Page 91 of Face Off
I smirk, leaning on the counter. “Maybe that’s the plan.”
We drink in comfortable silence, the kind of silence I didn’t think I’d ever have with anyone. She’s the one who breaks it.
“What’s next for you?” she asks quietly. “With the team, I mean.”
I stare into my mug. “Rehab. Watching from the sidelines. Trying not to lose my bloody mind while Murphy sharpens his knives.”
Her brows knit together. “You’re not going to let him win.”
“Doesn’t feel like I’ve got a choice sometimes.” I scrub a hand over my face. “He’s one of the golden boys. I’m the liability with the glass hip and the girl he hates. If it comes down to choosing between us…”
“They won’t,” she cuts in firmly. “And even if they did, you’re worth more than that. More than him.”
Her faith is like a spotlight I don’t know how to stand under. But I want to. For her.
I round the counter, taking her free hand. “Then I’ve got to prove it. To them. To myself.”
She squeezes my fingers, eyes steady on mine. “We’ll prove it. Together.”
By the time we make it to the rink later that day, my mood has steadied into something sharper. The locker room is a mess of chatter, but the shift in atmosphere when I limp in isn’t subtle.Conversations cut short. Eyes flicker away. Murphy’s smirk spreads like oil on water.
Jacko’s the one who crosses the room, clapping a hand on my shoulder with the kind of easy confidence I can’t fake. “Rehab hero’s here,” he says, loud enough for the others to hear. “Don’t let the crutches fool you, he could still bench-press half the bloody league.”
It draws a few laughs, the tension cracking. But Murphy leans back on the bench, arms folded, eyes fixed on me. “Yeah. Just don’t ask him to skate. We might need a stretcher again.”
The rookies chuckle nervously. The venom in his tone isn’t lost on anyone.
My jaw tightens, but I don’t rise. Not here. Not now.
Jacko shoots him a glare before steering me toward the physio wing. His voice drops low enough only I can hear. “Ignore him. He’s looking for blood. Don’t give him yours.”
I nod stiffly, though the words sit heavy. Chloe was right, I can’t let Murphy write the ending to this.
But as I lower myself onto the table and Mia straps me in for another round of exercises, the burn in my hip isn’t the only thing I feel. It’s the fire in my chest, equal parts fear and determination.
Because if survival means knowing when to fight back, then I’m ready.
And this time, I won’t be fighting alone.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHLOE
The rink smells of disinfectant and old sweat, the sort of scent that clings to the walls no matter how hard anyone scrubs. For weeks it’s been suffocating, pressing down on me with Murphy’s barbs and the weight of everyone’s suspicion. But this morning, I make myself walk in with my chin lifted. I’m done hiding in corners. Done letting him dictate the space I take up.
If Ollie can face rehab with that stubborn grit of his, then I can do my part, too. Not by arguing with Murphy, he’ll never believe a word I say, but by working. By writing. By proving I belong here in the only way I know how.
I head straight to the physio wing, notebook tucked under my arm. Mia is already working Ollie through resistance bands, her voice firm but encouraging. Ollie’s jaw is locked tight as he pulls against the stretch, sweat pooling at his temples. Every rep is a fight, and even when Mia tells him to ease up, he mutters, “Again.”
“Don’t make me be the bad guy, Ol,” Mia says, half amused, half exasperated.
He glares, then notices me watching and the edges of his expression soften. Not much, just enough to remind me he still sees me, even through the pain.
I write quickly, not just the mechanics of the exercise but the look in his eyes, the grit and fire that refuses to be dimmed. When a couple of rookies drift past and glance at my notes, I brace for the usual suspicion, but one of them just asks, “What’s your angle?”
“Resilience,” I answer without hesitation. “What it takes to keep going when the season tries to break you.”
He nods like that makes sense. It’s small, but it feels like the first crack in the wall I’ve been pushing against.
