Chapter 44 Ollie
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
OLLIE
The elastic band bites into my hand as I drag it across my body, the resistance sharp in my hip. Pain flares, but I grit my teeth and hold it, sweat dripping down my back.
“Ease up, Ollie,” Mia says, watching me with that hawk-like gaze she has. “You’ve done three sets. That’s enough for today.”
“Another one,” I mutter, adjusting my stance, pushing harder against the band.
Her sigh cuts through the air. “You’re pushing past what we agreed. You’ll end up back where you started if you’re not careful.”
I know she’s right. I know the throbbing heat in my hip isn’t good.
But all I can hear in my head is Murphy’s laugh, his comments about me being distracted, about me being a liability.
I can’t give them any reason to think he’s right.
If I don’t prove I’m strong enough, fast enough, tough enough, then what am I?
The band slips from my fingers and snaps against my wrist. I hiss and reach for it again.
“Enough,” Mia says, sharp now. She steps forward, hand on my shoulder. “If you don’t listen to your body, you’ll tear it all over again. And then you won’t see the ice for the rest of the season. Do you understand me?”
Her words crash through me like cold water, but still my jaw locks. “One more.”
She pulls the band out of my hand before I can argue. “No. Go shower, Ollie. That’s it for today.”
I limp out of the physio room, pride stinging worse than the pain in my hip.
The corridor blurs as I walk, fury boiling under my skin. I know I’m pushing too hard. I know I’m risking everything. But if I stop, if I let myself feel weak for even a second, then what the hell do I have left?
The slam of the locker door echoes around me as I throw myself onto the bench. My shirt sticks to my back, every breath tight and angry.
The door opens again. Chloe. Her eyes lock on me, and I see it instantly; fear. Her gaze drops to my limp, to the way I’m cradling my hip, and her face hardens.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” I snap, too quick.
She steps closer, fury radiating off her. “Don’t lie to me, Ollie. You’re hurting. I can see it.”
I drag my hands through my hair, gripping tight enough it stings. “I just pushed too hard, alright? It’s fine.”
Her voice rises, sharp enough to cut. “Fine? You can barely walk straight! Why would you do this to yourself?”
The words tear out before I can stop them. “Because if I lose hockey, I lose me!”
The silence that follows is brutal. She freezes, her chest rising and falling fast, like I’ve hit her as hard as I’ve just hit myself.
Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t back down. “You think that’s all you are? A pair of skates and a jersey?”
I can’t answer, because the truth is ugly and it’s right there in my throat. Without the game and this team, without the rink, I don’t know who I am.
“You’re more than this,” she says fiercely, her voice shaking but strong.
“You’re Ollie. You’re stubborn, kind and stupidly loyal.
You’re the man who cooks pasta for me when I’ve had the worst day.
The man who stays up late just to make me laugh when I can’t sleep. Hockey doesn’t make you that. You do.”
My hands drop, shoulders caving under the weight of her words. I want to believe her, but the fear is too loud. “It’s all I’ve ever been good at.”
Her eyes soften, though her anger doesn’t fade. She crouches in front of me, forcing me to meet her gaze. “Then maybe it’s time you find out what else you’re good at. Because I swear, Ollie, you’re not allowed to destroy yourself just to prove a point.”
The door creaks behind her, and Murphy’s voice cuts into the room. “Coach wants to know if you’re fit enough to travel next week, or if he should start planning without you.”
His smirk is casual, but I see the glint underneath. He knows exactly how to twist the knife.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Tell him I’ll be fit enough to travel. And then you’d better wipe that smirk off your face, because I’m done with you. You don’t get to dictate my future anymore. Your opinion no longer counts for anything. You lost that right weeks ago.”
I push up to stand, ready to make my point, but Coach’s voice echoes down the corridor, calling Murphy back. Murphy turns to leave, words hanging heavy in the air.
Chloe rises slowly, anger simmering beneath her skin. “He’s trying to break you because of me.”
I shake my head, throat tight. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am a liability. But he doesn’t get to decide anymore.”
Her hand lands on mine, firm and grounding. “No. He’s wrong. You just need to stop letting him win in your head. And that, right there, was the first step.”
Later, in the locker room, I feel the weight of every eye on me. Coach’s brow furrows as he studies me, and I know Murphy’s been planting seeds. I open my mouth to defend myself, but before I can, Jacko steps forward.
“He’s fine,” Jacko says firmly. “He’s putting the work in every damn day. He’ll be back.”
The room stills. Jacko doesn’t raise his voice often, but when he does, people listen. Coach nods slowly, the tension in his jaw easing. “Alright. Keep it steady. Don’t overdo it. I’ll speak to Jonno and Mia, but I’ll roster you in.”
Relief pulses through me, sharp and unexpected. Jacko claps my shoulder as the team disperses, a quiet anchor when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.
By the time the rink empties, my body aches and my pride is raw. I limp down the corridor, every step dragging, and push through the side door into the night. The air is cold, biting against my sweat-soaked skin.
Chloe is there, leaning against my car, arms folded. The streetlight catches her hair, turns it gold. When she sees me, her expression cracks, not angry, not sharp, just weary.
I stop a few feet away, chest tight. “You waited.”
“Of course I did.”
The words unravel something in me. I move closer, and when her arms come around me, I fold into them, head against her shoulder, too exhausted to pretend anymore.
Her voice is soft against my ear. “You don’t lose yourself if you lose hockey.”
I whisper it because I can’t hold it in any longer. “If I lose hockey, I lose me.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her hand cupping my jaw. “No. You just find the rest of you.”
The ache in my hip is nothing compared to the ache in my chest. I don’t know if I believe her yet. But the way she says it, the way she holds me like I’m worth something more than ice and skates, it’s the first time I want to try.