Chapter 19 TYLER
4:05 PM.
Harper still hadn’t come out from the school building. Or maybe she’d already gone home to prepare for the festival—it didn’t matter. What mattered was that I’d waited, and she hadn’t come, because, unlike a professional therapist, she didn’t care about her client, nor did she care about the money. I guess she just realized hanging around the school’s team captain wasn’t as fun as the gossip she’d heard in the girls’ bathroom.
Pulling out of the school’s parking lot, I drove at full speed, taking out my frustration on the tyres of my car.
“I need a fucking new therapist, godammit,” I cursed, slamming a hand against my steering wheel.
The rain that pelted down on my windshield was an ironic reflection of the way I felt inside. Rainy days were exactly all I got now. Fuck any motivational speaker who said they were only temporary because things were starting to look a lot more permanent.
I keep waiting for the day I’d wake up with no pain or stiffness in my shoulder, but the bloody cast is always a quick reminder of how far my dreams slip away from me with each passing day. And to think I'd started having hope in Harper, with the way she sounds genuinely concerned and everything. Fuck my life!
By the time I got home, the rain had turned into a drizzle, but the sky was still as cloudy as ever. Mom was in the kitchen, stirring something that smelled like soup. She looked up when I entered, her face lighting up like it always did when she saw me before the light dimmed again as she took in my sulking mood.
“You’re back early. I would've thought it’s because you want to get ready for the festival—but not with that depressed look on your face.” She let go of her cooking spoon, wiping her hands on her apron as she walked up to me. “Did something happen?”
“Other than my therapist bailed on me and needs to be fired? No.”
“What do you mean Harper bailed on you?”
I slipped past her to grab a bottle of water from the fridge before speaking again. “Apparently, she considers the festival more important than getting me back in shape in time for the big game. See why I was against some teenage high school so-called therapist? I’m telling you, it’s either you get me a new therapist or I’m done.”
Her eyes softened, and I swear I could see the faint traces of a smile she was trying so hard to hide.
“Is that why you’re in a foul mood? Because Harper chose to have fun over spending time with roody you?”
“Jeez, ma. Why’d you gotta say it like that?”
She held her hands up, laughing. “My bad. Just cut the girl some slack. You keep forgetting she’s just a stand-in.”
“My point exactly. Why can’t I just get an actual one? One who actually cares?”
Her eyes danced with mischief as she pretended to dust something off my uniform. “I don’t think a professional therapist would care about your injured shoulder the way you want Harper to.”
“You know what? I’m done talking to you.” I set the half-empty bottle on the counter and walked out, ignoring the half-hearted apology she called after me.
I knew mothers were easily delusional, but mine had to be the grand master, final boss, if she thought I was more bothered about Harper spending time with other people than focusing on the welfare of my shoulder. It was times like this that made me wish my dad were the stay-at-home.
Dad would fire Harper in a heartbeat if it meant improving my mood, but Mom—she always treated me like some kind of Rubik’s Cube she had to study and twist carefully until she cracked the code, which is probably why she ends up doing the exact opposite of what I want—almost every damn time.
I exhaled, shaking off the tension from my shoulders. If no one cared enough to help me, then I might as well help myself, and being tense wasn't exactly going to help.
Changing out of my uniform after taking a quick shower, into nothing but sweatpants, I put on some music for motivation as I tried to recall my previous exercises, when my door flew open.
“I’m not hungry, Ma—” I started, but the words hung in my throat when I realized it was a soaked-to-the-bones Harper. “Ain’t you supposed to be at a godforsaken festival or whatever?”
“And miss you loathe yourself with self-pity? Not a chance.”
I caught myself before my lips could break into a smile, settling for a scowl instead. “You’re dripping all over my floor.”
She rolled her eyes, teeth chattering. “Oh, gee, I don’t know, maybe offering a towel would help?”
“No. Not when you could have ridden with me in my car.”
“Fine.”
I arched a brow in surprise. I’d been expecting her to give me an explanation, not some attitude.
“Don’t mind if I turn your room into a puddle, you’re the one who refused to display simple chivalry.” She cast me a smile, brushing past me to enter further into my room.
I gripped her arm, yanking her back, almost causing her to slip. But I caught her in time, my hand dropping to her waist to keep her steady.
A small gasp escaped her, sending hot tendrils of breath against my face. I welcomed it, the warmth causing a moment of curiosity of what it would be like against my lips. I quickly shoved the thought away, letting go of her.
“Stay here while I grab a towel.” I tossed a neatly folded one from my cupboard onto her shoulders before turning to face her again. “So, why didn’t you show up?”
“I thought you were going to hold me to my word of taking the bus,” she smirked.
“Don’t get cocky. I waited for about five minutes.”
“Maybe if you weren’t so presumptuous and waited for another five, I’d have graced your car with my presence.”
I didn’t have the words to argue because she was right. I’d just assumed she wouldn’t show up. At least, now she’d proven I was wrong about her.
“So, let’s see. What should we start with today?” she asked, handing over the towel.
I took it, feeling a bit guilty for almost getting her fired when I’d been the impatient one. Even if she didn’t know about it, my conscience wouldn’t let me rest. I might’ve been grumpy, inconsiderate at times, and downright insufferable, but I didn’t hesitate to admit when I was wrong. For some reason, I felt like I owed her.
“How about I ask my mom for a change of clothes for you, then we can head out?”
She tilted her head, brows furrowed. “Why? We going somewhere?”
“Yeah,” I said, throwing the towel on top of my bed, as I stepped into the hallway, heading for the kitchen. “We’re going to the festival.”