Page 76 of Face Off
Even if it costs me everything else.
I circle the rink again, faster this time, until my muscles scream and my vision blurs. Only then do I let myself collapse at centre ice, staring up at the rafters, chest heaving.
The silence presses in, heavy, but not empty. For the first time in weeks, it feels like clarity.
I whisper it to the empty arena, just to make it real.
“She’s worth it.”
The words echo back, steady and sure. And for tonight, that’s enough to keep me grounded.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHLOE
The bed feels too big without him.
I roll over, reaching instinctively for the warmth of Ollie’s body, only to find nothing but cool sheets. The flat is quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen. He didn’t wake me when he left, but I know where he is. I can picture it too clearly. Ollie on the ice, carving through the silence of the rink like it’s the only place he can breathe.
Part of me wants to be mad he didn’t wake me, but mostly I just ache. Because I know what he’s chasing out there. Stillness. A place where the noise can’t reach him. I wish I could give him that.
I throw the blanket off and pad barefoot to the kitchen. My phone buzzes with a text. Not from Ollie.
Dad: You’re making a fool of yourself. One mistake was bad enough, but now it’s with someone whose career you’ll ruin too. Think about what you’re doing, Chloe. Think about what it’ll cost you.
My stomach twists. His words always land like punches, carefully aimed to bruise where no one else can see. I sink onto the sofa, clutching the phone, staring at the message until the letters blur.
He knows exactly which buttons to push.
When I was sixteen and begged to go to a party, he told me if I wanted friends, he’d buy me some. When I got my first internship, he said it wasn’t about my work, just his name opening the door. When I told him I wanted to try photography instead of sports media, he laughed.You don’t get to chase hobbies when I’m paying the bills.
He’s always made sure I remember who holds the purse strings. And even now, when I’m supposedly independent, his voice still echoes.
I almost throw the phone across the room, but then I think of Ollie. His steady hands on my skin last night, his voice promising he wasn’t going anywhere. The way he kissed me like I was worth something.
That’s what keeps me from falling apart.
I shower, dress, and head for the bakery down the street. A croissant and a flat white feel like a small rebellion, a reminder that I can choose something for myself. Sitting at the corner table, I scroll through my photos, looking at snapshots of the team, candid shots of Ollie laughing with Jacko, blurry action frames from practice.
And then the ones I don’t let anyone see. Ollie asleep on my sofa, hoodie tangled around his shoulders, lashes brushing his cheeks. Ollie in my kitchen, hair a mess, holding up a frying pan with an exaggerated grimace like he’s offended by eggs. Ollie tying his skates, head bowed, completely lost in ritual.
I’ve never taken so many pictures of one person in my life. He’s become the lens I see the world through.
The door jingles. I glance up, heart stuttering. Not Ollie. Murphy.
Of course.
He spots me immediately, his scowl darkening. He doesn’t bother to order, just strides over.
“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” he snaps.
My throat tightens. “Murphy, I’m just?—”
“You’re just what? Following us? Embarrassing yourself? Sleeping your way through the roster like it’s a hobby?” His voice is sharp enough to cut. “You don’t belong here, Chloe. And the sooner you get that through your head, the better for everyone.”
The bakery goes quiet around us. I grip my cup so hard I’m afraid it’ll shatter. He leans closer, lowering his voice now, but it’s no less venomous.
“You ruined things once. Don’t ruin them again.”
