Chapter 2 HARPER
I always thought people changed slowly, like leaves fading from green to brown. But when Tyler Mercer came back to school, it was overnight.
One day he was the golden boy who smiled at strangers, the next he was… this.
It had been three weeks since the game. Long enough for the bruises to fade and for him to return in one piece—at least physically. But as he walked through the hall with his arm still in a sling, he wasn’t the same boy who caught me from falling on the bleachers.
He didn’t look at anyone. Not the kids shouting his name, not the teachers smiling at him in pity, not even his friends, who gave him a wide berth like he was a storm cloud ready to break.
Someone tried to pat him on the back and got a withering glare for their trouble.
“Jeez,” my best friend Megan muttered beside me at our lockers. “You’d think he’s the one who lost the game.”
“To him, he kind of did,” I said before I could stop myself. The team might’ve taken the win, but losing Tyler for most of the season felt like a loss all the same.
She gave me a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” I shoved my books into my locker, though my eyes followed him down the hall. He walked like he was made of glass—stiff, guarded—and yet somehow he still managed to look like he owned the place.
It wasn’t just the injury. It was everything. His messy blonde hair was unstyled, his uniform slightly rumpled. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone, not even his usual crowd.
This wasn’t Tyler Mercer. This was someone pretending to be bulletproof, and not doing a very good job.
By the time I got home that afternoon, I’d almost managed to push him out of my mind.
Almost.
Mom was at the kitchen island, laptop open, a mug of tea untouched beside her. Her ‘serious work face’ was on, which usually meant one of two things: she was finishing up a contract, or starting a new one.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, dropping my backpack by the door.
She hummed distractedly.
“Do you know when tickets for the Lumina Festival go on sale?”
That got her attention. Her brows rose, and she closed her laptop slightly. “Why?”
“Because I want one. They announced the lineup today. Everyone’s going. And before you ask, no, it’s not just a concert. It’s an experience.”
“An experience that costs how much?”
I mumbled the number.
“Harper.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s highway robbery,” she said flatly, going back to her laptop.
I sighed, slumping into the chair across from her. “So… no?”
“Not unless you plan to start funding your own experiences.”
I hesitated. “How much experience-funding are we talking?”
She gave me a side-eye, but I caught the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. “Why?”
“Because,” I said carefully, “you always complain about needing someone to handle your schedules, take notes, whatever. And I’ve been doing it for free since I could walk.”
“You want me to pay you to be my assistant?”
“No,” I said quickly. “I want to work for it. Like… properly. You know. Earn it.”
That got a full laugh out of her, the kind that made me squirm because I knew she was about to suggest something I wasn’t going to like.
“You want to earn it? Fine. You can help one of my clients.”
I blinked. “What?”
She shut her laptop completely, resting her chin on her hand like she was enjoying this way too much. “The Mercers.”
My stomach dropped. “The Mercers as in…?”
“Yes. That Mercer. Their son’s physical therapy. I’ve been working with him since the injury, but I just got an emergency contract out of state, and I've been looking for who to fill in for me.”
I stared at her. “You want me to do his therapy sessions?”
“It’s mostly routine work—stretches, simple exercises, tracking progress. Nothing you haven’t done with me a hundred times.”
“Mom, that’s—he’s—”
“A high schooler like you,” she cut in. “And before you panic, I’d put in a word with the family. They trust me.”
“They trust you,” I repeated. “Not me.”
“They’ll agree.”
“You don’t know that.”
She tilted her head. “Want to bet? If they don’t, you don’t have to go. If they do…”
I groaned. “This is blackmail.”
“This is parenting,” she said sweetly.
There was no way the Mercers—that Mercer family—were going to agree to some random high school girl doing their son’s therapy sessions.
“Fine,” I said, mostly because I was sure it was a safe bet. “If they say yes, I’ll do it.”
“Great,” she said, pulling out her phone.
“Wait—you’re calling them now?!”
She ignored me, typing something out with the speed of a woman who always got what she wanted. “You’ll need to start next week.”
I stared at her. “You mean if they agree.”
Her phone dinged. She read the message, then looked up at me with a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile.
“They agree.”
I blinked. “They—what?”
“You start Monday.”
I threw myself back in the chair with a groan. “Unbelievable. Of all the ways to earn money—”
“You’ll thank me one day,” Mom said, standing to refill her tea. “This could be good for you. He needs someone who can help him get back to his old self.”
I barked out a laugh. “Yeah, because if there’s anyone who can ‘fix’ Tyler Mercer, it’s me. Totally believable.”
But Mom wasn’t joking. And as her phone buzzed with new details about my first official ‘job,’ I couldn't stop thinking about the boy from the bleachers.The one who used to smile, who was nice to everyone. Now, all that warmth was gone, replaced by a cold, unreadable stare.
What the hell had I just signed up for?