Chapter 6 TYLER
The clang of weights echoed through the gym, harsh and relentless like a rhythm I used to know by heart. My teammates moved in sync—squats, presses, drills with resistance bands—all the things I should’ve been doing right beside them. Instead, I sat on the edge of the bench with my arm strapped against my chest like a dead weight.
Laughter spilled across the room as Malik cracked some joke about Coach’s bald spot. The guys roared, sweat dripping down their temples, muscles straining, alive in a way I wasn’t. My throat tightened. Every grunt, every scrape of a dumbbell against the rack reminded me of what I’d lost.
Having to show up and watch when I couldn’t play felt cruel. Like the injury wasn’t already punishment enough. I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed up from the bench, ready to walk out, when Coach Turner’s voice cut through the clatter of weights.
“Going somewhere, Cap?”
I turned to face him. “Yeah. To class.”
He glanced at his watch, then up at me, arms folded. “You still have ten minutes. I’m sure your teacher will excuse your absence—just like every other day since freshman year.”
“Seeing as I’m not exactly training—” I hissed through gritted teeth, trying to rein in my emotions.
Coach gave me a pitiful look, his hands fell limply to his side. “Look, I know it’s tough to watch and not participate—”
“Then why am I forced to do it?”
“Because you’re still a part of the team. Observing makes it that you don’t check out mentally. This team still needs you. And the more motivated you feel, the stronger your will to recover.”
I took in a deep breath, pain swelling in my chest. The team had paused their training now, eyes watching me with pity. I hated it. Hated their sympathy. Hated the feeling of being completely useless.
“With all due respect, standing here like a mascot isn’t going to fix my shoulder. I don’t need a front-row seat to my own replacement,” I snapped.
“Tyler—”
“Fuck it, Coach. I’m going back to class.”
He didn’t stop me.
I could feel the set of eyes that burned into my back as I walked away. But I didn’t turn back—I couldn’t. I made my way to the dressing room to vent, slamming my good arm into one of the lockers.
I hissed as pain shot up my arm, forcing me to cradle it. It did nothing to calm the raw ache clawing at my chest. Seeing myself like this was its own kind of pain.
I sank down to the floor, lowering my head on my arm as tears threatened to drop. Memories of the night of my downfall played across my mind, that I was too busy wallowing in self-pity to notice the other occupant of the room.
“Hey,” a voice I recognized filtered through my thoughts drawing me back to the present. “Everything’s going to be okay, Cap. Trust me.”
I sighed. “It’s easy to say when you’re not in my position.”
There was silence for a moment. I felt tempted to look up to see if I was alone now. But then Mark’s voice came again.
“Yeah. I may not know how it feels. But I know one thing for sure—a shoulder tear isn’t going to keep someone like you down, Cap. You’ll make it back just before the big day, I can bet on it.”
“Thanks, man. I feel better already,” I deadpanned, sarcasm laced beneath my words as I raised my head up to look at him.
“Ouch.” He looked a little hurt. I didn’t care. That was just a snippet of how I felt. He shrugged, turning toward the exit. “You don’t have to believe it. But the rest of us do.”
And then he was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts again.
I remained rooted to the spot, leaning my head back against the lockers. I wanted to believe my right-winger’s words, and maybe I would have, if Mark wasn’t such an optimist—always looking at the bright side of things. Well, new flash, Mark, there is no silver lining to these stormy clouds. No light at the end of a tunnel. All I could see—and felt—was ruin. Ruin. Ruin. Fucking ruin!
My head hurt from just the thought of my life without hockey. I didn’t want to be those teenagers who move into college to study for a white collar job. No. I wanted to be a professional hockey player. Wanted to join the NHL. Watch myself play on tv. Make my parents proud—because at the end of it all, it always came back to them. There was no way I could do that by getting a white collar job, not when they’d already provided me with all the financial stability. What they needed from me—I needed from me— was a name for myself, something more permanent than being called Captain.
I clenched my fists, flexing my injured arm carefully. There was no way an undertrained intern was going to nurse me back to health. I even doubted a professional could, not with the self-doubt I was beginning to drown in.
I swallowed down a sob, closing my eyes to avoid staring at the root of all my problems. They didn’t open again until I felt a strong, calloused hand tap me gently on the shoulders.
“Cap?”
“Hmm?” I blinked, shaking off the drowsiness still in my eyes.
“You slept. It’s past closing hours.”
A frown appeared on my face as my brows furrowed. “For real?”
“Yeah,” my best-friend said, his voice low like he was watching his words with me. “I would have woken you up before we went back to classes, but coach said to leave you be.”
“The fuck, Pete,” I grunted, getting to my feet. “Just keep giving me more reasons to reconsider my choice of friendships and we’ll be strangers in no time.”
“Chill out, man. You looked exhausted. If anything, I was being a good friend letting you sleep.”
I ignored him, shifting my attention to the rest of the team who were getting ready for after school training but were clearly watching me with guarded scrutiny.
“The fuck y’all looking at?” I barked.
“Sorry, Cap,” they murmured, lowering their eyes away from me.
“You seem always on the edge, Ty. You might want to tone it down before it creates a rift between you and the rest of them,” Peter whispered, holding out a bottle of water to me.
I snatched it out of his hand, unscrewing the cap. “See if I care.”
“Yeah, well, you will soon. Especially since your girl has been waiting in the parking lot for the past ten minutes.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “What girl? I’m no longer with Racquel, you know that.”
He snorted. “Thank God for that. But, yeah, I’m talking about your ‘therapist,’” he said, air-quoting the last word.
“Fucking hell.”
I grabbed my bag, putting my things together in a hurry. I may not like my new ‘therapist’ but it wasn’t in my nature to keep a lady waiting, worse, when I’d been the one to tell her to wait for me at the parking lot.
Peter snickered at how fast I was working, clearly taking things the other way. I didn’t bother explaining. When I was out the door, I heard his voice call behind me.
“Be nice, Cap. She looks like a keeper.”
I rolled my eyes. Bleeding moron.