Chapter 50 HARPER
That chance came pretty quickly.
Tyler sat on the edge of his bed while I took the chair in front of him, leaning in close to loosen his sling strap just enough for the session. We hadn’t said a word to each other. Not in school. Not in the car. Just thick, tension-soaked silence.
“Okay,” I murmured, pushing my chair back as I rose. “We’re moving on to assisted flexion. Stay relaxed, and let me do the work.”
He exhaled harshly through his nose, the vein in his neck twitching like he was fighting not to explode. “Just don’t baby me.”
“You’re seven weeks post-surgery and still in a sling,” I said, keeping my voice level. “This isn’t babying. It’s literally protocol.”
He didn’t answer, just stared at the ceiling. I tried not to take his attitude personally as I lifted his arm with both hands carefully.
His bicep tightened under my fingers, his muscles trying to take over.
“Tyler,” I warned quietly.
He pushed anyway.
A strangled cry broke from his lips as pain shot through his shoulder. His body curled inwards, eyes snapping forward.
“Dammit!”
“I warned you,” I said, lowering his arm gently. “Stop fighting me. That’s why it hurts.”
He glared up at me, his blue eyes simmering with fury. “I’m sick of this. I’m sick of needing help to lift my own arm. Seven weeks in this stupid sling and I still can’t do anything!”
His voice cracked with frustration. “How do we even know this is working? There’s barely any change in the MRI. I’ve been doing these stupid sessions forever—even before you took over.”
Patience, I told myself. He’s hurting. Just breathe.
“Tyler—”
He suddenly stood, nearly knocking me off balance.
“It’s all a waste,” he hissed, pacing. Without warning, he spun around, grabbed my chair, and hurled it across the room.
That was it.
“Would you get a grip!” I snapped. “All you do is complain. Yes, you’re hurting—no one’s denying that—but it doesn’t give you the right to throw tantrums like a toddler.”
He froze, eyes burning into me. I didn’t back down.
“I’m doing everything I can to help you, but I can’t do that if you’re hell-bent on sabotaging yourself. Recovery isn’t just physical—it’s mental. If you feel stuck, it’s because you’re refusing to trust the process.”
He jabbed a finger at me, teeth clenched. “You told me—”
“Yes,” I cut in. “Because you were making progress. My mom asking you to wait one more week isn’t the end of the world. Maybe if you’d stop challenging me every second and let me help you, you’d heal faster.”
“Isn’t that exactly what I’ve been doing?” he shot back. “Letting you help me?”
“Is it really?” I stepped closer. “Because from where I’m standing, I’m the one fighting to get through to you. It’s either you’re snapping at me or pushing me away. I tried being your friend, and the moment I messed up, you shut me out like everything we’ve built means nothing.”
My hands lifted helplessly before falling. “Do you ever think about how exhausting this is for me? Trying every day, and all you do is shove me aside. Yes, I made a mistake hiding the truth from you, but you don’t even try to see things from my perspective.”
A tear slipped down my cheek, and I didn’t bother to wipe it.
“No,” I continued. “Because to you, I’m just incompetent. Unqualified. Not good enough. And definitely not pretty enough compared to Racquel or Claire or whatever popular girl you think would look better standing next to you. You’re hurting, Tyler, but that doesn’t give you the right to project it on everyone else.”
His gaze softened. He stood there quietly, as if waiting for me to finish emptying everything I’d been holding back. So I did.
“Everyone keeps saying to be patient with you, but the truth? You’re the problem. No one can help you if you won’t help yourself. You might as well give up on your hockey dreams—”
“Get out.”
My heart sank the instant the words left my mouth. “Tyler, I—”
“Get the hell out, Harper. Before I say something worse.”
I sighed and grabbed my bag from the floor. “I didn’t mean it. I was trying to make a point.”
“Whatever. Just leave.”
I stepped around him, heading for the door. But before I walked out, I couldn’t stop myself.
“I overheard your conversation with Mark,” I said quietly. “And for the record, I don’t need to match your team’s vibe to be a good girlfriend. Only someone immature would give advice like that.”
I slammed the door behind me, stepping into the hallway just as Mrs. Rose appeared with a tray.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, eyeing me carefully. “I heard shouting.”
“Yeah. Um… everything’s fine.” I forced a smile. “Tyler was just letting off steam during the exercises.”
“Hmm.” She checked her watch. “Do you need anything? The session still has thirty minutes left.”
“I—uh—we’re finishing early today. Got a call from my dad.”
“Oh.”
“Thank you for having me, Rose. See you tomorrow,” I rushed out, brushing past her and practically flying down the stairs.
Outside, the cold air hit my face, but the heat in my chest wouldn’t fade. It burned hotter the farther I got from his house, until it felt like my ribs were splitting apart. I didn’t even realize I was half-jogging down the driveway until my shoes skidded on the gravel, and I had to grab the gatepost to steady myself.
Stupid. I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have said half the things I’d said. But he’d pushed and pushed and pushed, and I’d finally snapped. All that frustration, all the swallowed resentment, all the guilt—everything I’d been holding together with shaky thread—had all burst out of me in one ugly rush.
My breath fogged the air as I fumbled for my phone. My hands were shaking too hard to even unlock it. A tight, painful pressure squeezed the back of my throat, and before I could stop it, a sob tore loose.
God. I hated crying.
I pressed my fist to my mouth, forcing myself to take a long inhale and exhale, then another. I tried to remember the grounding techniques I used on Tyler. None of them seemed to work on me.
I sank down onto the curb, elbows on my knees, staring at my blurred reflection in a pool of melted snow. I looked exhausted. Haunted. Like someone I didn’t recognize.
“What am I doing?” I whispered.
The world felt too loud, too large, too annoying, and yet out of all the millions of people, it was just him making me lose my head like this.
I scrubbed at my cheeks and stood, ready to leave the compound, to get as far away as possible from him, from this whole mess. I took one shaky step when a loud thud echoed from inside the house. Then another.
It sounded like someone hitting something repeatedly. Glass shattered with a sharp crash, and then Mrs. Rose’s voice—tense, urgent—cut through the air. Something was wrong.
I turned, eyes narrowing at Tyler’s bedroom window. I couldn’t see anything clearly, but the sounds came again—louder, more violent this time.
My pulse spiked.
“Tyler?” I whispered, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me.
Then the window rattled, and I caught a glimpse of him struggling inside, his arm flailing as he tossed something aside.
My stomach dropped. He was at it again, the same rage I’d seen flare up too many times before.
I forced myself not to run back into the house, not to try to take control. This was his battle. I couldn’t go in if he wouldn’t take my advice.
I tried to steady my breathing, forcing myself to keep walking. But with every step I took, a cold knot twisted tighter in my chest. Whether I liked it or not, he was the only one who could save himself—and I wasn’t sure he would.
A pang of certainty struck me then. He needed someone. I just couldn’t leave him like that.
Before I could stop myself, my legs gave way to instinct. I was running back toward the house, breath tearing at my lungs, heart hammering in my ears.
Because whatever was happening in that room, it wasn’t just anger anymore.
It sounded like fear.
And deep down, I knew I had to be there for him—whether he wanted me or not.