Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHLOE
Ican feel the storm before I even step into his office.
The air is thicker here, heavier, like the silence has teeth. His assistant won’t meet my eyes as she ushers me through the double glass doors, and that’s how I know this is going to be bad.
My father doesn’t look up when I walk in. He’s behind his desk, phone pressed to his ear, expression flat and cold in a way that makes the knot in my stomach tighten. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. The clipped efficiency of his words is enough to gut whoever’s on the other end.
I hover, clutching the strap of my bag like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered.
Finally, he hangs up, sets the phone down with surgical precision, and lifts his gaze to me.
“Close the door.”
Three words, and I’m sixteen again, caught sneaking out, bracing for the lecture that always comes. My pulse hammers. I do as he says, the soft click sounding far too loud.
“Sit.”
I lower myself into the leather chair opposite his desk, spine stiff. He steeples his fingers, and studies me like I’m a puzzle missing half the pieces.
“You realise the position you’ve put me in?” he says at last. His tone isn’t raised, but it slices sharper than if he’d shouted.
My throat dries out. “Dad, I…”
“Don’t.” He cuts me off with a flick of his hand. “You were caught. In the showers. With Ollie Taylor. One of the best wingers on my payroll.”
My chest squeezes. “He’s not on your—”
“He is,” he snaps, and the veneer cracks just enough to show the fury underneath. “Every contract on that team exists because of my money. You think Taylor’s career survives without me? You think your reckless little stunt goes unnoticed?”
I flinch. “It wasn’t like that.”
His eyes narrow, cold and assessing. “Then explain it. Explain why you’ve once again found yourself on your knees for a player like some cheap puck bunny. First Murphy. Now Taylor. You’ve made yourself a joke. You’ve made me a laughing stock.”
The words land like a slap. My cheeks burn, shame and anger tangling until I can barely breathe.
“You don’t know what’s between me and Ollie. What we have.”
“I know exactly what’s between you,” he spits. “Lust. Impulse. The same lack of control that’s dogged you since you were a teenager. And you expect me to clean it up. Again. Every damn time, you bring the drama. It’s like you can’t control yourself.”
My stomach twists, nausea clawing at me. I grip the arms of the chair, nails digging in. “It’s not like it was with Murphy.”
His laugh is humourless, scathing. “No? You spread your legs for him, too. Do you think I didn’t hear about it? Do you think people don’t talk? This isn’t a new problem, this is the kind of shit I’ve had to deal with since you were in high school. One jumped up piece of shit after another.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back furiously. I won’t cry in front of him. Not when he’s looking at me like I’m filth.
“I was young. Well, immature.” I whisper.
“You were stupid,” he corrects, voice flat. “And you haven’t changed. Murphy hates you. He’s already filed a complaint to management about you shadowing the team. Do you have any idea the fire you’ve lit? The board wanted you gone weeks ago.”
My breath catches. “Then why am I still there?”
“Because I insisted,” he says, leaning forward, eyes like steel. “Because I told them if they cut you loose, I’d cut my sponsorship. I put my neck on the line for you, Chloe. And this is how you repay me? By dragging Taylor into your mess?”
His words pummel me, one after another, until I’m hollow.
“You’ve let me down,” he continues, quieter now, which is somehow worse. “I expected better. You’ve had every opportunity handed to you, every door opened, and you choose to squander it chasing hockey players. You’re nothing more than a liability.”
The silence after is suffocating. My throat works, but no sound comes out. He’s reduced me to rubble with surgical precision, just like always.
Finally, I find my voice. It comes out cracked, fragile. “I love him.”
For a heartbeat, I think he might soften. That maybe those words will cut through. But his mouth twists, cruel.
“Love?” He sneers. “You don’t know the meaning of it. You’re clinging to Taylor because it makes you feel relevant. Because you’ve never been able to stand on your own.”
“That’s not true.” My voice trembles, but the words are steel. “You don’t see me. You never have. All you’ve ever seen is your money. Your name. What I can’t live up to. But Ollie…” I swallow hard, fighting for air. “He sees me.”
His expression doesn’t shift. It’s carved from granite.
“Then let’s hope he still does,” he says finally. “Because if I lose him, if this blows back on the team, you’ll wish you’d never met him.”
The threat hangs in the air, poisonous and heavy.
I stand, legs shaky but holding. “You can take your money. You can take your sponsorship. But you don’t get to take him.”
For once, his eyes flicker. Just a flash. Surprise, maybe. Then the mask returns, hard and unreadable.
“You’re dismissed.”
I walk out before the tears can fall, the door clicking shut behind me. My whole body trembles, but my spine stays straight until I’m out of sight.
I walk to the bank of elevators and push the call button. My gaze fixed on the bank of numbers as they light up, one after the other, until the doors ping and slide open. On the journey down to the ground floor my chest feels tight and the nausea wracks my body.
Once the doors have opened fully, I step out and make my way out to the street. The world outside feels too bright. Too loud. I stumble down the steps, clutching my bag tight, breath ragged.
I replay my father’s words in my head on a loop. Puck bunny. Joke. Liability.
Each one is a scar I’ll carry. Each one cuts deeper because some part of me fears he’s right.
But then I think of Ollie. The way he touched me like I was breakable and precious all at once. The way he stood in front of Jacko and Dylan like he was unashamed. The way he texted me last night: You’re my favourite complication.
And for the first time, I wonder if I can rewrite the story my father has always told me about myself.
Back at my flat, the silence presses in. I curl up on the sofa, knees tucked to my chest, phone clutched in my hand. I should text Ollie. Should tell him everything. But the words stick in my throat.
What if he thinks my dad’s right? What if he realises I’m nothing but baggage, drama he can’t afford?
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the doubts away. Ollie’s not like that. He’s stubborn and hot-headed and reckless, but he’s also the first person who’s ever looked at me and seen something worth holding onto.
The door buzzes and my heart lurches.
When I open it, he’s there. Hoodie pulled up, bag slung over his shoulder, grin crooked but tired.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”
The tears I’ve been holding back all day finally spill over. And before I can stop myself, I’m in his arms, clinging like he’s the only thing keeping me upright.
He doesn’t ask. Not yet. He just holds me, strong and steady, one hand cradling the back of my head. And finally, I feel like I can breathe. His hoodie smells faintly of laundry powder and the rink, grounding me, dragging me back from the edge.
After a minute, my voice cracks out, muffled against his chest. “He knows.”
Ollie stiffens. “Knows what?”
I force myself to pull back, to look up at him through blurred lashes. “About us. About the showers. About everything.”
His jaw tightens, a flash of guilt and fear in his eyes. “Shit.”
I nod, wiping at my face with trembling hands. “He called me a liability. Said I’m nothing more than a…a puck bunny. That I’ve embarrassed him. That I’ve let him down.” My throat closes around the words. “He threatened to pull everything if this hurts the team.”
“Pull what?” Ollie frowns, brow creasing.
“His sponsorship.” The words taste bitter. “He reminded me the only reason I even still have this job is because he insisted. That management wanted me gone after Murphy complained, but he forced them to keep me or he’d take his money.”
Ollie’s face hardens in a way I’ve never seen before. His arms tighten around me, protective, furious. “That’s not on you. That’s him. Don’t you dare carry that weight.”
“But it is on me,” I whisper. “He’s right. I was reckless with Murphy. I thought it didn’t matter, that no one would care. And now…” My voice breaks. “Now I’ve dragged you into it, too. If you lose your contract?”
“Stop.” Ollie’s tone is fierce, his hands gripping my shoulders until I meet his gaze. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. I’m here because I want to be. Because I chose you. And if your dad doesn’t like it? Tough. He doesn’t get to dictate my life. Or yours. You’re an adult.”
Something inside me fractures. Not from his anger, but from the raw conviction blazing in his eyes. Nobody’s ever fought for me like this before. Nobody’s ever told me I wasn’t too much trouble, too much risk.
My voice is a whisper. “What if he’s right, though? What if I ruin everything for you?”
Ollie exhales sharply, then cups my face in both hands, thumbs brushing away my tears. “Then I’ll rebuild it. With you. But you won’t ruin me, Chlo. You make me better. You’re my anchor, not my downfall.”
The words hit harder than any of my father’s barbs. They melt something frozen deep inside me.
I collapse against him again, clinging tight. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You do.” He presses his lips to the top of my head, voice steady and sure. “You deserve everything. And I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”
The sob that escapes me isn’t all pain this time. It’s release. It’s hope. It’s the terrifying possibility that maybe I’m not the girl my father says I am.