Chapter 36 Ollie
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
OLLIE
The locker room goes quiet the second I walk in.
Not silent, exactly, there’s still the squeak of skates on the rubber floor, the snap of tape ripping, the thud of sticks into racks, but the air shifts, heavy in that way you can feel more than hear.
Conversations cut short. A couple of the younger lads glance at me and then quickly look away.
Murphy, though? He doesn’t look away. He grins, sharp and mean, like he’s waiting for me to slip.
I drop my bag on the bench with more force than necessary, yank at my laces. Pretend I don’t notice. Pretend I can’t feel the eyes. But it follows me all the way onto the ice.
Drills start choppy, passes fumbling off sticks, nobody in rhythm. Coach’s whistle slices the air, short and furious. “Pick it up! You look like a bloody beer league!”
We reset for sprints, lungs burning before the first whistle even blows. The second I push off, Murphy’s there, stride for stride, breath hot against my ear.
“Bit slow today, Romeo. Legs worn out?” His laugh is sharp, carrying just far enough that the rookies snicker before catching themselves.
I grit my teeth, drive harder. He leans again, voice low and pointed. “Maybe try keeping your stick on the ice instead of in the showers, yeah?”
The words slam into me, bile rising. My stride stutters, just for a second. He notices, of course he notices, and his grin widens.
Next rep, he doesn’t let up. “Bet Coach loves knowing his winger’s head’s in his trousers instead of the game.”
Something in me snaps hot, but before I can whip around and make it worse, a puck whistles across the ice and clatters off Murphy’s shin pads.
“Eyes forward, Ollie!” Jacko yells, loud enough for Coach to hear. He’s already coasting past, stick cocked like he meant to bank that puck into Murphy all along.
The guys laugh, tension easing a notch, and I force myself to focus on the next sprint.
Practice doesn’t get better. Coach runs us into the ground, drills until my hip feels like it’s tearing in two. Murphy never stops yapping, calling me “lover boy,” telling rookies not to “catch whatever I’ve got.” Every barb digs in, festering. I ignore him until ignoring feels like bleeding out.
By the time we stumble off the ice, sweat dripping and lungs raw, I want nothing more than to peel my gear off and vanish. But Murphy isn’t done.
He slams his stick into the rack, eyes flicking at the rookies as he talks loud enough to fill the room. “We can’t afford distractions. Not with the standings this tight. Some of us care about the team more than our conquests.”
The silence is suffocating. No one names her, but Chloe’s there in every glance.
I slam my helmet onto the shelf, fingers trembling. I’m seconds from exploding when Jacko’s voice cuts clean through.
“Knock it off.” Calm, steady, no room for argument.
Murphy smirks. “What, you his babysitter?”
Jacko doesn’t blink. “I’m his mate. And I’m not sitting here while you poison the room because you can’t handle your own history. You’ve got a problem with him or Chloe? Take it up with Coach. But don’t drag the rest of us into it.”
The rookies shift uncomfortably. Dylan lifts his brows but stays quiet, Jonno shakes his head. Everyone’s waiting to see if Murphy swings. He doesn’t, not this time. Just mutters under his breath and slams his gear into his bag like the room insulted him personally.
The tension leaves me strung out, heart still hammering as if we’re mid-game. I sit heavy on the bench, hands shaking as I untape my stick. Jacko drops beside me, pressing a Tupperware box into my lap.
“Carrot cake muffins,” he says, like nothing happened. “Eat one before you combust.”
I stare at him. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly. Sugar solves everything.” He pulls one out for himself, takes a massive bite, cheeks bulging. “See?”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. Dylan grabs one too, then Jonno. Even a rookie sneaks one while Murphy storms out. Just like that, Jacko’s reclaimed the room.
He nudges me with his elbow. “Don’t let him get under your skin. It’s not worth it.”
I swallow hard, tasting carrot and cinnamon and the weight of loyalty. “Feels like he already has.”
Jacko shrugs. “Then shake him off. You’ve got bigger things to carry.” His tone softens. “And you’re not carrying them alone, yeah?”
The lump in my throat makes it impossible to answer, but I nod, gripping the muffin like it’s a lifeline.
After everyone’s gone, I tug on a hoodie and sling my bag over my shoulder. Jacko walks out with me, casual as anything, like we didn’t just survive a battlefield. “Maya’s making dinner tomorrow. You and Chloe should come.”
I blink. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. She wants to meet her properly. And Lila’s been asking who Chloe is.” His mouth quirks. “Figured we’d kill two birds, feed you both, and prove to Chloe she’s not out here on an island.”
Warmth floods through me despite the exhaustion. “You’re sure about that? Lila interrogates harder than Murphy.”
“Good,” Jacko deadpans. “Maybe she’ll do a better job of knocking sense into you.”
The thought of Chloe facing down a three-year-old judge makes me laugh all the way home.
Dinner the next night is chaos from the second we step inside Jacko’s place. Maya’s at the stove, apron on, greeting us like family. The kitchen smells like garlic and butter, something grounding after a week that’s been anything but.
And then Lila comes charging down the hall in unicorn pyjamas, curls bouncing, eyes bright. She skids to a stop in front of Chloe, hands on her hips.
“So,” she says in the kind of serious voice only toddlers can pull off. “You’re her.”
Chloe crouches, smiling nervously. “Her who?”
“Ollie’s girlfriend.” Lila narrows her eyes. “Are you nice?”
Chloe glances at me, cheeks red, then back at Lila. “I try to be.”
“Do you like pancakes?”
“Love them.”
“Do you make him sad?”
Her throat works as she answers softly. “I hope not.”
Lila studies her, thoughtful in a way that makes the room go still, then finally nods. “Okay. You can stay.”
Then she turns to me and holds her arms up high for me to pick her up. Which I do instantly. Her little arms wrap around my neck and she plants a wet kiss on my cheek. With a sly look at Chloe, Lila whispers in my ear. “I’m still your best girl though, right?”
I can’t stop the chuckle from escaping before I answer. “Always, my most favourite lady.”
“We still getting married?” Lila gives Chloe the sickliest grin she can muster up, and Chloe has to bite her lip to keep from smiling.
“Obviously, but you have to be a grown up first. You’re my girl.”
Maya snorts, Jacko bursts out laughing, and I nearly choke on my own grin. Chloe’s giggling too, but her eyes shimmer, the edges of her composure cracked wide open by a child’s fearless honesty.
I slip my hand into hers under the table as we sit down to dinner, squeeze gently. She squeezes back, eyes meeting mine like she’s just been handed a lifeline.
And in that moment, with garlic bread being passed around, Maya humming over the sauce, Jacko pouring wine, and Lila demanding someone cut her food into stars, I realise something bone-deep.
Murphy can spit venom. Management can glare. My hip can scream. But Chloe sitting here, flushed and laughing with my best friend’s family, is worth every bruise, every battle, every fight still to come.
Because she’s not a distraction. She’s the reason I’m still standing.
And no chirp from Murphy, no threat from above, is going to change that.