Page 73 of Face Off
For a heartbeat, I think he might soften. That maybe those words will cut through. But his mouth twists, cruel.
“Love?” He sneers. “You don’t know the meaning of it. You’re clinging to Taylor because it makes you feel relevant. Because you’ve never been able to stand on your own.”
“That’s not true.” My voice trembles, but the words are steel. “You don’t see me. You never have. All you’ve ever seen is yourmoney. Your name. What I can’t live up to. But Ollie…” I swallow hard, fighting for air. “He sees me.”
His expression doesn’t shift. It’s carved from granite.
“Then let’s hope he still does,” he says finally. “Because if I lose him, if this blows back on the team, you’ll wish you’d never met him.”
The threat hangs in the air, poisonous and heavy.
I stand, legs shaky but holding. “You can take your money. You can take your sponsorship. But you don’t get to take him.”
For once, his eyes flicker. Just a flash. Surprise, maybe. Then the mask returns, hard and unreadable.
“You’re dismissed.”
I walk out before the tears can fall, the door clicking shut behind me. My whole body trembles, but my spine stays straight until I’m out of sight.
I walk to the bank of elevators and push the call button. My gaze fixed on the bank of numbers as they light up, one after the other, until the doors ping and slide open. On the journey down to the ground floor my chest feels tight and the nausea wracks my body.
Once the doors have opened fully, I step out and make my way out to the street. The world outside feels too bright. Too loud. I stumble down the steps, clutching my bag tight, breath ragged.
I replay my father’s words in my head on a loop.Puck bunny. Joke. Liability.
Each one is a scar I’ll carry. Each one cuts deeper because some part of me fears he’s right.
But then I think of Ollie. The way he touched me like I was breakable and precious all at once. The way he stood in front of Jacko and Dylan like he was unashamed. The way he texted me last night:You’re my favourite complication.
And for the first time, I wonder if I can rewrite the story my father has always told me about myself.
Back at my flat, the silence presses in. I curl up on the sofa, knees tucked to my chest, phone clutched in my hand. I should text Ollie. Should tell him everything. But the words stick in my throat.
What if he thinks my dad’s right? What if he realises I’m nothing but baggage, drama he can’t afford?
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the doubts away. Ollie’s not like that. He’s stubborn and hot-headed and reckless, but he’s also the first person who’s ever looked at me and seen something worth holding onto.
The door buzzes and my heart lurches.
When I open it, he’s there. Hoodie pulled up, bag slung over his shoulder, grin crooked but tired.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”
The tears I’ve been holding back all day finally spill over. And before I can stop myself, I’m in his arms, clinging like he’s the only thing keeping me upright.
He doesn’t ask. Not yet. He just holds me, strong and steady, one hand cradling the back of my head. And finally, I feel like I can breathe. His hoodie smells faintly of laundry powder and the rink, grounding me, dragging me back from the edge.
After a minute, my voice cracks out, muffled against his chest. “He knows.”
Ollie stiffens. “Knows what?”
I force myself to pull back, to look up at him through blurred lashes. “About us. About the showers. About everything.”
His jaw tightens, a flash of guilt and fear in his eyes. “Shit.”
I nod, wiping at my face with trembling hands. “He called me a liability. Said I’m nothing more than a…a puck bunny. That I’ve embarrassed him. That I’ve let him down.” My throat closesaround the words. “He threatened to pull everything if this hurts the team.”
“Pull what?” Ollie frowns, brow creasing.
