Chapter 51 TYLER
Everything hurt. My shoulder, my chest, my head. But it wasn’t just physical. It was every frustration, every disappointment, every stupid feeling I’d tried to stuff down for weeks.
The pain I tried inflicting on myself—the noise I tried creating by smashing things around—none of it was enough to drown out the thoughts swirling in my head.
“You might as well give up on your hockey dreams—”
Her voice replayed over and over, cutting deeper each time.
If the one person I’d trusted to help me get back on the ice felt that way, then what was I supposed to feel? Even worse, I’d let my own demons blind me so badly that I’d blamed them all on Harper. Now, it didn’t just feel like I was losing my dream—it felt like I was losing her, too.
I was such a failure. I was letting everyone down around me.
The hurt on my mom’s face when I’d snapped at her to leave me alone was bad enough, but the look Harper gave me—like she didn’t even recognize who I was anymore—cut deeper than anything else. It hurt. It fucking hurt.
My room felt small. Suffocating. I didn’t have a reason to hope anymore. Everywhere I turned, all I could see were the monsters my thoughts had created, whispering their poison straight into my ears.
“You’re never going to recover.”
“You’re never going to step on that ice again.”
“You’re never going to be the man your parents wanted you to be.”
“You’re never going to be good enough for Harper.”
I swung a fist at the shadows whispering my worst fears out loud.
“Lies!” I yelled, my voice cracking. My hand sliced through the air uselessly. “Fucking lies!”
But some small part of me—some pathetic, broken part—believed them.
I was a failure.
Just when I couldn’t fight it anymore, when I thought giving up might be easier than living like this, hands wrapped around my middle. The faint scent of fruity coconut shampoo hit me.
Harper's arms tightened around me, pulling me back to reality. I froze, the heat of her body grounding me in a way that nothing else could.
“I’m here, Tyler,” she whispered, her voice cracking, her fingers trembling as she held me tighter—like she was trying to hold me together.
I blinked, stunned, the anger draining from my limbs. I relaxed into the hug, my heart pounding unevenly. I buried my free hand in her hair, pressing my face into it just to breathe her in.
“I—I thought you left,” I managed, my voice rough.
She shook her head, mumbling something against my chest. I couldn’t make out the words, but I didn’t need to. The fact that she was still here said enough.
Without thinking, I pressed a shaky kiss to her forehead. My throat ached, my chest tight, and for the first time in days, I stopped fighting.
We remained locked in the embrace, neither of us saying a word. The silence wasn’t awkward—if anything, it was comforting. Like breathing again after almost drowning. That’s how I knew everything would be okay eventually.
✨✨✨✨
School the next day didn’t feel like such a drag. I was actually looking forward to starting fresh, letting go for real this time, and allowing others—Harper—to help me. This time, I was wholeheartedly putting all my cards into one basket.
Easier said than done, though.
I still had to make a conscious effort to keep my thoughts from spiraling. Paying attention in class often ended with me zoning out. And by lunch break, I felt drained from how hard I was working just not to think—about my future, the closing season game that might decide my fate, the odds of not recovering in time, the fear of being benched for good—
“Ugh, you’re doing it again,” I groaned, dragging a hand down my face to pull myself back to the present.
Looking for a distraction, my eyes scanned the lunch hall for Harper. She hadn’t spoken to me all morning, even though she’d been there for me yesterday when I’d fallen apart. I wasn’t sure if that meant she was still mad at me for what I’d said about her—either way, I needed to find her and apologize.
Skipping lunch, I turned on my heel, heading toward Megan’s class to look for her. But then I spotted her through the art room window, sitting alone with a paintbrush in hand. I pushed the door open without knocking. She jumped, eyes flashing toward the noise.
“Relax—it’s just me,” I said with a small smile, walking toward her.
She didn’t return it. Just studied me for a beat, then shifted her gaze back to the canvas in front of her.
“I thought Miss Clara doesn’t let anyone in here unless it’s Saturday?”
“Few perks of being the teacher’s favorite,” she said without looking up.
Okay, so yeah—she was definitely still mad.
“Cool,” I said awkwardly, scratching the back of my neck. “So, um… about my conversation with Mark—”
“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”
“Uh, you do?”
“I’m not stupid, you know.” Her voice had a tight edge. “I know people see me as nerdy and a bit of a know-it-all. That’s exactly why I’ve never been more than an acquaintance to anyone in our grade.” She shrugged.
Now that she mentioned it, she was friendly with everyone—but that didn’t mean people were friendly with her. I’ll admit, before all this, she wasn’t someone I’d have spared more than a glance. It hit me then: except for Megan, Harper didn’t really have friends.
“I don’t see you as either of those things,” I said quietly.
She snorted, dragging the brush across the canvas.
“For real,” I continued. “I said those things to Mark because I was still pissed about the lie.”
She tilted her head slightly, her focus hardening as she pretended to be unaffected. “I lied because I was trying to prevent what happened yesterday.”
“I know.” I sighed. “And I’m sorry. Even if I was angry, it wasn’t right of me to talk badly about someone I care about.”
Her hand froze, the brush hovering mid-air, but she didn’t say anything.
“I was thinking…” I paused. “No, more like—I’m telling you.”
She glanced at me cautiously.
“We’re officially friends now. Like it or not.”
She arched a brow, turning slightly in her seat.
I smirked and stood, offering her my hand. “And as your best friend—”
“Did you just upgrade yourself?” she interrupted, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.
I shrugged, fighting a grin. “We’re way past ‘just friends’ now, don’t you think?”
“I… guess?”
“Exactly.” I plucked the brush gently from her hand, setting it aside before taking her hand and helping her to her feet.
“And as your new official bestie, I’ve decided to help improve your social life—from zero to life of the party.” I winked. “You’re welcome.”