Chapter 113 TYLER
Hospitals had a strange way of swallowing sound.
Even with nurses walking past, machines beeping somewhere down the hall, and quiet conversations happening all around, the emergency room still felt suffocatingly silent.
I sat forward in the plastic chair outside Harper’s room, my elbows resting on my knees, my hands clasped so tightly together my knuckles had turned white.
Blood.
I could still see it.
The dark stain on the bathroom floor.
The way it had dried at the edges.
The way it had smeared across my hands when I lifted her.
My stomach twisted violently.
Across from me, Harper’s father stood near the wall, his arms folded tightly across his chest. His jaw was set in a hard line as he listened to what I was saying.
“She slipped in the bathroom,” I repeated quietly. “I found her on the floor.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“She just slipped?”
The question wasn’t loud, but there was a sharp edge beneath it.
“She hit her head on the toilet,” I said.
His jaw tightened.
“Harper’s not careless,” he said slowly. “She doesn’t just trip and knock herself unconscious.”
I hesitated. Because the truth was, I didn’t know.
“She was alone in there?” he continued.
My throat felt tight.
“Yes,” I paused for a moment, thinking about it, then added, “I think.”
Harper’s father studied my face in silence.
Then he shook his head slowly.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
His words hung heavily in the air between us.
“She couldn’t have just slipped,” he said. “Something must have happened.”
A tight knot formed in my chest.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
The blood. The way she had been lying there. The fact that she had tried to crawl out.
None of it made sense.
But my brain refused to go there.
Not right now.
Not while she was still lying behind those doors.
“I don’t know,” I said quietly. “That’s just how I found her.”
The hallway fell silent again.
Peter stood a few feet away with Jax and Kane. Mark leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed, staring at the floor.
Everyone looked tense.
Everyone looked scared.
My chest felt tighter with every second.
“I’m going to get some air,” I muttered.
No one stopped me.
I walked down the hallway until the voices behind me faded into nothing.
The fluorescent lights overhead hummed softly.
I leaned against the wall and pressed my hands over my face.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
My heart was beating too fast.
My lungs felt like they couldn’t get enough air.
I closed my eyes.
All I could see was Harper on the floor.
The blood.
Her pale face.
The way she hadn’t moved when I called her name.
My stomach turned violently.
How long had she been lying there?
The thought hit me like a punch to the chest.
How long had she been there before someone found her? Before I found her?
The memory of the dried blood flashed through my mind again.
My hands started shaking.
Why were they taking so long?
They had taken her into the emergency room almost an hour ago.
What if something was wrong?
What if the doctors had found something worse?
My chest tightened painfully.
No.
I refused to think that way.
Harper was strong.
She had to be okay.
She had to wake up.
I pushed myself away from the wall and started pacing.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
My breathing was getting faster.
Too fast.
My hands were trembling so badly I had to curl them into fists to hide it.
The hallway suddenly felt too small.
Too bright.
Too loud.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
Air rushed in and out of my lungs in short bursts.
“Tyler.”
A hand landed gently on my shoulder.
I flinched.
Peter stood behind me, his expression tight with concern.
“Relax, man,” he said softly.
His words broke something loose inside me.
Everything I had been holding in.
The fear.
The guilt.
The helplessness.
It all cracked at once.
My vision blurred.
Before I could stop myself, Peter pulled me into a hug.
“She’s going to be fine,” he said firmly.
I hadn’t cried in a while.
Not when my shoulder tore.
Not when I felt I was going to lose my career in hockey.
Not even when things fell apart with Harper the first time.
But now the tears came before I could stop them.
“It’s my fault,” I said hoarsely.
Peter tightened his grip on my shoulder.
“It’s not.”
“I left her,” I said.
My voice broke.
“She was hiding in that bathroom because of me, and I left her there.”
Peter shook his head.
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have listened to you,” I said quietly.
He pulled back just enough to look at me.
“Listen to me,” he said firmly. “This isn’t your fault.”
My chest heaved as I tried to breathe.
“You don’t get to break down right now,” Peter continued. “Because if you do, it means you’re giving up.”
I froze.
Giving up.
The words echoed in my head.
No.
I wasn’t giving up.
Not on Harper.
Not ever.
I wiped my face quickly with the back of my hand and forced myself to breathe slowly.
Peter nodded once.
“That’s better.”
He clapped a hand on my shoulder.
“Come on,” he said.
We walked back toward the emergency room.
Harper’s father was still there, standing near the door. Mark glanced up when we approached, his expression tense.
The waiting felt endless.
Every second dragged painfully.
Then finally the doors opened.
A doctor stepped out.
Everyone stood at once.
My heart jumped into my throat.
The doctor glanced around at all of us.
“Family of Harper?”
Her father stepped forward.
“That’s my daughter.”
The doctor nodded.
“She’s stable.”
The words hit me like a wave of relief so strong my knees almost buckled.
“She suffered a scalp laceration from the impact,” the doctor continued. “Head wounds bleed a lot, which is why there was so much blood.”
My chest loosened slightly.
“We’re going to run a CT scan to rule out any internal bleeding,” he said. “But right now she’s conscious and responsive.”
Conscious.
She was awake.
“You can see her,” the doctor added. “One at a time.”
Harper’s father immediately stepped forward. But before he could move past me, my hand lifted and caught his shoulder.
“Please.”
The word came out almost like a cry.
He turned to look at me.
For a moment, something unreadable passed across his face.
Then he stepped back.
“Go.”
I didn’t waste another second.
The room felt too bright when I stepped inside.
Harper lay in the hospital bed, her head wrapped in white bandages. There was a small cut near her temple that had been stitched closed.
An IV line ran into her arm.
But her eyes were open.
When she saw me standing there, a faint smile appeared on her face.
“Hey,” she whispered.
My chest tightened painfully.
I moved to the side of the bed and sat down in the chair beside her.
I tried to speak.
But my throat refused to cooperate.
Her eyes softened as she studied my face.
“Tyler,” she murmured.
Tears burned behind my eyes again.
I swallowed hard, trying to force them back.
She looked exhausted.
Pale.
But she was alive.
“You’re crying,” she said softly.
Her voice carried a weak hint of amusement.
A small breath of laughter escaped her.
I shook my head quickly.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Before she could say anything else, I leaned forward and kissed her.
The warmth of her breath brushed against my skin, calming the chaos of emotions inside me.
I held on for as long as I could go without air, savoring the taste of her lips, the feel of her touch, as if trying to prove to myself she was still here.
Relief and fear and love all tangled together in one overwhelming rush.
When I finally pulled back, I rested my forehead gently against hers.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” I whispered. “My heart stopped when I found you.”
Her hand moved weakly against mine.
“Sorry,” she said softly. Then she gave me a small smile. “Thanks for being my hero.”
I let out a shaky breath.
“I’m writing to the school board,” I said suddenly.
She blinked.
“If those bathroom tiles are that slippery, they need to change them. Someone could die.”
Her expression changed.
The small smile faded slightly.
“Tyler,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t the tiles.”
I frowned.
“What’d you mean?”
Her fingers tightened weakly around mine.
“Racquel’s friends,” she whispered. “They tried to hurt me.”
The words made my entire body go still.
“She told them to do it,” Harper continued softly. “I tried to get away, and I slipped.”
The room suddenly felt colder.
My muscles locked.
Slowly, I lifted my head and looked at her.
“Racquel?”
She gave me a small nod.
A white-hot rage exploded inside me, and every restraint I’d ever held vanished.