Page 96 of Face Off
I grab my water bottle, chugging half of it in one go, when voices drift in from the corridor outside the gym. Laughter first, then Murphy’s familiar drawl, lighter than usual.
“…nah, I’m done wasting energy on the Romeo and Juliet bit. Sophie told me to snap out of it, and she’s right. Ollie’s a muppet, sure, but as Sophie pointed out, he’s our muppet. And if Chloe wants to put up with him limping around like an old man, that’s her business.”
The rookies chuckle, but this time it’s softer, less sharp. The edge is gone. No venom, no baiting, just Murphy being Murphy, a bit of banter tossed into the air like it used to be.
My grip on the bottle loosens. My jaw, clenched so long it aches, finally eases.
Jonno glances toward the doorway, brow lifting. Even Mia tilts her head, listening, then mutters under her breath, “About time.”
I set the bottle down gently this time, the thud a quieter thing. For the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel like Murphy’s words are aimed like knives. Maybe Sophie really did knock some sense into him. Maybe the guys will finally start following his lead back toward something that looks like unity.
Later, Coach calls me into his office.
The space is small, walls lined with framed photos of past wins and half-faded playbooks. He doesn’t look up right away, flipping through a file until finally his eyes settle on me.
“Close the door.”
I do, the click loud in the silence.
Coach leans back in his chair, arms folded, studying me like he’s measuring my worth in real time.
“You’ve had your share of noise around here, Ollie. Some of it your fault, most of it not. Perception matters, though. You’ve got to look locked in, even when you’re fighting your way back.”
I brace for the sting of another warning, but Coach’s voice softens a notch. “I spoke with Mia. She says you’re listening, sticking to the plan. That’s good. Stick with it and I’ll give you a shot at the away game. Limited ice time, no contact. But it’s a start.”
I nod, relief loosening the knot in my chest.
Coach adds, almost as an afterthought, “And for what it’s worth, Murphy’s tone has changed. I’ve given him an ultimatum. He’s dropped the digs. Team follows his lead, whether they admit it or not. You keep your head down and keep working, things will level out.” The words hit like a jolt. Hope. Fragile, dangerous hope.
“No contact?”
“None,” he repeats firmly. “You so much as flinch wrong, you’re back on the bench. Understood?”
I want to argue, want to demand more, but the look in his eyes tells me it’s not negotiable. So I nod, swallowing the pride that burns my throat. “Understood.”
“Good.” He closes the file. “I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t believe you’re ready, Ollie. I trust you to handle it.”
Back in the locker room, Jacko’s already there with a tin foil tray balanced on his knees. The smell hits me before I even sit down; biscuits, fresh, buttery.
“Stress baking again?” I mutter, dropping beside him.
He smirks. “Better than stress drinking. Try one before Murph eats the lot.”
I grab one, bite down. Warm, soft in the middle. He always gets it right.
“Look, guys talk. Always have, always will. But you heard it today, Murph’s easing up. You know what that means? The restof ’em will fall in line. They want their team back. They want you back. Don’t let one dodgy hip and a bit of drama convince you you’re on the outside. He gave a rookie a bollocking for taking the piss earlier. You didn’t hear that from me.”
I let the words sink in. Jacko’s steady, uncomplicated in a way I envy. He doesn’t flinch from truth, but he doesn’t let it bury him either.
“I just hate sitting still,” I admit.
“Then don’t sit still,” Jacko shrugs. “Do the work. But do it smart. You’ll be skating again before you know it. And when you do, nobody’s gonna be talking about Chloe or Murphy or the bloody tabloid article. They’ll be talking about Ollie Taylor putting in the graft and making it count.”
The words land heavier than I expect. I finish the biscuit, crumbs clinging to my fingers, and nod once. “Thanks, mate.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” he says simply. “It’s not been easy watching my best mate beat himself up. Watching the team split down the middle like a bloody soap opera. But you’ve got something most of these guys never get, someone who actually gives a shit about you outside of the rink. Don’t waste that.”
That evening, Chloe shows up at the flat with a bag of takeaway and her notebook tucked under her arm. She kicks off her shoes at the door like she’s been doing it forever and sets the food on the coffee table.
