Chapter 45 TYLER
I couldn’t believe I’d almost kissed her.
That thought looped in my head long after Coach Turner’s voice cut through the noise. His mouth was moving, but I barely caught the words. Everything in me was still replaying that almost—how close she’d been, how my pulse had started to trip over itself.
“Mercer,” Coach said again, his voice laced with impatience. “You listening?”
I blinked, forcing my mind back to the present. “Yeah—yeah, sorry.”
He eyed the sling around my shoulder, then crossed his arms. “How’s the shoulder holding up?”
“Better,” I said, straightening. “My therapist thinks I can start light training by Monday. Maybe even join drills.”
His brow lifted, not convinced. “Your therapist thinks that?”
“Yeah. She’s been helping me stretch it out. Range of motion’s improving.”
Coach hummed low, not buying it. “Well, that’s good, but I’ll believe it when I see it. You’re no use to the team if you rush recovery and blow everything you've worked so hard for.”
My stomach sank a little. “I’m not rushing it.”
He gave me that look—the one that said he’d been around long enough to know better. “If you’re not cleared, you’re not skating. And if you’re not skating by next month, you’ll miss the closing season game. Scouts will be here, Tyler. NHL reps. You want a shot at college-level play, that’s where it starts.”
The excitement that had flickered earlier fizzled out fast.
“I know,” I said quietly.
“Good. Then do what you have to. Heal right.”
I nodded, though the word heal felt like something I’d been trying to fake for weeks now. Coach clapped me once on the back and turned toward the bench, barking orders at the assistant manager.
I stood there a moment longer, watching as the last players left the ice. The rink was empty now, silent except for the hum of the lights, and the place that had once felt like home now felt alien.
I needed reassurance. An anchor to keep me from spiraling—Harper. I needed Harper.
Lingering in the hallway outside the locker rooms, I tried to come up with a conversation in my head as an excuse to talk to her. But when I found her, she wasn’t alone.
She was standing near the vending machines, talking to Jax and Mark.
At first, I thought nothing of it. Harper was friendly with everyone; it was part of what made her… her. But then I caught Jax’s question as I got closer.
“So, is he really cleared to train next week?”
Harper hesitated. I saw it in the way her fingers twisted the strap of her bag. “That’s the goal,” she said carefully. “His progress has been solid.”
“That’s good,” Mark said, glancing at her. “But that’s not what you told me the other day, is it?”
My chest tightened.
She frowned. “Mark—”
“You said your mom didn’t think he was ready. That he needed more time before lifting or skating.”
Jax blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, seriously?”
Harper’s voice dropped, soft but guilty. “She’s worried the tear hasn’t healed completely. I was supposed to tell him… I just didn’t know how.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
I took a step forward before realizing what I was doing. “So that’s what you’ve been keeping from me.”
Three heads turned at once. Harper’s eyes widened, the color draining from her face. “Tyler—”
“Don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “You could’ve just told me the truth.”
“It wasn’t like that,” she said quickly, stepping toward me. “I was waiting for the right time—”
“Right time for what? For me to figure out I’ve been lying to myself?”
“Tyler, please.”
Jax shifted awkwardly beside her, and Mark looked like he wanted to disappear. The silence around us thickened, heavy with the kind of pity I didn’t need.
I didn’t say another word. I just turned and walked away.
I heard her call my name, but I didn’t look back.
✨✨✨✨
By the time I hit the parking lot, the cold air had turned the night brittle. I drove without thinking—past the gas station, past the school lights fading in my rearview, until I ended up on Main Street.
The small bar near the corner still had its neon sign flickering. Miller’s Place. A spot I wasn’t supposed to be in, but one I knew wouldn’t ask questions.
The bartender glanced up when I walked in, recognition flickering. I’d been here before with the older guys on the team after away games. I was the youngest, but they never seemed to care.
“Rough night?” he asked, grabbing a mug.
“Something like that,” I said, sliding into a stool.
He poured me a beer without asking, and I didn’t bother reminding him I wasn’t eighteen yet. Everyone here knew the team. Being captain had its privileges, even if it didn’t feel like one tonight.
The first gulp burned on the way down, the bitter taste scraping against my throat. But it dulled the edge a little.
One drink turned into two. Then three.
By the time the clock above the bar hit eleven, the ache in my shoulder had blurred into something else, something quieter, and easier to ignore. Just then a voice spoke behind me.
“Didn’t think I’d find you here.”
My spine stiffened. Racquel.
She slid onto the stool next to me, the same confidence she’d always worn painted across her face. Hair perfect, eyes lined, smile dangerous. She still looked like trouble in heels. You’d think she’d leave me alone after I humiliated her in front of everyone. That’s the problem with pick-mes—they never realize when the guy hates them.
“Guess I didn’t think you’d be looking,” I said.
“I wasn’t. Just got lucky.” She leaned her elbow on the counter, her perfume curling around me. “Heard you had a fallout with your therapist.”
I twirled the shot glass in my hand, my thoughts buzzing in a mess, too distracted to tell her to mind her own business.
“Something like that.”
She tilted her head. “I’m a bit surprised she got you back to drinking. Is it that bad?”
“Something like that.”
Her gaze flicked to my half-empty glass as if she were pondering how to keep the conversation going. “Trying to fix it that way?”
“Something like that,” I muttered again, hoping she'd take the hint and leave.
She laughed, low and smooth. “You’re cute when you try to push me away.”
“Must be a sight problem, then,” I said before I could stop myself.
She laughed harder. “So you do remember I have bad eyesight.”
I turned toward her, words half slurred but clear enough. “I remember everything.”
She studied me for a moment, then touched my arm lightly, her nails tracing the edge of the sling. “Poor thing. Bet you hate having to drown your pain in alcohol.”
“I do,” I admitted, ignoring the way her touch made my skin itch.
“Then maybe you should take solace in someone, not a bottle.”
The invitation in her voice was revolting, but the alcohol was already messing with my perception of reality.
I looked at her, the curve of her smile morphing into the one that had begun haunting my dreams every night. Those glossy lips I’d almost found myself reaching for hours ago. I couldn’t even stay mad at her when those grey eyes looked back at me like that.
“Come on, Ty. Just one night. No strings.”
Racquel’s voice snapped me out of my daze. My chest tightened, Harper’s face flashing in my mind again—her laugh, the way she’d looked at me on the bleachers like I wasn’t broken. Then the memory twisted, replaced by whispers about my recovery behind my back.
Anger surged through me.
I finished my drink and slammed the glass down. “Let’s get out of here.”
Racquel’s grin widened as she slid off the stool and laced her fingers through mine. Even though part of me knew exactly what I was doing, I didn’t stop her.
Not when she led me toward the door. Not when the chill night air hit my face. Not when I realized that forgetting Harper, even for a night, meant I’d have to play around with the devil, even though I knew I’d regret it later.