Chapter 40 HARPER
By the time we got back inside, the rain had completely drenched us both. My hair clung to my neck, and my shoes squelched with every step. The air-conditioning didn’t help either—it felt like walking into a freezer.
Tyler didn’t say anything as we climbed the stairs to the media room, but I could feel his presence behind me, grounding, comforting. Every time I blinked, I still saw that moment in the rain—his arms around me, his heartbeat against my ear, the way I’d let go like I’d been holding back in months.
Now, walking beside him through the hallway, it almost didn’t feel real.
The laughter hit us first.
Half of the hockey team was lounging in front of the media room door, their jackets draped over chairs they clearly weren’t supposed to be sitting on. The moment Tyler and I turned the corner, every one of them went silent.
And then smirked.
Peter—who was somehow already inside the classroom—looked up from setting up the camera tripod. “
“Well, well,” he said loudly. “It really is weather for two, isn’t it?”
“Shut up,” Tyler muttered, brushing past me to drop his bag on the table.
But I caught the amused glances bouncing between his teammates like pinballs. I didn’t even want to imagine the kind of thoughts running through their heads.
And if my face wasn’t already flushed from the cold, it would’ve been from embarrassment.
I walked stiffly to the other end of the room, pretending to busy myself with the project notes I’d printed. Cassie and Jax were sitting as far apart as possible—Cassie by the window, scrolling through her phone, and Jax near the equipment shelf, pretending to be fascinated by the cables.
Tension practically hung in the air like mist.
Peter’s grin softened as he glanced between us and clapped. “Okay, people. Let’s get this over with before my camera decides to die again. Group eight is officially in session.”
He shooed the last of the hockey boys out the door. “Out, out, out. This is a professional environment. Shoo.”
They left reluctantly, throwing Tyler a few lingering looks like they expected him to give them the full story later. But knowing how distant he'd gotten since his injury, I didn't have to worry about them talking about me in their locker room.
When the door finally shut, the silence that replaced their laughter felt almost too loud.
“Alright,” I said, forcing a breath. “Let’s go over what we have for the documentary. We’re supposed to start filming next week, and we still don’t have the set of questions for the interviews.”
Tyler leaned against a desk, pushing his wet hair back from his face. “I sent you a draft last night,” he said. “Did you check it?”
I raised my brows surprised. “You did? How did you— never mind. I’ll read through them now.”
“I collected the number from Megan,” he explained, eyes on me for a little too long before turning to open his notebook.
Cassie finally spoke up. “So… do I interview all five of our volunteers or just the juniors?”
“All of them,” I said. “I want variety. People who know where they’re going and people who don’t.”
Her tone was clipped when she answered, “Got it.”
Jax didn’t look up from his laptop, muttering, “I’ll just start setting up the edit timeline then.”
“Yeah,” Peter said quickly, trying to cut through the awkwardness. “We can start by recording voiceovers today. Maybe even do the intro sequence if the rain stops.”
The silence that followed was heavy again.
No one looked at each other. No one spoke. Just the sound of typing and the faint hum of the projector fan filled the room.
I sat down, opening my laptop, pretending to focus on Tyler’s document. But my eyes kept drifting—to the way his jaw flexed when he was deep in thought, the damp edge of his shirt clinging to his collarbone, the quiet tap of his pen as he wrote.
He looked calm, but there was something unreadable in his face—something that made me feel like he was still thinking about the rain too.
I cleared my throat, breaking the silence. “These questions are… really good,” I said quietly, scrolling through the list. “This one—‘What if what you meet on the way isn’t what you planned for next?’”
Tyler’s pen froze mid-note. For a moment, he didn’t look up, just stared at the desk like he was thinking too hard about something that wasn’t written there.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “Yeah. That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? Everyone plans for what’s next, but no one talks about what happens when it doesn’t go that way.”
I looked up. There was something raw in his tone—something I hadn’t heard before.
And I knew, right then, he wasn’t talking about the documentary.
Peter coughed. “Okay, emotional tension aside—”
I snapped my head toward him. “What?”
He smirked, unbothered. “Nothing. Just saying. The energy in here could power the whole school.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “Can we just work?”
“Please,” I muttered.
We got through the next half hour in silence again—Cassie running through mock interview lines, Jax syncing clips, Peter adjusting the camera angles. Tyler and I sat across from each other, reviewing footage from our earlier test shots.
Every time our eyes met across the screen, I felt it, that strange pull I couldn’t quite explain.
It wasn’t romantic. Not yet. It was… something else. A quiet understanding.
When the bell rang for after-school dismissal, everyone practically jumped to pack up.
“I’ll send the updated footage to your drive,” Peter said, shutting off the camera.
Cassie mumbled something about needing to get to the store and slipped out without meeting anyone’s eyes. Jax followed a second later, his expression blank.
That left just me and Tyler. Again.
The wind hummed outside, rattling the windows, the sound settling into the quiet between us.
I closed my laptop and glanced at him. “Thanks for earlier.”
He looked up from tightening a camera mount. “For what?”
“For… not asking.”
He gave a small, almost placid nod. “Didn’t think you wanted to talk.”
“I didn’t,” I admitted. “Still don’t.”
“Then we’re good,” he said simply.
The silence lingered, not the uncomfortable or awkward type, just something unspoken sitting quietly between us.
I fiddled with the straps of my bag, then looked up. “Tyler?”
“Yeah?”
“What made you write that question?”
He frowned. “Which one?”
“‘What scares you most about leaving?’”
He leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “Because everyone keeps talking about where they’re going—college, the future, all that crap. But no one talks about what they’re scared to leave behind.”
That hit harder than I wanted it to.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “Guess I know that feeling.”
His eyes flicked toward me. “Yeah. Me too.”
Something in his tone made my chest ache again—not pity, not curiosity. Just honesty.
Before I could say anything else, the door creaked open.
Peter poked his head back in. “Where’s that damn charger—oh. You two still here?”
Tyler rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”
Peter’s gaze darted between us, eyebrows raising in mock surprise. “Uh-huh. Sure. Just making sure I wasn’t interrupting another rain scene.”
“Get out,” Tyler said flatly, his tone even but with edged irritation.
Peter snorted, grabbed his charger, and disappeared again, whistling down the hallway.
The door clicked shut.
Tyler looked back at me, exhaling through his nose.
“You could skip today’s session if you want.”
I’d planned to, honestly. But somehow, I didn’t want to anymore. Going home meant silence and reminders. Here, at least, things felt… lighter.
“No. I’m good. We’ve got to get you back in shape, remember?”
His lips twitched—just barely. “Yeah. Sessions it is, then.”
He slung his bag over his shoulder, moving toward the door.
“Come on, babe.”
The word slipped out so casually it took a full second to register.
Tyler froze mid-step, shoulders stiffening as the silence stretched between us.
My breath caught, pulse spiking.
Did he—did he just call me babe?