Page 105 of Face Off
“Because I didn’t want it to matter.” I force myself to meet every pair of eyes on me. “I didn’t want his name, or his money, to define me. Or Ollie. You think he’s fought this hard, come back from injury like this, just because of who he’s dating? No. He’s earned every damn inch back on that ice. That’s his. Not my father’s.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then Sophie claps once, sharp. “Well, I, for one, am thrilled. Finally explains your tragic dress sense at these events, you’re rebelling against Daddy’s bank account.”
A ripple of laughter breaks the tension.
Jacko steps forward, arms folded. “Don’t care who your old man is. You’ve been here, you’ve done the work, you’ve looked after Lila like she’s yours when we needed a hand with childcare. That’s what matters.”
Mia nods firmly beside him. “Seconded.”
Murphy, of all people, shrugs. “Long as Miller Senior doesn’t try to buy his way onto the line-up, I’m good.” He glances at Ollie, a rare flicker of sincerity there. “We’ve all got family baggage. This one just comes with a shinier price tag.”
The room exhales. The rookies glance at each other, chastened. And Ollie stays close, a steady weight at my side, his presence saying more than any words could. The hurt isn’t his, its mine, but the way the team closes ranks instead of splintering eases the sting.
Later, after the speeches and the fake smiles, Coach finds us. Pulling Ollie into a side corridor, voice low.
“You’ve proven you want it, kid. That’s all I needed to see. Contract’s yours for the next three years. We’ll sign it on Monday.”
I’m stealthily hovering just out of their eyeline but I can hear every word. Ollie doesn’t speak, just nods, jaw tight like he’s holding in every emotion at once.
When he finds me again, we head out into the cool night air, away from the clinking glasses and forced laughter. We stand beneath the glow of the marquee lights, my heels kicked off, his tie tugged loose.
“I should’ve told them sooner,” I say quietly.
He shakes his head. “No. You wanted to be seen as you. Not his daughter. I get that.” His hand finds mine, rough fingers lacing through. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t scare me.”
I press my forehead to his. “It scares me, too. But I’m not stepping away from you, Ollie. Not ever. The article will be done at the end of the season, and I’ll move on to whatever’s next. But us? That doesn’t end.”
For the first time all night, he smiles. A real one. The kind that reaches his eyes.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because three more years of Raptors hockey feels a hell of a lot better knowing you’re in it with me.”
And for once, with all the noise behind us and the future ahead, I let myself believe it.
Later, as I settle into the quiet of Ollie’s flat, I let myself reflect on the season, on Ollie’s recovery, the slow thaw with the team, the tenuous peace with Murphy, and the story I’ve crafted. I realise I’ve built something too. A life alongside him that’s earned, dishevelled and real. My father’s shadow looms, yes, but it doesn’t define this. Not this.
I stretch on the sofa, Ollie’s arm around me, and allow the day’s tension to melt. The article will go in. The team’s healed enough to move forward. Ollie’s contract is safe. And I feel like I can step back, with my heart and my choices intact.
The season may end. Life may keep shifting. But tonight, we’re here. And for now, that’s everything.
EPILOGUE
OLLIE
Boxes stacked around the living room smell faintly of cardboard, leftover takeout, and Jacko’s latest batch of biscuits. Chloe has finally moved in properly. Not just her laptop and notebooks, not just for the odd night, but fully, permanently. She said my flat felt more like home than hers. It feels right.
She’s crouched by the sofa, arranging cushions like she owns the place, which, technically, she does now. I’m pretending to supervise while juggling a spatula and a plate of sausages.
“You’re taking over all my space,” I say, giving her a crooked grin. “This place used to look like a normal man lived here.”
“Normal man?” she scoffs, shoving a cushion against her chest. “You’re a hockey player. Chaos is your aesthetic. I’m just making it liveable.”
I toss her a cushion like a peace offering. “Fair enough. But don’t touch the kit bag. That thing’s sacred.”
She laughs, the sound warm and easy. It’s hard to imagine a time when everything between us felt chaotic, tense, and uncertain. The article is done, published, and quietly respected.Her father’s read it. I know she worries about him, but the pride she’s earned, without his name attached, is obvious. And I’m proud too.
She tilts her head against me. “Feels like home.”
I pull her close, resting my chin on her head. “Yeah. It really does.”
