweat. Same as it always does. I grip the resistance band Jonno’s set up, shoulders tense, teeth clenched as I try to follow his rhythm. Pull, hold, slow release. Again. Again. Every repetition drags fire down the muscles around my hip. It’s not the sharp pain from the ice. It’s worse, in its own way, controlled, necessary, but relentless.
“Good,” Jonno says, crouched beside me, sharp-eyed as ever. “Keep your core engaged. Don’t cheat it, Ollie. You cheat it here, and you’ll pay on the ice.”
“I know,” I grunt, sweat already dripping down my temples. My hands twitch with the urge to rip the band out of the frame and hurl it across the gym. Instead, I grit my teeth and do another rep.
Mia watches from the corner, arms folded, clipboard in hand. She’s letting Jonno run me hard today, but I can feel her eyes on every movement. Like she’s waiting for me to crack.
I don’t crack. I won’t.
When Jonno finally gives me a nod to stop, I let the band slacken, chest heaving. My hip throbs, but I force my face blank.If I give anything away, they’ll pull me back another week, maybe two. I can’t afford it.
