Chapter 43 TYLER
My gut twisted like someone was trying to kick it from the inside out. I could feel it in my chest, in my shoulders—the kind of instinct that doesn’t lie. Something was happening, and I didn’t have a good feeling about it.
“Yo, Tyler,” Peter muttered, voice tight. “What if it’s… you know… a shooter?”
I cut him off with a glare. “Peter, not helpful.”
Low murmurs spread through the class, kids leaning toward each other, voices strained and laced with fear. My right hand tightened around my desk—the only one I could really trust since my left arm was still useless in that sling.
“Quiet,” I snapped, my tone hard. “Kane, Jax—cover the exit as soon as I step out. Nobody moves until I give the word. And Peter—zip it before you scare everyone half to death.”
Peter opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. Good.
I shoved my way to the door, slipping my head out into the hallway. Harper’s voice called after me, urgent.
“Are you crazy, Tyler? Just lock the door and wait in here with us.”
I shook my head at her. “If we’re in danger, I can at least buy us time.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know what you’re walking into!” Harper hissed, frustration bleeding through her calm.
I didn’t look back. A knot formed in my chest, adrenaline already kicking in. Racquel, surprisingly, spoke up from her seat.
“Mrs. Carter should’ve been here by now. Since she’s not, there’s obviously a problem. Unfortunately, I’m agreeing with Harper on this one. It’s not a must to always have a death wish, Tyler.”
“More reason to check,” I muttered. “If it’s bad, we need to know what’s happening—if we should call 911 or something.”
I didn’t wait to argue again. Stepping into the hallway, I found it weirdly empty. Nothing but the cloudy December sky flickered through the high windows. I took slow steps, scanning every corner. The faint smell of damp paint lingered. My fingers itched to clench into fists.
Then the lights overhead stuttered and buzzed. Shadows stretched long across the walls.
“This better not be a prank,” I muttered.
Something shifted in the far corner. Movement.
And then a voice—loud, exaggerated, childish.
“BOO!”
Instinct took over. My right fist swung before my brain caught up, connecting with a jaw. The body crumpled, and my breath hitched.
“Wait—Tyler!” a voice called behind me.
I whirled to see one of the juniors emerge. The kid I’d hit groaned—more shocked than hurt. Behind him, a line of grinning juniors, with teachers peeking out from corners, all burst into laughter.
“What the hell—” I started, scanning the scene.
One of the teachers stepped forward, hands raised. “Seniors, relax. The juniors just wanted to have a little fun—think of it as our Halloween celebration since the school skipped it when you were down.”
My brain short-circuited. “It was… because of me?”
The kid groaned again, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah, dude. You’re the school captain—we couldn’t celebrate Halloween when you were moaning in pain, strapped to a hospital bed.”
I rubbed my face, letting out a shaky laugh. My tension dissolved—not completely, but enough. Peter was already leading the others outside, clapping like he’d been in on it.
“Well played, juniors! Well played,” he shouted. “This is why you don’t underestimate Westfield’s golden boy! Tyler steps in, risks his life, and handles danger all by himself—don’t even think about fighting for prom king, people. The crown’s his!”
I shook my head with a relieved sigh as laughter filled the hall. Racquel muttered something under her breath, clearly unimpressed, but Harper’s eyes caught mine. Her smirk tugged at something deep in me.
“See?” Peter nudged me. “We’re back to normal. You, me, chaos—the works.”
I ignored him, glancing at Harper. She was grinning, cupping her hands around her mouth.
“Whoo! Go Tyler!”
Peter picked it up. “Tyler! Tyler! Tyler!”
Everyone joined in, chanting for no real reason. But it didn’t matter, because all I could see was the girl in front of me—clapping, laughing, her smile brighter than anything else in that hallway. And for her, I let my guard down just long enough to enjoy it.
✨✨✨
Lunch was a blur of noise. Students filled the cafeteria, shouting over one another, trading snacks, laughter bouncing off every wall.
Harper was scanning the room for a seat when I spotted her.
“Hey,” I called, just loud enough for her to hear.
She turned, surprised—and before she could respond, I reached out, catching her wrist lightly. My hand brushed hers as I took the tray from her and set it on the table beside me. Then, with a small tug, I guided her down onto the bench next to me.
“Sit here,” I said simply.
Her brow arched, half amused, half confused. “Here?”
“Yeah.” I nodded toward the guys—Peter halfway through his burger, Kane double-fisting juice boxes, Jax talking with his mouth full. “Team table. From now on, this is your spot too.”
Before she could reply, Racquel passed by with her friends. She slowed when she saw Harper beside me, her expression curdling.
I met her stare with one of my own, silently challenging her to make a scene.
She looked away first, muttering something to the girls beside her, before storming off, heels clicking sharp against the floor.
Mark leaned forward, grinning at Harper. “Don’t mind her. She’s just pissed she didn’t get the personal invite.”
Harper’s lips twitched. “I figured.”
“Why would she?” Jax said around a mouthful of fries. “She’s not the one helping Tyler get his act together.”
Peter slapped the table. “Official vote—Harper Lane, honorary team member. Approved!”
The guys whooped and clapped like idiots. Harper laughed, cheeks slightly flushed, and finally relaxed into her seat.
I kept my hand near hers on the table—not touching, just close. Couldn’t explain why, didn’t want to.
She pointed suddenly toward the window. Outside, snowflakes were starting to drift down, sticking to the glass in tiny clusters.
“Oh,” she breathed, eyes wide. “It’s snowing.”
Peter shot to his feet. “First snow! Everyone out!”
Chairs scraped, voices rose, and the cafeteria exploded into chaos. Harper ran out with the others, spinning beneath the falling flakes, her hair catching the light like something out of a movie.
I lingered a second, just watching. She was light on her feet, effortless in her joy. And damn it, I was already screwed. Something in my chest pulled tight, a rush I hadn’t felt in a long time. She was becoming addictive.
I followed her out, finally letting myself smile. She turned mid-spin, cheeks pink, eyes bright, and I didn’t look away fast enough.
A pen smacked my shoulder.
“You’re staring, Cap,” Peter said, smirking. “You’ll make the poor girl nervous.”
Harper flushed, waving her hands. “No, it’s fine! I mean—he’s not—ugh, never mind.”
I chuckled. “Got it. No explanation needed.”
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, holding her palm out to catch a flake.
“I can’t wait for snowball fights,” she said suddenly, grinning.
I huffed a laugh. “I’m in trouble,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
She heard me anyway. “Trouble?”
“Yeah,” I said, keeping my tone easy. “With you.”
She rolled her eyes, but that smile lingered—and it hit harder than I wanted to admit. I wasn’t falling, not yet. Just leaning too far toward something I shouldn’t. Thinking about her more than I should, noticing things I had no business noticing.
And if the snow kept drifting down, soft and slow, I figured I could blame it on the weather for now.
The bell signaling the end of lunch rang, and a low groan escaped me. I didn’t want to leave the courtyard, didn’t want the moment to end. Harper glanced at the sound too, but her grin didn’t falter.
Peter was already bouncing on his heels. “Last one to the classroom pays the losers fifty bucks!” he shouted, eyes sparkling with that ridiculous, competitive fire.
Harper hesitated, and I could practically see the mischief in her thoughts. Then she laughed, poking Peter in the chest. “Oh, it is on.”
I sighed under my breath, lining up with them toward the entrance. I wasn’t racing for fun, I was joining in to make sure she didn’t get hurt. My right hand tightened slightly, ready if the snow and chaos decided to betray us.
The group surged forward, a stampede of students shoving past each other, laughter and teasing flying. Harper’s arms pumped, light and fast, weaving through the others. I stayed close, adjusting my pace to keep her in my sight.
We were almost there—just steps from the classroom door—when someone accidentally bumped into Harper. She teetered, slipping on the slick floor from the snow tracked in, and started to fall backward.
I didn’t think. Instinct took over. I stepped in, catching her around the waist and guiding her forward so she twisted against me, chest pressing to mine, hands bracing against my shoulders.
I bit back the pain from the weight she placed on me as her breath hitched, eyes wide from exertion.
“Thanks,” she whispered, barely audible over the retreating noise.
“Yeah,” I murmured, holding her just a moment longer than I probably should.
Yeah, I was definitely losing it—and I was blaming it all on the weather.