Page 82 of Face Off
I open my mouth, ready to argue, but the shift of my hip makes me gasp before I can get the words out. My pride deflates with the breath.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Eight. Maybe nine when I move.”
Mia exchanges a look with Jonno that saysfinally. She sets her clipboard down and pulls up the rolling stool, her hands already gloved. “You’ve done some damage, Ollie. Nothing that screams surgery right this second, but this isn’t just a tweak. You’ve got to be smart about it.”
“Smart,” I scoff, because the word feels like a bloody insult. “What’s smart? Sitting out the rest of the season? Letting Murphy think he’s won?”
Chloe’s voice cuts through before Mia can respond. “Smart is being able to walk in ten years.”
I turn my head toward her, ready to snap, but the look in her eyes stops me cold. It’s not pity. It’s not fear. It’s steel. She’s not asking me to stop fighting, she’s telling me to fight differently.
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “If I sit out, my contract’s as good as gone.”
Jonno leans back on his heels. “You don’t know that but better no contract than no career. You keep pushing this, and you’ll be done for good.”
The words punch harder than Murphy ever could. No career. Just like that, the thing I’ve bled for since I was a kid could vanish.
I look away, staring at the far wall. The hum of the fluorescent lights drills into my skull. “So, what, I just give up?”
Mia’s voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its edge. “No. You listen. You rehab. You play smart instead of reckless. We can get you back on the ice, but only if you stop pretending you’re invincible.”
Chloe’s thumb strokes across my knuckles, grounding me. “You’re not giving up,” she says quietly. “You’re letting yourself heal. There’s a difference.”
I want to argue, to throw their words back in their faces, but the truth is I can’t even sit up without feeling like my body’s betraying me. I close my eyes, jaw clenched so hard it aches.
“I hate this,” I mutter.
“I know,” Chloe whispers back.
Jonno stands, scribbling on his clipboard. “We’ll run some scans. Get the full picture before we talk timelines. But Ollie? No more hiding. If it hurts, you say so. Got it?”
I nod, because I don’t trust my voice not to crack.
Mia gives my shoulder a pat, her tone gentler now. “We’re on your side, Ollie. Don’t forget that.”
When they leave to prep the scans, the room feels both too big and too small. I stare at the ceiling, willing my breathing to even out, but all I can feel is the weight pressing down on me. My hip. My contract. My team. Chloe.
She shifts closer, free hand brushing damp hair off my forehead. “You don’t have to keep everything bottled up, you know.”
I huff a laugh, though it comes out more like a groan. “I’m not exactly a share-my-feelings kind of guy.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she says, lips twitching.
Despite everything, it makes me smile. “You think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”
Her expression softens. “Not even close. But I know enough. Enough to see how much this is eating you alive.”
The dam cracks. “If I lose hockey, Chloe, what’s left? It’s all I’ve ever had. All I’ve ever been good at.”
Her hand tightens around mine. “You’ve got more than hockey. You’ve got people who care about you. Jacko. The boys, well, most of them. Me.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Especially me.”
The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. I turn my head, pressing my forehead to the back of her hand. “You shouldn’t even be here. Not with all the shit flying around. My mess is swallowing you whole.”
“Stop,” she says firmly. “This isn’t your mess. It’s ours. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Her certainty slices through my despair. For the first time since hitting the ice, I feel like I can breathe.
The medics return, shifting me carefully onto a gurney to wheel me to radiology. Every bump sends a flare of agony through my hip, but Chloe walks beside me, never letting go of my hand.
