Chapter 21 Ollie
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
OLLIE
Istretch my legs on the edge of the rink, feeling the stiffness in my left hip nagging like an uninvited guest. Coach isn’t letting me get away with ignoring it.
“Mia will sort you,” he’d barked this morning, waving a hand toward the physio room like he was shooing a dog.
“Then you’re on weights. No excuses. Get moving. ”
I glance toward Mia, who is already setting up her kit by the rink doors. Her ponytail swings over her shoulder, and she gives me a smile. “Ready for your punishment?” she asks, her tone teasing but with the edge of authority that makes me straighten.
“Always,” I mutter, trying for casual, though I already know my hip isn’t going to behave.
Mia has me go through my usual warm-up, gentle stretches, mobility drills. She presses on the spot that always hurts, raising an eyebrow. “Still tender?”
“Subtle,” I reply, wincing slightly. She shakes her head. “You hide it well, but don’t. You push through, you make it worse. You know that.”
I swallow. She’s right, as always. My hip hasn’t stopped niggling, especially when the drills get intense.
Coach wants results, the team expects speed and impact, and I don’t want to look weak.
Not in front of the others. But with Mia, I can’t hide anything.
She’s the one person who’ll call me on it without hesitation.
We work through exercises that force me to activate the muscles around the joint, core engagement, lateral slides, balance work on the BOSU ball. I grit my teeth through a few of them, feeling the tightness in my hip flare. She’s watching every micro-expression, correcting my form.
“Better,” she says after ten minutes. “You can skip the ice for a drill or two, but don’t think I’m letting you off weight training.”
I nod, grimacing. “Understood.”
Coach’s voice carries across the rink. “Taylor! Enough bonding with the physio. Weights, now. Chop-chop.”
Mia smirks at me. “Try not to limp through the rest of the day, yeah?”
“Noted,” I mutter, already heading toward the weight room.
The clang of metal and the low hum of the ventilation welcome me.
Dylan is already on the bench press, Jacko adjusting plates, Murphy doing stretches in the corner.
The room smells of sweat, rubber mats, and determination; the kind of scent that sticks in your nostrils and reminds you exactly why you play.
I grab a dumbbell, doing a set of presses, glancing up at the team. Jacko nods a greeting; Dylan doesn’t acknowledge me beyond a fleeting glance; Murphy grunts a hello. None of them notices my subtle wince when my hip tenses during a move.
I keep it hidden. Always.
Between sets, I catch a glimpse of my phone tucked in my shorts pocket. Chloe’s name flashes.
Chloe: Hope your physio wasn’t torturous. Dinner tonight. I have a new place in mind.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to grin. Keep it cool. Professional. Keep it secret. The last thing I want is the team speculating. I type back slowly, careful.
Ollie: I’ll meet you. 7?
Chloe: Perfect.
I slide the phone back and take a deep breath. Focus on the reps. Ignore the flutter in my chest. But my shoulders carry a little more tension, my grip a fraction tighter.
The team’s banter hums around me. Murphy complains about the music (I know better than to say a word), Jacko’s quietly correcting form for someone who clearly doesn’t want to be corrected. I smile faintly. Their rhythm, their chaos, it’s a comfort and a pressure at the same time.
I’m aware of everything, watching for cues, calculating. I don’t want to tip my hand, not yet. Chloe isn’t part of the team, and this, the night we’re about to spend together, is ours. Hidden. Precious.
By late afternoon, I’m dripping with sweat and fatigue. My hip protests with every step, but I’ve made it through. Coach claps me on the shoulder. “Good work today. You’ll feel it tomorrow.”
I nod, grateful it’s over. Team banter shifts toward dinner and a games night Dylan and Mia have invited everyone to. The others chatter about who’s bringing what, who’s playing what game, who’s winning, all of it. I smile at their energy but shake my head.
“Not tonight,” I murmur when Jacko glances my way.
“Already booked?” he asks, tilting his head.
“Yeah, family stuff,” I reply, keeping it vague. Family stuff, meaning Chloe. Anything more detailed, and Murphy’s ears would twitch like a bloodhound.
Jacko raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press, he knows I don’t really have any family. “Fair enough. Don’t keep her waiting too long,” he says with a quiet smirk.
I allow a small grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Back at my apartment, I shower quickly, the warm water loosening tight muscles and giving me a moment to think about the evening ahead. Chloe. The way her eyes remain on me when she thinks no one’s looking, the tilt of her smile, the warmth that lingers from that first proper kiss at her door.
I dress carefully, choosing a casual outfit that says effort without overdoing it. A crisp shirt, dark jeans, and boots. Practical for walking, but with just enough polish to show I care.
My phone buzzes again it’s a simple text.
Chloe: Cucina’s on the High Street. See you soon. Don’t be late.
Me: Wouldn’t dream of it.
I type back, smiling.
I glance down at my hip, flexing gently. The pain is present but manageable. I know Mia’s exercises and careful rest will keep me going, but there’s a nagging thought at the back of my mind. My contract renewal, the pressure to perform, and the need to hide any weakness from the team.
And Chloe.
The thought of her makes me forget everything else for a heartbeat. I shake my head, trying to keep my focus. But she’s already won that battle in my chest.
The walk to the restaurant is brisk, the city lights flickering off wet streets. I arrive a little early, scanning for her. There she is, waiting under the canopy, coat wrapped tight, hair catching the lights. My heart kicks. She looks radiant, confident, but soft. Ready.
“Hey,” I say, voice low, playful, as I reach her.
“Hey,” she replies, eyes meeting mine with a mixture of amusement and warmth.
“You look… stunning,” I add, almost before I can stop myself. The words feel clumsy but true.
Chloe tilts her head, smirking. “Flattery? Early in the evening? You’re desperate to keep me?”
“Maybe,” I admit with a grin. “Or maybe I just like being honest.”
She laughs softly. The sound wraps around me like a warm blanket, and I lean in to plant a soft, gentle kiss on her lips.
I feel like a teenager again. There’s not really been any dates in the years since I joined the team.
Sure, there’s been girls and sex but nothing I’d class as important.
They were more to fill the void not having family around has left.
No one that made me feel how Chloe does.
We walk in together, seated at a cozy table tucked in the corner.
Conversation flows easily, light at first, teasing banter, stories from the rink that I carefully omit any hint of our relationship from the team.
I watch her laugh, see the way her eyes shine in the candlelight, and I feel the pull, the desire to reach across the table and brush my fingers against hers. But I wait. Respect. Slow burn.
Dinner passes with a mixture of flirtation and genuine connection.
Chloe is sharp, funny, incisive, and I can’t stop thinking about how effortlessly she reads me, understands me without needing everything spelled out.
My hand brushes hers once accidentally, or maybe not, and we both pause, eyes locking.
The electricity hums between us, unspoken and delicious.
“After this,” I murmur when dessert arrives, leaning closer. “I want to see you again. Properly.”
Chloe tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re very forward for someone who claims to be subtle.”
“I prefer action over words,” I reply with a wink.
She smiles, but I see the shadow of hesitation. “I like that. I do. But you’re still skating around the rest of the world, aren’t you? Team, contracts, that whole circus.”
“I am,” I admit. “But that’s why I’m choosing this. Choosing us. Right now.”
Her gaze softens, and I feel the tension between desire and patience tightening. She’s mine for this evening, and I intend to make it unforgettable, without rushing, without breaking trust.
By the time we leave the restaurant, the air is crisp, and we walk slowly, side by side. I find her hand and gently take it, tentatively, allowing her to either pull away or interlace her fingers with mine. She lets them slide together, a small squeeze acknowledging the connection, the trust.
And in that moment, all the worry, all the hidden tensions, the hip, the team, the contract fades into the background. It’s just us.
By the time we reach her flat, the world has narrowed to the two of us again. I brush a loose strand of hair from her face, thumb ghosting her cheek. Her breath catches.
“Can I…” I begin, voice low, teasing, dangerous.
She tilts her head up, eyes fluttering. “Yes,” she whispers.
And then I kiss her, slow, deep, tasting the warmth of her lips, the fire that’s been simmering between us for weeks. Everything else disappears.
When we finally pull back, she’s breathing heavily, smiling, cheeks flushed. “You’re reckless,” she whispers.
“And you’re irresistible,” I reply, grinning. “See? Balance.”
As I take a step back Chloe grips my hand, preventing me from leaving.
“Coffee?”
My heart’s still racing, I know one thing for certain. Whatever comes next, whatever the team, whatever the pressures, they won’t stop this.
And I’m not about to hide any more than I have to.