Chapter 57 TYLER
I hated that I left her. She fought Racquel because of me. She got detention the other day because of me. And now I got to walk away without a single punishment while she took the hit for both of us. Nothing about that felt right.
Mom pulled into the garage and turned off the ignition before speaking, her voice soft like she thought that would help. “Maybe I should call Rachel. Since Harper will be busy with her disciplinary service, we should probably get you another physiotherapist.”
“It’s not her fault.” I slumped back in my seat. “You should have let me stay with her.”
“Tyler, honey, she’ll be fine. You’re the one who got injured—”
“It’s a first degree burn, Mom.” I lifted the ruined edge of my uniform shirt so she could see the angry red patch on my shoulder. The sting had faded, already manageable. “A little balm and I’m good.”
“But your hand—”
“Harper’s supposed to be doing therapy with me right now.” Heat punched through my chest before I even knew the words were coming. “If you had stood up for her more, she’d be here. Not at school doing whatever punishment she’s stuck with for something that was never her fault.”
“Ty—”
I didn’t let her finish. I opened the door and slammed it harder than I meant to, heading inside before I said something I couldn’t take back. I was too pissed. At her. At myself. At everything. Because the disappointment in Harper’s eyes kept replaying in my head, over and over, even as I peeled off my uniform and stepped into the shower. It clung to me worse than the burn.
I’d just stepped out with a towel sitting low on my hips and my good hand pressed to the wall for balance when my pulse nearly rocketed out of my body.
Peter was sitting at my desk like he lived there.
“What the hell, man? Never heard about knocking?”
He didn’t even look fazed. He locked his phone and leaned back in the chair. “Dude, how long does it take you to shower?”
“That concerns you how?” I asked, walking to my closet for clothes.
“I heard the whole issue between Harper and Rac—”
I snapped around so fast the towel slipped half an inch. My brows shot up. “Issue?”
He lifted both hands like I was holding a knife. “Alright, not issue. The whole situation. The chaos. The bloodshed. Whatever you want to call it.”
“She tried to throw acid at Harper.” My tone was flat but the edge was impossible to miss. “If I hadn’t been there, she would have disfigured her. Harper reacted and got punished for it. And you're sitting here downplaying the whole thing like it was some harmless squabble.”
His lips curled into a slow grin. The kind that meant he was about to say something stupid or brilliant. With Peter, it was always a fifty-fifty shot.
“See? That reaction right there was exactly what I needed to confirm.”
“Confirm what?”
“A little birdie told me Harper's in the school archive room cleaning files and shelves until thy kingdom come. I figured with a few extra hands, even cleaning could be fun.”
I paused, towel dripping onto the carpet. “Peter.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Yes, love of my life?”
“Mom won’t let me leave the house.”
He shrugged. “Since when have we ever let a parent stop us?”
I stared at him.
The idiot grinned like he’d won something. “So I assume you want to get out of here.”
Of course I did. My chest hurt from wanting to.
I sighed. “You have a plan?”
“Do I have a plan?” He placed a hand dramatically on his chest. “Tyler. Please. I was born with plans.”
Peter’s plan turned out to be exactly the type of stupid genius only he could pull off. I’d just finished struggling with slipping on my hoodie when Peter brought out a stack of mails from his backpack. He winked at me before heading downstairs to the kitchen.
“Mrs. Rose, all this mail just came in for you. It seems like someone hasn’t been paying the bills.”
“What? That can’t be right.”
I peeped from the doorway as my mom grabbed the mail from his hands and began going through it. Peter glanced back at me, eyes wild, mouthing, “Run.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I bolted out the door.
“Dude,” I panted after running all the way to my car, with Peter coming out just a few seconds later, my mom on his tail. “That wasn’t a plan. Mom’s gonna kill you.”
He let out a dramatic sigh. “Things I do for friendship. Better than seeing you all heartbroken.”
“I’m not heartbroken.”
He snorted. “You’re halfway to Shakespeare levels of tragedy.”
I shoved him, and he grinned like that proved his point.
We rounded the street corner, pausing to exchange seats so Peter could take the wheel.
“We’re going to need some extra hands if we’re really going to help Harper. I’m not of much use with one hand,” I stated. And it killed me.
Peter smirked. “Way ahead of you.”
A car pulled up beside us, blaring its horn loudly. Too loud.
Kane was behind the wheel of his beat-up Nissan, grinning like a lunatic, while Billy hung halfway out the window, with Cassie waving from the backseat. Behind them, in Mark’s car, Jax leaned out the passenger window while Megan squeezed in at the back with David.
“You guys ready?” Kane shouted.
I stared. “How the hell did you convince them? Even Dave?”
Peter smirked. “I have a gift.”
“You bribed them, didn’t you?” I asked.
Peter put a finger to his lips. “Silence is my love language.”
I rolled my eyes, unable to stop the appreciative grin breaking out on my face. Peter shot a thumbs-up out the window as he pulled onto the highway like he was auditioning for a Fast and Furious reboot, the rest of the team following close behind.
Five minutes later, we pulled into the school’s nearly empty parking lot.
The building felt too quiet, too still—it made me feel even worse for leaving Harper here.
We made our way down the dim faculty hallways until we found the old archive room. Faded paint. A huge cart of dusty boxes. Folders stacked in leaning towers like they were waiting to collapse.
Peter knocked on the door frame. “Hey, Harper? You alive in there?”
I grabbed his shirt and yanked him back. “Give me a minute.”
He blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”
I stepped inside.
Harper was kneeling beside a metal cabinet, pulling out stacks of old files. Her ponytail had loosened, hair falling into her face. Dust covered her sleeves. She looked small. She looked overwhelmed. She looked like she’d been trying very hard not to feel any of it.
When she noticed me, a wave of emotions I couldn’t quite place flickered across her face. I swallowed.
“Tyler?” She rose to her feet slowly, her face settling into a more surprised expression. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
I shoved my hand into my pocket. “Yeah, well—wanted to check on you.”
She nodded, too quickly. “I’m okay. It’s… just cleaning.”
“Harper.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated. She looked away then, but I saw it. A tear slipped down her cheek, catching the fluorescent light before she wiped it away with the back of her hand.
It punched me in the chest.
“I’m sorry,” I said. The words came out rough and honest. “I should’ve stayed. I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve taken the punishment instead of you.”
“You couldn’t,” she murmured. “Your mom was right. You should be resting. You have a tear in your shoulder and now a burn and you’re supposed to get better for the season game.”
“Hockey can wait.”
She looked up at me at that. Really looked. Like she couldn’t decide whether to believe me.
“It shouldn’t,” she whispered.
“But you're worth it,” I closed the distance between us. “You’ve been there for me every single time. Let me do the same.”
She blinked, and for a moment, everything between us felt vulnerably still.
“But what can you even do?” she said softly. “You’re injured. You can’t lift anything. You shouldn’t even be in a dusty room with an open burn.”
As if on cue, the door banged open.
Peter marched in wearing gloves he clearly stole from the janitor's closet. Behind him, Cassie carried a broom. Jax had a mop. Mark held a duster, while Billy and David began passing around a box of disposable masks like they were hearing up for a mission.
Kane waltzed in last. “Alright. Who’s ready to commit friendship labor?”
Harper’s eyes widened. “You guys didn’t have to—”
“That’s what best friends do,” I said, stepping beside her.
She looked at me again, slower this time. Like she was letting the words settle somewhere she had kept locked. She smiled at me, small and soft.
Something in my chest unraveled.
This. This was where I wanted to be.
Not at home.
Not on the ice.
Not anywhere else. But here. With her. Helping her through the mess I should have shielded her from in the first place.
And as the others started joking about who got the worst jobs—the cobwebs, the dusty shelves, the impossible-to-reach corners—Harper handed me a folder to hold. I took it with my good hand, and she touched my wrist gently. Almost hesitantly.
“Thank you for coming,” she whispered.
I swallowed hard.
“Anytime.”
I meant it.
And she knew I did.