Chapter 18 TYLER
I hadn’t planned to come.
Actually, I’d planned on doing the exact opposite—staying as far away from anything hockey as possible. But when I saw the post about the hockey game on the team’s page that morning, something in me twitched.
Curiosity, longing, or maybe the selfish urge to see how much they still needed me on the ice. I couldn’t tell.
Ever since the last time I walked away from the team’s gym training, I’d pretended not to care about the game or the team, or the people who’d moved on without me. But pretending didn’t erase the ache; it just buried it deep enough to make it harder to admit when it hit me. So, I came.
I sat close to the back, at the far corner of the bleachers, hood up, hoping no one would notice me.
Of course, Racquel did.
She spotted me the moment I sat down, eyes going wide like she’d just discovered buried treasure. I should’ve known she wouldn’t let it go.
“Tyler, hey!” she chirped, sliding into the seat beside me. The scent of her perfume hit me before she did—sweet, artificial, the kind that tries too hard to smell innocent. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. Are you—”
“Leave me the fuck alone, Racquel.” The words came out harsher than I intended, but the look on her face didn’t make me care enough to fix it.
She froze for a moment, taken aback by my tone, then gave this fake little laugh as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I just wanted to ask if you’re going to the festival tomorrow, and if you have a date.”
“No.”
“No, as in not going? Or no like—”
“No to both questions.” Then just to spite her, I added, “as if in a million years I’d ever ask you to be my date if I was going.”
She made a short half-shock, half-gasp sound, and whipped her hair in my face before sauntering off.
Good. One less headache.
I sank back against the seat, the noise of the crowd swelling around me. The squeak of skates, the echo of the puck hitting the board, the low chant of the fans—it all used to feel like home. Now it just reminded me of everything I’ve lost.
Peter was out there, helmet glinting under the floodlights. My replacement. My so-called best friend. The one person I thought would never leave me behind. Yet, here I was, watching him skate across the ice with the same confidence he’d learned from me. For the first time, I understood what envy actually felt like. It was like sitting in a room full of noise and realizing none of it was for you anymore.
My chest tightened, my throat clogging up. I adjusted my weight on the chair, trying to distract myself from getting emotional when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. Instantly, I recognized the model-slim figure with her school uniform clinging to the small frame of her body as she tried to sneak past me with her friend.
I looked away, pretending not to see them as they sank into a seat a few rows before mine.
My chest clenched tighter in a way I hadn’t expected, a strange kind of pull settling somewhere under my ribs. I didn’t have to look to know it was her; I would recognize those dark, wavy curls and figure her anywhere.
I tried to ignore her presence and focus on the game, but for some reason, I found myself getting up from my seat and marching all the way to where she sat with her friend. The moment she saw me coming, she sank into her seat, clutching her friend’s hand. I smiled silently, satisfied with her reaction.
“We were supposed to have a session today?” I blurted out, stepping into their view of the game.
“Y-yeah, I know. I…um,,, had an emergency.”
I arched a brow, unimpressed. “Which was?”
She looked to her friend for help, and the blonde-haired turned to me.
“She got her period, so she had to rush home.”
Harper’s face flushed a bright shade of pink as she cast her friend a glare. I mentally recoiled, suddenly feeling uncomfortable being in their presence. As if noticing my discomfort, her friend continued.
“You know, blood and stuff could have gotten all over your car if she’d gone home with you like that. Besides, I highly doubt if you’d have had a tampon—”
“Yeah, I get it,” I interrupted, holding up my good arm. “Maybe call next time so I don’t have to spend fifteen minutes in the school parking lot waiting for you.”
“Yeah, okay.”
I stood watching both girls, unsure of what to say next. I knew I should leave, but somehow being around her felt more appealing than turning around to continue watching the torture of my so-called best friend stealing my spotlight.
Bringing out my phone to glance at the time—quarter to eight—I knew suggesting we continue the session was out of the question, and it wasn’t as if I was in the mood for any exercise. I just needed her to serve as a distraction until the rain stopped and I could retrieve my car.
“Mind if I sit?” I asked, the words coming out faster than my thoughts.
Both girls glanced at each other hesitantly before Harper turned her gaze back to me
“Sure.”
I sank into the seat right beside her, eyes fixed on the hockey players running around the ice. “Who’s going to take over the session while you’re over at the festival?”
That grabbed her attention immediately as she whirled around to face me.
“You’re not coming?”
The curiosity in her voice, laced with something almost like a plea, made me want to rethink the decision I’d made last night. But I reminded myself why I wasn’t going in the first place, and my resolve hardened.
“No. I can’t afford any distractions.”
“But it was supposed to help you relax. Think of it as one of our sessions—maybe that’ll make it easier…”
“It won’t,” I said flatly. “What I need right now is an actual physiotherapist, and for this damn shoulder to heal as quickly as possible.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but I was already on my feet, my hand clenched in a fist to keep the anger from spilling out. If she wanted to use this festival as an excuse to hide her incapability, then she was just as pathetic as I thought she was.
“If you want a break, feel free to quit. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow after classes.”
I stalked off before she could say anything, the roar of the game fading behind me into the soft patter of rain outside. Tomorrow would tell if I’d been right about her—or completely wrong.