Chapter 117 TYLER
By the time Peter pulled into the hospital parking lot, my arms felt like dead weight.
The ride there had been quiet except for the occasional curse slipping from my mouth whenever the car hit a bump. My left shoulder burned with every jolt of the road, and my right hand had stopped cooperating entirely.
Peter parked crookedly near the emergency entrance and turned off the engine.
“Alright,” he said, glancing at me. “We’re here.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Now all I need are arms that actually work.”
He got out of the car and hurried around to my side.
“Don’t move,” he said as he opened the door. “Last thing I need is you collapsing in the parking lot.”
“I’m not going to collapse.”
“You almost caused a traffic accident ten minutes ago.”
“Minor detail.”
Peter leaned into the car and helped unbuckle my seatbelt before sliding an arm around my back.
“Easy,” he said.
Getting out of the car felt like trying to move a body that didn’t belong to me. My shoulder screamed the moment I shifted my weight, and my arms hung uselessly at my sides.
“Jesus, Tyler,” Peter muttered. “You look worse up close.”
“Good to know.”
We barely made it a few steps toward the entrance before the sliding doors opened and a nurse spotted us.
Her expression changed immediately.
“Sir, are you alright?”
“He can’t move his arms,” Peter explained quickly.
Two more nurses appeared with a wheelchair.
“I can walk,” I said automatically.
The nurse gave me a look that made it clear she had heard that line a thousand times before.
“Sit down,” she said firmly.
Peter helped lower me into the chair.
As they started pushing me inside, I grabbed Peter’s sleeve with the last bit of strength in my right hand.
“Wait.”
He looked down at me.
“What?”
“Go check on Harper,” I said quietly. “Third floor.”
Peter frowned.
“You’re the one getting wheeled into the hospital.”
“I’m fine.”
“Clearly.”
“Just go see if she’s okay.”
“And what do I tell her about you?”
“Nothing,” I said immediately. “Don’t tell her I’m here.”
Peter stared at me for a second before shaking his head.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Just go.”
“Fine,” he muttered. “But if she asks where you are, I’m blaming you.”
“Fair.”
He turned toward the elevators while the nurses wheeled me down the hallway.
The nurses pushed me down the hallway and into an examination room.
“Let’s get you looked at,” one of them said.
They helped me onto the bed while another checked my pulse and asked a series of questions I barely listened to.
“Pain level?”
“High.”
“Left shoulder injury history?”
“Rotator cuff.”
“Recent trauma?”
“Fight.”
That got a look from both nurses.
One of them scribbled something down.
A few minutes later the door opened again.
My parents walked in with Jacob. He took one look at me sitting on the hospital bed and grinned.
“Whoa,” he said. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”
“Good to see you too,” I muttered.
Mom stepped forward immediately.
“What happened?”
Dad stood beside her, arms folded, studying me carefully. “Peter said you couldn’t move your arms,” he said.
“Temporary thing,” I replied.
“Sure,” Jacob said. “That’s what everyone says before they lose a limb.”
“Jacob,” Mom snapped.
He raised his hands in surrender. “Just saying.”
The door opened again before anyone else could speak.
The doctor walked in holding a tablet.
He glanced between my parents and me.
“Tyler Mercer?”
“That’s me.”
He stepped closer and gently moved my left arm. Pain shot through my shoulder instantly. I clenched my jaw.
“Still sensitive,” he murmured.
“Doctor,” Mom said anxiously. “Is it serious?”
He tapped something on the screen before answering. “The good news is that the surgical repair from September is still intact.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
“But,” he continued calmly, “you’ve inflamed the tendons surrounding the rotator cuff again.”
Dad frowned. “So what does that mean?”
“It means he’s pushed the shoulder beyond what it can handle right now.”
The doctor turned to me.
“You’ve been making good progress with physiotherapy. That work has helped stabilize the joint. But this kind of strain can slow your recovery.”
My stomach tightened.
“How slow?”
“It’s difficult to say exactly.”
Mom’s voice sharpened slightly.
“He plays hockey.”
“I’m aware,” the doctor said.
He looked back at me.
“At the rate your shoulder was healing, returning to play in March was a possibility. But after this setback, it may take longer for the tendon to settle down.”
The words landed like a punch.
March. The championship game. I’d almost forgotten.
Dad spoke next.
“So he might not be ready?”
“There’s a chance he won’t regain full strength by then.”
My chest tightened.
The doctor continued.
“You also need to understand something very clearly, Mr Mercer.”
His tone became firmer.
“One more strain like this could completely tear the repair. If that happens, surgery becomes necessary again.”
The room went quiet.
Then he added the line that settled like ice in my chest.
“And if that occurs, it could very well end your career in hockey.”
Jacob’s grin disappeared instantly.
Mom looked horrified.
I stared at the floor.
The doctor softened his tone slightly.
“The right arm issue you experienced earlier appears to be exhaustion and overuse. You’ve been compensating for the injured shoulder.”
“So it’s not damaged?” I asked.
“No. It should recover with rest.”
He closed the tablet.
“My advice is simple. Continue physiotherapy. Avoid unnecessary strain. And try not to get into any more fights.” He looked pointedly at me. “Understood?”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“Good.”
With that, he left the room.
The silence that followed lasted about three seconds. Then my mother turned toward me.
“Why?”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried more weight than yelling.
“One night,” she said. “One night outside the house and you’re already getting into fights.”
Jacob glanced between us like he was watching a tennis match.
Mom crossed her arms.
“Where was Peter?”
I cleared my throat.
“Actually…”
Dad narrowed his eyes slightly. “What?”
“I didn’t stay at Peter’s place.”
Mom blinked.
“You lied?”
“I slept here,” I admitted. “At the hospital. With Harper.”
That caught their attention.
“What happened to her?” Mom asked.
“Racquel happened.”
Dad frowned. “Explain.”
“I found Harper unconscious yesterday,” I said quietly. “Bathroom floor at school.”
Mom gasped softly.
“She’d hit her head,” I continued. “There was blood. If I hadn’t found her…”
I stopped, inhaling a breath.
“She might have bled out.”
Jacob let out a low whistle.
Dad looked grim.
“And that led to the fight?”
I nodded.
“I went to Racquel’s house.”
Mom looked horrified.
“You did what?”
“I wanted her to face consequences,” I said.
“The school already suspended her,” Dad said.
“That’s not enough.”
I continued.
“When I got there, Sam was there too.”
Dad’s expression hardened slightly. “Who's Sam?”
I clenched my jaw. “The same cousin who used to hit Harper.”
Jacob leaned back in his chair. “Well that explains the fight.”
“Jacob,” Mom warned.
He raised both hands. “Sorry.”
Dad sighed deeply.
“Tyler… you can’t keep fighting Harper’s battles. You should have reported it and left it to the system.”
“The system isn’t doing anything.”
“Sometimes you have to trust it.”
I laughed bitterly.
“The system is flawed. If it wasn’t, Racquel would already be behind bars or in a psychiatric ward instead of walking around hurting people.”
Mom frowned.
“Racquel didn’t hurt everyone. Just Harper.”
I stared at her.
“That’s enough reason.”
I turned to Dad.
“If someone did that to Mom, would you just leave it to the law to handle it?”
He hesitated.
“Your mother is my wife,” he said carefully. “Harper is just your…”
He trailed off.
The words didn’t need finishing.
I leaned back against the hospital bed and laughed quietly.
He wasn’t wrong.
Harper wasn’t my wife.
She wasn’t my family.
Technically she was just my classmate.
A classmate who had helped me through months of fear and doubt.
The girl who had forced me to stop thinking about the future long enough to actually live in the present.
Somewhere along the way, I had fallen for her. And now I couldn’t imagine anything without her in it.
The door opened, drawing back to the present.
Peter stepped in, pausing near the entrance.
“How’re you doing, Cap?”
“Fine,” I lied immediately. “Doctor said everything’s fine.”
Mom scoffed. “That’s not what he said.”
Peter looked between us. “What did he say?”
“He inflamed the tendons in his shoulder,” Mom answered. “Another injury like this could end his hockey career.”
Peter’s face fell.
“Seriously?”
I looked away.
He ran a hand through his hair.
“Mr and Mrs Mercer… I’m really sorry. I should’ve stopped him from fighting.”
Mom shook her head.
“This isn’t your fault. It's Tyler's. I don't know when he developed a temper.”
Peter walked closer to the bed.
“Well… if it helps at all… Harper is getting discharged today.”
My head snapped up.
“What?”
“She looked a little disappointed you weren’t around.”
I swung my legs off the bed instantly. “I need to see her.”
Mom stepped directly into my path.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To see Harper.”
Her expression hardened.
“You’re always looking out for her.”
She crossed her arms.
“But who is looking out for you?”
I frowned. “What?”
She took a breath.
“I hate to do this, Tyler. But you’re grounded.”
I blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not seeing Harper for a while.”
I laughed.
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious.”
The laughter died instantly.
“What about my physiotherapy?”
“I’ll find someone else.”
“You can’t just replace her.”
“Her mother already suggested transferring you to another therapist,” Mom said firmly. “Harper’s mother won’t be returning as soon as expected anymore. You need a professional. Harper's still just an intern.”
I turned to Dad.
He avoided my eyes for a moment before speaking.
“I’m with your mother on this.”
My chest tightened.
“We know Harper helped you,” he continued. “But right now, staying around her might ruin everything you’ve worked for.”
Peter shifted awkwardly by the door.
I looked at him.
He gave me an apologetic shrug.
I just stood there for a moment, trying to process it.
My parents had actually grounded me.