Chapter 155 HARPER

Chapter 155 HARPER
We arrived at Tyler's house without a word exchanged between us. My mom had insisted on driving us here after the hospital declared him fine and discharged him. Tyler had barely spoken during the ride, his head leaning back against the seat, eyes closed, hands still wrapped in fresh bandages.

"Try to get some rest, Tyler," my mom said gently as she pulled into his driveway. "Control your temper as best as you can. Getting upset won't help your recovery. You're lucky it wasn't your left hand you hurt."

"Thanks, Mrs. Lane," Tyler murmured, pushing open the car door.

"It's just Rachel now, actually," my mom muttered, but Tyler was already walking toward the house and didn't catch the correction.

I followed after him, keeping my pace even, careful to maintain some distance between us.

Tyler's mom appeared at the doorway just as he reached it and pulled him into a hug. He leaned into her like he'd needed it, and I couldn't help but smile a little at the sight.

"Thank you, Rachel, for bringing him back," his mom said, before turning to me. "Why don't you two head upstairs? Make sure he gets some rest."

Tyler glanced back at me. I ignored him and nodded to his mom.

I trailed behind him as we made our way upstairs. When he got to his room he held the door open, waiting for me to go in first. I didn't move.

"You go first," he said when he saw I wasn't budging.

I gave him an exasperated look, rolling my eyes, before I brushed past him and stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind me and I turned around to face him.

"Harper, I know you're—"

My hand shot out and connected with his face. His head snapped to the side as the sound echoed through the room, louder than I expected.

I felt the sting in my palm and the burn behind my eyes at the same time.

"You think the point of being your girlfriend is that I get to stand on the sidelines?" I snapped through gritted teeth, my voice tight. "I thought one of the perks of being your girlfriend is that you get to talk to me, Tyler. Even if you can't let anyone else in, aren't you supposed to let me in? Isn't that the whole point?"

He didn't say anything.

"I get that you were angry. I get it. But what were you thinking, driving off like that? What if your phone had died? What if you hadn't been able to reach anyone?" I pressed my fingers to my forehead and looked away for a second. "You drove to the middle of nowhere and then put your hand through a window. You lost so much blood. If we'd gotten there any later…" My voice cracked. "Why would you do that to me? Why would you scare me like that?"

He took a step toward me. "I'm sorry."

It was only two words, but the way he said them made it impossible to doubt that he meant them. There was no excuse attached to it, no explanation trying to soften it. Just that. Just sorry. And I could see it on his face too, the weight of it sitting in his eyes.

Something in my chest gave way.

I crossed the space between us and wrapped my arms around him, and started crying before I even realized it was happening. The tears came fast and I couldn't stop them.

"Please," I whispered into his chest, clinging to him. "Don't let things go back to the way they were. Please don't shut me out. I want to help. I hate seeing you like this, feeling like nobody understands what you're going through. You don't have to carry it alone."

His arms came around me, careful on one side because of the bandaging on his hand, but he held me like he needed to as much as I did. He pressed his lips to the top of my head.

"It won't happen again," he said quietly. "I promise you."

He pulled back just enough to cup my face in his good hand, tilting it up toward his. His thumb moved across my cheek, catching the tears there.

"Stop crying," he said softly. "I can't stand to see you like this. I'm okay. I'm right here." He searched my face. "I'm glad I have you. I don't know where I'd be without you, and I mean it. You pull me back from the edge when I lose my head."

I shook my head slightly, still trying to get my breathing under control.

"Harper." He dipped his head a little. "I love you."

The words landed somewhere deep.

I kissed him before I could figure out what to say back, and he kissed me like he'd been waiting to, slow at first and then more hungrily. His good hand slid to the back of my neck and my body simply melted into his.

Our lips were still locked, my hands threaded through his hair, when he crouched slightly and lifted me. I let out a short gasp of surprise.

"Tyler," I protested immediately, "your mom said you should get some rest."

"Trust me," he said, smirking faintly. "This will do more for me than any sleep ever could."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You're ridiculous."

He carried me to the bed, laying me down gently before climbing over me. His mouth moved to my jaw, my neck, peppering kisses there, and I exhaled slowly. "Tyler."

"I've got you," he said against my skin.

"Your hand—"

"Is fine." He lifted his head just enough to look at me. "Stop worrying."

"I can't exactly help it."

"Then let me distract you."

His hands slipped to my thighs, lifting them as he freed me of my underwear. My skirt pooled around my waist, my legs parting in invitation while I watched him get off the bed to step out of his pants. I climbed to my knees and met him halfway, guiding his hands as he pulled his shirt over his head.

I sucked in a breath taking in the sight of him standing before me. It wasn't like I hadn't seen him without clothes before, but every time it was like seeing him for the first time, his physique somehow more defined, more disarming than I remembered.

He leaned in and kissed me, guiding me back down gently, while he let himself find my entrance. My heart pounded, a thrill of excitement and anticipation coursing through me.

Just as he entered, I let out a short breath. He froze.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low.

"I'm fine," I breathed, reaching for his waist to encourage him to continue. "Don't stop."

He didn't.

He moved in a familiar rhythm, keeping the pace unhurried in a way that made our bodies sync easily. I held onto his shoulders tightly, my fingers digging into his back as I whispered for him to go faster. He listened. The world disappeared around us as he moved deeper, his breath ragged against my neck, our eyes finding each other in between.

I tried to stay present, to not let myself get carried away too easily, because I wanted the moment to go on forever. But when he whispered my name, my hips buckled and my walls closed around him, and before I could stop myself a wave of warmth crashed through me.

Tyler paused for a second, watching me, and then he thrust roughly into me one last time. His body jerked, hands gripping my thighs tightly as he pushed deeper and held there, shaking, and I felt him come undone inside me.

He didn't let go or pull out even after he was done. Instead he buried his head in my shoulder, one hand still resting on my thigh and the other lying limply on the bed, and drifted off to sleep just like that.


I didn't realize when sleep had found me, but I woke up before him. Sometime during the night he had slipped out and shifted beside me, one arm draped loosely around my waist.

I blinked away the remnants of sleep as pale light slipped in through the curtains, casting the first thin rays of morning across my face. I shifted, turning to face Tyler.

He was still out, his face relaxed in a way it almost never was when he was awake. He looked younger like this. Less like someone carrying something too heavy for one person.

I was still watching him when his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I reached over carefully, meaning to wake him, but the screen was already lit. I swiped down out of habit, just to clear the notifications, and the banner expanded before I could think to stop it.
Peter's name sat at the top of the list with a timestamp from earlier, probably around the time we were at the hospital. The preview had already loaded the full message in the notification panel, and before I could pull my finger away I'd already read the first line.

Then the second.

Then all of it.

'Dude, I can't believe you didn't tell me about the drafted contract. Coach just sat me down and gave me the full rundown. A USHL scout from the Chicago team who watched your footage from last season is the one offering you a spot on their team. They've drawn up a preliminary offer, conditional on your performance at finals and a clean recovery. Hargrove told coach himself that he saw something in you that he doesn't see often. If you go into those finals healthy and play the way you normally play, that spot is basically yours. I get why you've been a mess at rehearsals, man. That kind of pressure would break anyone. But this is real. Why didn't you tell me?'

I read it twice.

Then I read it a third time, slower, like the words might rearrange themselves into something different.

A USHL contract. A spot on a Chicago team. Conditional on the finals. Conditional on him healing.

Chicago.

I set the phone down carefully and looked at Tyler, still sleeping, completely unaware.

I didn't know whether to be mad or happy for him.