Chapter 157 HARPER

Chapter 157 HARPER
Valentine's Day was officially ruined.

That was the first thought that crossed my mind before I could stop it, and immediately after it came the guilt, because Tyler was sitting right beside me with his hand still in mine and his face completely blank. I knew that blank expression. It wasn't peace. It was the face he wore when something was too heavy to show.

Westfield had just lost their spot at the finals.

Tyler wouldn't get back on the ice this season.

The USHL contract, the one I wasn't even supposed to know about, was now hanging by a thread because the team that was supposed to carry him there had just been eliminated.

And I was sitting here mourning Valentine's Day.

I felt terrible about it. But I couldn't help feeling that way.

Because I knew what was coming. I could already see it in the way he was holding himself, too still, too quiet. He was going to go home and spiral and the plan he'd promised me at the concession stand, wasn't going to happen. And even if it did, even if he somehow pulled something together, what was the point when I was carrying around the knowledge that he had a contract offer waiting in Chicago and hadn't said a single word to me about it.

Chicago.

I hadn't brought it up. I didn't know how to.

"We should go," Tyler said.

His voice was flat. No anger. No frustration. No hint of emotion.

I looked at him. "Don't you want to talk to the team first? Before you leave?"

He shook his head once. "There's nothing to say."

I didn't push it. I just followed him out of the stands.

The walk through the arena felt longer than it should have. People were talking around us, some about the game, some about Westbrook, some already moving on like it hadn’t just meant everything to the people who lost.

Tyler didn’t react to any of it. He just kept walking, his hand brushing mine once before he fully laced our fingers together, guiding me along like he needed something to hold on to.

We stepped out into the parking lot, the air cooler outside, quieter too.

"Harper."

I turned at the sound of my name. Megan was cutting across the lot toward us, her jacket pulled tight around her, waving one hand.

Something in me loosened just slightly. I slowed to a stop and looked up at Tyler. "It's okay," I said quietly. "You can go. I'll hang with Megan for a bit."

He looked at me for a second, then at Megan, then back at me. He didn't argue. He didn't ask me to come with him or suggest we go somewhere together. He just pressed a kiss to my lips, tight and brief, and then he let go of my hand and got in his car.

I watched him pull out of the lot.

He'd wanted to be alone. I knew that. He just hadn't wanted to be the one to say it, so I'd given him the out and he'd taken it without hesitation, and somehow that stung more than if he'd just asked me directly.

"Hey." Megan reached me and touched my arm, pulling me back into the moment. "How's golden boy taking it?"

I let out a breath. “You know.”

She made a face. “Yeah. Rough.”

I glanced at her. “That sleepover you mentioned… is it still open?”

Her eyes lit up for a second before she caught herself. “Normally I’d be jumping for joy right now, but considering Westfield just lost and my brother is probably somewhere being dramatic about it, I’ll tone it down.”

I huffed a small laugh.

“He’s going to be miserable at home,” she added.

I looked away, my thoughts drifting right back to Tyler.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I know someone else who will be too.”


Megan’s room felt the same as always.

Too colorful. Too loud in the way everything was arranged. It should have been comforting, but my mind wouldn’t stay still long enough to feel it.

I stood in front of her mirror, tying my hair back as I changed into one of her oversized sleep shirts.

"I can't believe I spent all that time watching Tyler's old games," I said, mostly to myself, watching my own reflection. "Every match from last season, all those hours, just to not even get to see him play a single game this season."

Behind me, Megan was shaking out the duvet and rearranging her pillows. "Isn't that exactly why you should have stayed with him tonight? Consolation and all that?"

I paused, my hands stilling in my hair for a moment. Then I finished tying it and reached for the spare hair tie on the dresser.

“I wanted to,” I admitted. “But right now… I think I’d just make it about me.”

She stilled slightly. “Ouch. That bad?”

I gave a small shrug. “I don’t know. It just feels like… everything’s off.”

Megan flopped onto the bed. “Bad timing too. Day before Valentine’s. Guess nobody’s showing up for the party tomorrow.”

I sighed and gave up on the mirror, crossing the room to drop onto the edge of her bed. "Probably not."

"Movie?" she offered, already reaching for her tablet off the nightstand.

"Yeah," I said. "Please."

She put something on, something light and familiar that didn't require any real attention, and I pulled my knees up and tried to watch it. But my mind kept drifting back to Tyler.

I kept thinking about whether he was going to be able to pull himself out of this, whether he was going to let the loss swallow him the way I knew it could.

He would blame himself. I already knew that. He'd convince himself that if he'd been on the ice things would have gone differently, that Westfield's fate had been in his hands all along and he'd let them down just by getting injured in the first place.

And then there was Chicago, sitting underneath all of it like something waiting to surface.

I shifted slightly, trying to push away the thought when I noticed the tablet tilting in Megan's hands, her breathing going slow and even.

I reached over and slipped it out of her fingers before it could fall, and she stirred just enough to curl onto her side without waking fully. I tucked the duvet up around her and then sat there in the quiet with the tablet still in my hands.

I should have put it down and gone to sleep.

Instead I found myself opening the Westfield athletics channel almost without deciding to. It was all there, every recorded game going back through last season, neatly listed with dates and opponents. I scrolled without really thinking about where I was going until I found it.

The opening game of the season.

I pressed play.

I remembered this game.

I remembered watching it from the bleachers, barely knowing anything about hockey, and seeing Tyler on the ice for the first time and thinking he moved like someone who was invincible.

He'd been something else that night. Completely in his element, commanding the ice in a way that made everyone else look like they were working harder just to keep up.

Watching him now, through the screen, made something pull tight in my chest.

“I’d give anything to see you like this again,” I whispered under my breath, tracing his outline on the screen without thinking.

I was about to close the tab and turn in for the night when the hit happened.

I'd known it was coming, I remembered how he got his injury, but watching it now was different.

I sat up straighter and rewound it.

Something about it didn't sit right.

Sam came in from Tyler's right side. Tyler had the puck and was already moving with it, but Sam didn't even glance at it. His eyes were fixed on Tyler the whole time, his body angled not to intercept the play but to intercept Tyler specifically. The hit was hard and deliberate, all his weight driving Tyler sideways into the boards to his left, and then Sam just skated off. Clean. Casual. Like it was nothing more than an accidental collision.

Like he'd done exactly what he came to do.

I rewound it a third time and watched it again with my stomach turning.

I got up.

Mark's room was two doors down the hall. I knocked quietly, expecting to wait, but the door opened almost immediately.

"Mum, I already told you I'd clean it in the—" Mark stopped. Blinked. He was in a t-shirt and sweats, hair slightly disheveled, and he stared at me for a second before swallowing. "Harper."

I became very aware of the fact that I was standing in the hallway in nothing but just an oversized sleep shirt. I cleared my throat and pushed past it. "I need you to watch something."

He blinked again. "Right now?"

"Right now." I held out the tablet. "I've been going back through all the games from last season. Trying to get better at reading the game.”

He gave me a look. “Why?"

I hesitated, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Oh," he said, realization settling in. "Yeah, okay."

I cleared my throat and pointed at the screen. "Watch this part. Right here. Tell me if I'm seeing it wrong."

Mark took the tablet, frowning at it. He watched the clip once. Then he reached out and rewound it himself and watched it again, slower this time, leaning against the doorframe. His frown deepened.

"Watch the Westbrook player," I said. "He's not going for the puck at all. He was waiting for Tyler. And after he hits him he just skates off, doesn't even pretend to go for the play."

Mark said nothing. He rewound it one more time and stood very still watching it.

Then he looked up at me, and the expression on his face told me everything before he said a word.

"Tyler was set up."