Chapter 44 HARPER
The change in season seemed to have come with a shift in energy between me and Tyler.
I didn’t fail to notice the way he stared a little too intently, or how he didn’t seem like he wanted to let go when I tripped in the hallway. Whatever was going on between us, I was enjoying every minute of it.
By the time Friday came along again announcing the school’s home hockey game, the halls were humming in anticipation. A few handmade posters hung on the bulletin boards for Westfield's game against Westbrook. Everyone seemed excited, talking about rivalries and predictions, but the moment I spotted Tyler sitting in the bleachers, I could tell he wasn’t.
He sat with his injured arm in that familiar sling, his jaw tight as he watched the team circle the rink during warm-ups. The crowd cheered when someone scored, but he didn’t react. His gaze stayed locked on the ice, quiet and distant.
I climbed up to his row, the metal seat freezing against my legs as I sat. “You look thrilled,” I teased, dropping my bag at my feet.
“Coach asked me to be here,” he said without looking at me. “Said it would keep my head in the game.”
“Guess he forgot you can’t actually play,” I said lightly.
He smiled, barely. “Yeah. Guess so.”
His fingers flexed against his leg, the movement small but enough to make me wonder what was going through his mind. I could almost feel the frustration coming off him, the part of him that wanted to be out there instead of sitting on the sidelines.
I leaned forward a little. “You ever just… scream into a pillow when you’re mad?”
He glanced at me, a flicker of amusement breaking through the calm. “What?”
“It works,” I said. “Very therapeutic. You should try it.”
He gave a soft laugh. “I’ll add it to the list.”
“There’s a list?”
“Probably. Right under ‘don’t punch walls’ and ‘try not to lose your mind.’”
That earned a real smile from me. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.
The referee’s whistle blew, and the game started. The team launched into action, sticks clashing, skates cutting across the ice. The crowd roared, and I found myself joining in, but beside me, Tyler sat still. His focus never wavered.
I nudged him lightly with my knee. “You could at least look like you’re enjoying this.”
He turned to me. “You want me to fake it?”
“Yes. It’s school spirit. It’s mandatory.”
He shook his head, smiling a little. “You’re terrible at pep talks.”
“I’m excellent at them. You’re just a bad student.”
“You really think you can talk me out of this mood?” he asked.
I grinned. “Challenge accepted.”
“Alright, Lane. What’s your big plan?”
I thought for a second, then pointed to the popcorn bucket between us. “You’re going to throw one piece into my mouth. If you miss, you owe me a hot chocolate.”
He looked down at his sling, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You’re really trying to make me embarrass myself, huh?”
I shrugged. “Pretty much. But if you make it, I’ll buy you the hot chocolate.”
He huffed out a laugh and picked up a kernel with his right hand. “You realize this is how people choke, right?”
“Only if you have terrible aim.”
“Guess we’re about to find out.”
I leaned back slightly, mouth open in challenge. “Do your worst.”
He flicked the popcorn toward me. It bounced off my forehead and landed in my lap.
I gasped. “That was an attack.”
“You moved,” he said, smirking.
“I did not.”
“You blinked.”
“That doesn’t count.”
He laughed again, the sound low and easy. The tension that had been clinging to him started to fade. I leaned back, feeling proud of myself.
“See?” I said. “You can’t brood when you’re laughing.”
“I don’t brood,” he muttered.
“You totally do. It’s your thing.”
He looked at me, pretending to be offended. “You really think I have a brooding face?”
“Yeah,” I said with a teasing grin. “But it’s a good one. Works for you.”
His gaze held mine a little longer. I didn’t look away, not even when the noise around us faded and my pulse kicked up.
The scoreboard buzzed, pulling me out of it. Our team had scored again. I cheered, maybe a little too loudly, and Tyler’s mouth twitched like he was holding back a laugh.
“You’re way too into this,” he said.
“Somebody has to make up for your lack of enthusiasm.”
“I’ll give you that.”
We sat there for a while, side by side, trading quiet jokes and comments about the game. Every now and then, his knee brushed mine, and neither of us moved away.
After a while, he spoke again. “You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“Making things feel less… heavy.”
I smiled faintly. “You make it easy.”
He looked at me, eyes softer than before. “Not sure that’s true.”
“Maybe it's not,” I said. “Or maybe it's just how I chose to see it.”
The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the period. Players glided toward the benches, and the crowd started to shuffle. I turned back to him, wanting to keep talking, to stay in this small space we’d made between all the noise.
“You’ll be back out there soon,” I said. “You know that, right?”
He didn’t answer right away, but he nodded once. “I hope so.”
“You will.”
For a moment, he just looked at me, like he wanted to believe it because I said so. Then the air between us shifted, quieter somehow, and he leaned a little closer—close enough that our foreheads were almost touching. My breath caught.
His eyes dropped to my lips, then back to mine, and I forgot how to breathe. His lips parted slightly, his head tilting—
“Mercer!”
He blinked, the moment ruined. We both turned at once. Coach Turner stood near the rink, motioning for him to come down.
Tyler straightened, and ran a hand over his face, almost like he was relieved. “Guess duty calls.”
“Yeah,” I said softly.
He hesitated, still looking at me like he wanted to say something else. “Thanks, Harper.”
“For what?”
“For keeping me from losing my mind.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Just remember the hot chocolate bet. You still owe me.”
He smiled, that small, crooked smile that made my heart do things I wasn’t ready to admit, and then he stood up to go.
I watched him walk down the bleachers toward the ice, the crowd noise swelling around him. Coach Turner said something, and Tyler nodded, expression focused again. But before he stepped through the rink gate, he glanced back at me.
This time, I saw the longing in his eyes—the confirmation that if his coach hadn’t called him, something might have happened between us. And as he turned away, I realized I wasn’t sure if I was grateful or disappointed.