Page 83 of Face Off
The scans are a blur of cold machines and clinical instructions. When it’s over, they wheel me back, strapping me in again, and I want to scream. At them. At Murphy. At the universe.
But Chloe’s still there. Always there.
When Jonno returns with the preliminary results, his expression is unreadable. “Good news, no full dislocation. Bad news, there’s a tear. We’ll need to confirm the extent, but you’re looking at weeks minimum before you’re anywhere near ready for contact again.”
Weeks. Might as well be years.
I clench my fists. “That’s it then. Season’s over.”
“Not necessarily,” Mia says quickly. “Rehab right, and you could be back before playoffs. But only if you listen this time. No shortcuts.”
Playoffs. The word dangles like a lifeline I can barely reach.
I nod stiffly, though inside I’m screaming.
Jonno leaves again, giving me and Chloe some space. For a while, neither of us speaks. The silence is heavy, but not suffocating. She just keeps holding my hand, her thumb tracing little circles into my skin.
Finally, she says, “I’m going to find Murphy.”
The words snap my head around, pain be damned. “Chlo, no. Don’t.”
Her jaw is set, eyes blazing. “He put you on that stretcher. He’s been chipping at you for weeks, and now this? Someone has to say it.”
“Coach will handle him.”
“Coach isn’t the one Murphy’s been gunning for,” she shoots back. “It’s me and by default, it’s you. This is my fault. And if the team doesn’t see what he’s doing, then maybe they need it spelled out.”
Fear spikes through me sharper than the pain in my hip. “He’ll twist it. Make you the villain. He already hates you.”
She leans in, pressing her forehead against mine, voice low and certain. “Let him try. I’ve been hated before. I can take it. What I can’t take is watching you get torn apart while everyone pretends it’s fine. This is not fine and I’m done with Murphy’s shit.”
I want to stop her. I want to chain her to this chair, keep her safe from Murphy’s venom. But she’s already decided. I can see it in the set of her shoulders, the fire in her eyes.
And for once, maybe she’s right. Maybe someone does need to call him out.
I let out a shaky breath, the fight draining out of me. “Just… be careful.”
Her smile is fierce, defiant. “Always.”
As she rises from the chair, my gut twists. Pain, fear, pride, they all churn together until I don’t know which way’s up.
But one thing’s certain. Chloe’s about to go to war.
And Murphy has no idea what’s coming.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHLOE
The corridors at the rink hum with fluorescent light, that faint antiseptic tang drifting from the treatment wing. I should be with Ollie, sitting in that uncomfortable plastic chair at his bedside while Mia checks his hip and Jonno mutters about recovery time. I should be holding his hand, steadying him the way he’s always steadied me.
But there’s a lump burning in my throat and fire buzzing through my veins, and I know exactly where I need to go.
Murphy.
I find him half a corridor away, striding out of the changing room with that cocky grin plastered on his face, still damp from the shower. He’s joking with one of the rookies, spinning his towel like a lasso, and the kid is eating it up’ laughing, hanging on every word. That’s the thing about Murphy. He’s magnetic when he wants to be. He’s the glue in the locker room, the one who can turn a losing bus ride into a comedy set, the one who keeps spirits high.
Unless it’s me.
