Chapter 17 Ollie
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
OLLIE
The second Chloe says she won’t come inside, I feel my chest cave in just a little. She’s smiling, that careful, soft, guarded smile of hers, but her words sting.
“I can’t,” she says again, pulling her coat tighter around her. “Not tonight. Not with…all of them in there.”
I know exactly what she means. Murphy’s sharp tongue. Sophie’s judging glare. The team’s protectiveness. Chloe doesn’t stand a chance against the lot of them circling the wagons. And if I’m honest, I don’t want her to. Not yet.
“Wait here,” I tell her quickly, before she can disappear into the night again. “Just two minutes. Don’t move, promise?”
Her brows rise. “What are you doing?”
“Grabbing my coat. Saying goodbye to my favourite girl,” I wink, and her lips twitch despite the tension. “Back before you even miss me.”
“Your favourite girl?” she echoes, amused.
“Lila, obviously,” I say, all innocence. “Don’t go getting jealous.”
Her laugh follows me back inside, and it’s enough to make my chest unclench.
The pub is a riot of noise when I step back in. Laughter rolling over the clink of glasses, Murphy’s voice booming above everyone else’s, Lila shrieking with delight as Finn wriggles in her arms like a puppy desperate for escape. The warmth hits me like a wave after the chill outside.
I weave through the chaos, heading straight for my girl.
“There’s my favourite teammate,” I say, scooping Lila up into my arms before she can protest. She smells of juice and crisps and four-year-old chaos. “You been keeping Murphy in line for me?”
“Bear said I’m the boss,” she declares proudly, little hands fisting in my hoodie.
Jacko, sitting at the end of the table, smirks. “She’s not wrong.”
Murphy snorts. “She’s definitely more useful than you, Ol.”
“Jealousy’s not a good look, mate,” I shoot back, planting a loud smacking kiss on Lila’s cheek just to rile him further. She giggles and wipes her face.
“Ugh, gross!”
“Oi, you love me,” I tease, tickling her side until she squeals. Then I soften, pulling her close, letting her small warmth anchor me. “I’ll see you soon, munchkin. Be good for your mum, yeah?”
She nods solemnly, though I can tell she’s already distracted by Finn’s tiny socks.
I set her down gently, then turn to my teammates. “Right, I’m heading out.”
Murphy raises his brows, suspicious. “Out? Already? What, got better company lined up?”
I grin, trying to play it casual. “Maybe I just don’t fancy listening to you drone on about Sophie for another hour.”
“Oi!” He throws a peanut at me, which I catch mid-air and pop into my mouth. “Prick.”
Dylan smirks, Mia hides a laugh behind her hand, Jacko just shakes his head with that quiet, knowing look of his. I ignore it all, grabbing my coat from the back of a chair.
“Later, guys.”
And then I’m gone, slipping back out into the cold night.
She’s still there. Thank God.
Leaning against the wall just beyond the pub lights, arms folded, eyes bright when she sees me.
“You actually came back,” Chloe says, as if she didn’t believe I would.
“Course I did. You’re not shaking me off that easy.”
Her lips twitch. “Should’ve known.”
“Shall we?” I gesture down the street, offering my arm in mock gallantry.
She rolls her eyes but starts walking. I fall into step beside her, matching her pace even when my hip twinges in quiet protest. Not tonight. Not when I’ve got her beside me, coat brushing against my sleeve, hair catching the streetlamps like fire.
“So,” I say lightly, “you planning on running away every time I’m in the same building as Murphy?”
Her laugh is soft, self-conscious. “That would be kinda hard when I spend most of my days at the rink with you all. I just don’t think your friends would be thrilled to see me hanging around socialising with you all.”
“They’d get over it,” I say firmly.
“I’m not so sure. You were there, you saw what happened. The headlines, me scrambling on the ice on my arse. Murphy practically glares holes through me whenever I walk past.”
“That’s just his face. Man’s been stuck looking like a thundercloud since birth.”
She laughs again, and I grin, victorious.
“You shouldn’t make me laugh about this,” she says, shaking her head.
“Why not? You look beautiful when you laugh.”
She blinks at me, startled, and I immediately regret blurting it out so bluntly. But then her cheeks flush, and she looks away, and something warm curls in my chest.
We walk in silence for a moment, the rhythm of our steps steady. The night air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke.
I let my hand brush against hers once, twice, testing the waters. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t move closer either.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” she murmurs, eyes fixed straight ahead.
“Doing what?”
“That thing. Pretending it’s an accident when you’re clearly trying to hold my hand.”
I grin. “Busted. So, are you going to let me?”
She hesitates. Long enough that my stomach dips. Then, slowly, she turns her palm just enough that our fingers meet. I take my chance, threading mine through hers, warm and solid.
Her hand is small, cool from the night air, but she squeezes back, tentative but real.
“Well,” I say softly, heart hammering. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
She huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously charming, ridiculously handsome, ridiculously good at hockey…”
“Definitely not that last one,” she teases, though her thumb brushes against mine like she doesn’t even realise.
The walk feels shorter than it should. Every step is charged, every glance a spark. My hip throbs quietly under the weight of it all, but I grit my teeth, refusing to limp. Not tonight.
Her building looms sooner than I want it to, the warm glow of lights spilling onto the pavement. She slows, reluctant.
“Well. This is me,” she says, stopping at the bottom of the steps.
I glance up at the modern building, it’s only a few years old and it’s in the nicest part of town. It’s not at all where I expected her to live.
“Already?” I pout, dramatic. “Thought we’d at least make it halfway across town.”
“Not tonight, Taylor.”
Her voice is soft, but her eyes are steady. She’s not pushing me away, not really.
I take a breath, nerves thrumming like I’m about to take a penalty shot in overtime. Then I step closer, close enough that I can see the tiny flecks of gold in her brown eyes.
“Chloe,” I murmur, “can I…?”
I don’t even finish the sentence. I just lean in, slow, giving her every chance to stop me.
She doesn’t.
Her breath hitches, her hand still caught in mine, and then her lips are on mine, soft and warm and everything I’ve been craving for weeks.
The world tilts.
She tastes like wine and laughter, like the kind of trouble I’ll never regret. My free hand slides to her waist, pulling her closer, and she makes a sound, half sigh, half whimper, that nearly undoes me.
For a moment, I forget everything. Murphy’s scorn, Sophie’s judgement, the contract weighing over my head, the pain in my hip. It’s just her, and me, and the heat sparking between us.
When we finally break apart, both of us breathless, she rests her forehead against mine.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispers.
“Best bad idea I’ve ever had,” I counter, grinning even as my chest aches.
Her laugh is shaky, but her eyes shine. And I know, right then, I’d risk it all for another taste.