Chapter 39 Chloe
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHLOE
The corridors at the rink hum with fluorescent light, that faint antiseptic tang drifting from the treatment wing.
I should be with Ollie, sitting in that uncomfortable plastic chair at his bedside while Mia checks his hip and Jonno mutters about recovery time.
I should be holding his hand, steadying him the way he’s always steadied me.
But there’s a lump burning in my throat and fire buzzing through my veins, and I know exactly where I need to go.
Murphy.
I find him half a corridor away, striding out of the changing room with that cocky grin plastered on his face, still damp from the shower.
He’s joking with one of the rookies, spinning his towel like a lasso, and the kid is eating it up’ laughing, hanging on every word.
That’s the thing about Murphy. He’s magnetic when he wants to be.
He’s the glue in the locker room, the one who can turn a losing bus ride into a comedy set, the one who keeps spirits high.
Unless it’s me.
When his gaze flicks up and lands on me, the grin dies like someone flicked a switch. The rookies scatter, sensing the tension before a word’s spoken.
“Well, well,” Murphy drawls, voice dripping disdain. “If it isn’t the ghost of scandals past. Should’ve known you’d be lurking.”
I stiffen. “We need to talk.”
“Correction.” He slings the towel over his shoulder, eyes narrowing. “You need to talk. I don’t need a bloody thing from you.”
My hands curl into fists. “What the hell was that out there?”
“What was what?” His smirk is back, razor sharp. “You mean the part where Ollie finally admitted his hip’s shot? Or the part where you sprinted to his side like some damsel in distress? Bit dramatic, don’t you think? Even for you.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “You hit him. You slammed him into the boards like you wanted to break him.”
Murphy leans in, voice low, deadly calm. “If I’d wanted to break him, sweetheart, he wouldn’t be in the treatment room. He’d be in a body bag.”
The words knock the breath out of me. His eyes glitter, cold and merciless, and for a second, I see just how deep his hatred runs.
“This isn’t about Ollie,” I bite out. “This is about you and me.”
He barks a laugh, bitter and humourless. “Finally, some honesty. Yeah, it’s about us. It’s about the fact you tried to destroy my life. Or have you conveniently forgotten that part?”
My stomach twists, but I hold my ground. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Then let me refresh your memory.” His voice sharpens, every syllable a blade.
“Two years ago, you set me up. You called a photographer, you staged pictures to make it look like I’d cheated on Sophie with you, and you let them go viral.
You nearly ended my relationship. You nearly ended my career.
And for what? A headline? A bit of attention?
” He sneers. “You were poison then, and you’re poison now. ”
The shame is like bile rising in my throat. I did do that. I’d been desperate, stupid, furious at him for brushing me off like I’d been nothing. I wanted to hurt him, and I hadn’t thought about collateral damage. About Sophie. About the team.
But I’m not that girl anymore.
“I made a mistake,” I say, voice cracking but steadying as I push on. “The biggest mistake of my life. And I’ve owned that. I’ve lived with the consequences every single day. But you don’t get to keep using it like a weapon.”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t I?”
“No,” I snap. “Because this isn’t about protecting Sophie, or the team, or your precious reputation.
This is about punishing me. You hate that I’m here, you hate that Ollie wants me, and you hate that you can’t make me vanish with one cutting remark.
So you pick and you dig and you attack until someone bleeds. And today? That someone was him.”
Murphy’s jaw tightens. “Ollie should’ve known better. You’re a distraction. Always have been, always will be. He’s a good player, but he’s soft where it counts. You’ll ruin him, same as you tried to ruin me.”
Something inside me shatters. Not the fragile, guilty part that still carries that shame, but the stronger part I’ve been fighting to grow. I step into his space, chin high even though my hands are trembling.
“You don’t get to define me anymore. You don’t get to use my worst moment as an excuse for your cruelty. Ollie isn’t soft. He’s stronger than you’ll ever be. And he chose me, knowing every scar, every screw-up. That makes him braver than you.”
Murphy snorts. “Brave? He’s reckless. And when his career tanks, when the scouts pass him over because they don’t want the circus that comes with you, we’ll all know who to thank.”
The words are meant to crush me. But instead, I laugh.
It’s harsh and cracked, but it’s real. “You know what, Murphy? You don’t scare me anymore.
Not your banter, not your venom, not your hate.
You can sneer all you want, but it won’t change the truth.
You don’t matter to me. And the fact that I still matter to you, that I can still get under your skin, well, that’s pathetic. ”
His eyes flare, anger sparking. “You think you’ve won something here?”
“No,” I whisper, leaning in until my nose nearly brushes his. “I think you’ve already lost. You lost the second you let your grudge mean more than your team. And one day, they’ll see that too.”
For a heartbeat, silence stretches, taut as a wire. His chest heaves, fists clenched, eyes burning holes through me. But he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t lunge. Doesn’t win.
I turn on my heel and walk away, pulse thundering in my ears. My legs are shaky, my palms slick, but I don’t look back. Not once.
Later, when the corridors have emptied and the hum of the vending machine is the only sound left, I find myself in the far corner of the rink. There’s a bench tucked against the wall where the fans never sit, and I sink down hard enough that the wood creaks.
Murphy’s words replay on a loop. You’re poison. You’ll ruin him. You’ll cost him his career.
Each one slices deeper than I want to admit.
Because part of me believes it.
I press my palms to my eyes, trying to block out the sting.
I can still see those headlines, splashed across social media.
Raptors’ Murphy Caught Cheating? I can still remember the storm I created.
The way Sophie cried. The way the team circled Murphy, protecting him, freezing me out. I deserved it.
I’d told myself I was young, stupid, angry. That people change. But what if Murphy’s right? What if I’m just repackaging the same disaster in a prettier box, ready to detonate again?
And Ollie. God, Ollie. He doesn’t deserve the chaos I trail in my wake. He deserves the spotlight, the contract, the respect of his team. Not whispers in the locker room, not side-eyes from rookies, not suspicion from coaches.
My chest aches, but then I picture him on the ice, skating through the pain, jaw set like stone. I picture him in that hospital bed, pride stripped away but still fighting for every inch. And I remember the way his hand clutched mine like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.
He doesn’t see me as poison. He sees me as worth the fight.
That thought steadies me. Slowly, breath by breath, I let the fire replace the shame.
Murphy’s hatred doesn’t define me. His voice isn’t the truth.
He’s clinging to the past because it’s easier than admitting he’s scared, scared of change, scared of me, scared of what Ollie and I might mean if we last.
I straighten, shoulders squaring.
I can’t undo what I did, but I can prove I’m not that girl anymore. And I will. For Ollie. For me.
Murphy can drown in his bitterness if he wants. I’m done letting it drag me under.