Chapter 35 Chloe
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHLOE
The bed feels too big without him.
I roll over, reaching instinctively for the warmth of Ollie’s body, only to find nothing but cool sheets.
The flat is quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen.
He didn’t wake me when he left, but I know where he is.
I can picture it too clearly. Ollie on the ice, carving through the silence of the rink like it’s the only place he can breathe.
Part of me wants to be mad he didn’t wake me, but mostly I just ache. Because I know what he’s chasing out there. Stillness. A place where the noise can’t reach him. I wish I could give him that.
I throw the blanket off and pad barefoot to the kitchen. My phone buzzes with a text. Not from Ollie.
Dad: You’re making a fool of yourself. One mistake was bad enough, but now it’s with someone whose career you’ll ruin too. Think about what you’re doing, Chloe. Think about what it’ll cost you.
My stomach twists. His words always land like punches, carefully aimed to bruise where no one else can see. I sink onto the sofa, clutching the phone, staring at the message until the letters blur.
He knows exactly which buttons to push.
When I was sixteen and begged to go to a party, he told me if I wanted friends, he’d buy me some.
When I got my first internship, he said it wasn’t about my work, just his name opening the door.
When I told him I wanted to try photography instead of sports media, he laughed.
You don’t get to chase hobbies when I’m paying the bills.
He’s always made sure I remember who holds the purse strings. And even now, when I’m supposedly independent, his voice still echoes.
I almost throw the phone across the room, but then I think of Ollie. His steady hands on my skin last night, his voice promising he wasn’t going anywhere. The way he kissed me like I was worth something.
That’s what keeps me from falling apart.
I shower, dress, and head for the bakery down the street.
A croissant and a flat white feel like a small rebellion, a reminder that I can choose something for myself.
Sitting at the corner table, I scroll through my photos, looking at snapshots of the team, candid shots of Ollie laughing with Jacko, blurry action frames from practice.
And then the ones I don’t let anyone see.
Ollie asleep on my sofa, hoodie tangled around his shoulders, lashes brushing his cheeks.
Ollie in my kitchen, hair a mess, holding up a frying pan with an exaggerated grimace like he’s offended by eggs.
Ollie tying his skates, head bowed, completely lost in ritual.
I’ve never taken so many pictures of one person in my life. He’s become the lens I see the world through.
The door jingles. I glance up, heart stuttering. Not Ollie. Murphy.
Of course.
He spots me immediately, his scowl darkening. He doesn’t bother to order, just strides over.
“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” he snaps.
My throat tightens. “Murphy, I’m just—”
“You’re just what? Following us? Embarrassing yourself? Sleeping your way through the roster like it’s a hobby?” His voice is sharp enough to cut. “You don’t belong here, Chloe. And the sooner you get that through your head, the better for everyone.”
The bakery goes quiet around us. I grip my cup so hard I’m afraid it’ll shatter. He leans closer, lowering his voice now, but it’s no less venomous.
“You ruined things once. Don’t ruin them again.”
He straightens, throws me one last look of disgust, and stalks out.
I sit frozen, cheeks burning, shame crawling hot up my neck. The old me would’ve bolted, left the coffee half-finished, hidden in my flat for days. But Ollie’s voice echoes in my head. You’re worth more than their whispers. Worth more than your dad’s bullshit.
My hands still shake, but I force myself to finish the croissant. Bite after bite, chewing even though my stomach protests. It feels like defiance. The silence of my stoic resolve is only punctuated by my phone vibrating on the table.
Ollie: Back at mine. Come over?
I don’t hesitate.
Chloe: On my way.
He meets me at the door in sweats and a T-shirt, hair damp from a shower, expression tired but softening the second he sees me.
“Hey,” he says gently, like he can sense the crack in my chest. “Bad day?”
I swallow hard. “Murphy found me at the bakery.”
Ollie stiffens instantly, jaw tightening. “What did he say?”
I shrug, trying for casual but failing. “The usual. That I don’t belong. That I’m…” My voice falters. “That I’m embarrassing you.”
His hands are on my face before I can finish, thumbs brushing my cheeks, eyes blazing. “Don’t you ever believe him. He doesn’t get to define you. You hear me?”
Tears prick my eyes, stupid and unwanted. “It’s just… Dad said almost the same thing this morning.”
Ollie exhales sharply, pulling me into his chest. I press my face into the cotton of his shirt, breathing him in, grounding myself. His arms wrap around me like armour.
“He doesn’t get to define you either,” he murmurs into my hair. “Not him, not Murphy. You’re not theirs to break.”
Something inside me unclenches at that, and I tilt my face up to kiss him. It’s not urgent this time. It’s slow, tender, almost shy. His lips linger on mine like he has all the time in the world.
“Stay tonight,” he whispers.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
The smile that curves his mouth makes my chest ache in the best way.
Later, curled in bed with his arm draped over me, I tell him.
Not everything, not all the jagged edges of my childhood, but enough.
About how Dad’s money always bought my friends, about how I never knew if people liked me or the cheques he wrote.
About how every time I tried to make a choice for myself, he found a way to remind me it wasn’t mine to make.
Ollie listens, stroking my hair, not interrupting. When I finish, voice raw, he presses a kiss to my temple.
“You’re not alone anymore,” he says simply.
It’s not a grand speech. It’s better. Because I believe him.
We fall asleep wrapped in each other. Me holding on for dear life, holding on to the hope that Ollie instils in me.
The next morning, he wakes me with coffee, already dressed for the rink. He sits on the edge of the bed, grinning down at me like I’m something precious.
“You’re staying here today,” he says, like it’s fact. “Safe. Warm. No Murphy, no Dad. Just you.”
“I’m supposed to be following the team, remember?” I raise my eyebrows as I remind him, I do actually have a job to do. Even if it’s a job my father secured for me.
“There’s nothing going on today. We’re running drills and watching videos of the Wildcats for tomorrow’s game. You can stay here and take a self-care day.” He leans down to kiss my forehead.
I roll my eyes, but my heart melts anyway. “You’re bossy.”
He smirks, leaning down to kiss me once more before standing. “And you love it.”
I watch him go, coffee warming my hands, and realise he’s right. I do.
Maybe he’s right, maybe I do finally belong somewhere.