Chapter 66 TYLER
The hand fisted my hoodie and yanked me sideways toward the open door.
Pain exploded across my face as my head snapped hard to the right, the impact white-hot and blinding.
“Are you out of your damn mind?” someone roared.
I didn’t answer. My ears rang, sound muffled like I was underwater.
Another shove slammed me sideways again, harder this time.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
I tasted blood.
The second hit came fast, crashing the side of my head into the headrest. The world lurched, streetlights outside stretching into crooked streaks.
I didn’t fight him.
Didn’t even try.
The only thing I could feel clearly was the pounding in my skull and the familiar fire tearing through my bad shoulder from being shoved sideways.
“Don’t just sit there!” the voice roared. “You could’ve killed someone!”
My vision slowly dragged itself into focus.
A dark shape leaned over me. Broad shoulders. Tight jaw. A familiar scar slashing through one eyebrow.
Recognition hit. Hockey. He was one of the guys from the opposing team. The same bastard who had sent me into the boards during the opening game. The same hit that tore my rotator cuff and benched me in one brutal second.
Of course it was him.
His grip tightened on my hoodie. “You got nothing to say now?”
My throat worked around the pain. “You… hit me.”
His laugh was sharp and humorless. “You pulled right into my lane.”
My head spun as I tried to recall but all I could think of was the hand that wasn't mine on Harper's waist.
I swallowed. “I didn’t see you.”
“That’s the problem.”
My hands started shaking on the steering wheel now that the adrenaline had cracked. Up close, I could see the damage to his car. Crumpled bumper. Twisted metal. My own headlight was completely gone, the front of my car bent inward like it had been punched.
Silence stretched between us, broken by the hiss of overheated engines and distant traffic.
His gaze dropped to my sling.
“You driving like that?” he scoffed. “With one arm?”
“Still works,” I muttered.
He shook his head slowly. “You’re a reckless idiot.”
“Not arguing.”
That seemed to throw him off. His grip loosened slightly.
“Anyone in your car?” I asked.
He hesitated, then scowled. “No.”
Relief hit me so suddenly my chest caved inward.
“I’ll cover the repairs,” I said quietly. “Insurance. Cash. Whatever it takes.”
His eyes narrowed, searching my face for attitude.
He didn’t find any.
“Good,” he said after a long beat. “Because this car isn’t cheap.”
“Neither is mine.”
Another sharp laugh escaped him, but it held no amusement.
“Figures,” he muttered. “Guess you’re not made of glass after all.”
“Never was.”
He stepped back from the door at last. The space between us felt strange after the violence.
“Next time,” he said coldly, “keep your damn eyes on the road.”
Then he turned and walked back to his car without looking at me again.
Just like that, it was over.
I sat there for several seconds after, staring at the fractured reflection of my face in the side mirror. Blood streaked my cheek. My eyes looked hollow.
I pulled my phone from my pocket with shaking fingers and called Peter. I told him I’d been in an accident. That I was alive and was heading home.
I didn’t explain anything else.
The rest of the drive passed in numb silence.
By the time I reached my street, my hands had stopped shaking. My head still throbbed, but the deeper ache sat in my chest, heavy and unmoving.
When I pulled into the driveway, I saw my dad’s car parked near the garage.
For a second, I just stared at it.
He was back.
Finally.
The engine clicked softly as I shut it off. Snow dusted the windshield in a thin, quiet drift, flakes catching in the glow of the porch light. I opened the car door slowly, every movement pulling at my shoulder. Cold air rushed in, clean and biting.
Before I could fully straighten, something slammed into my side.
“TY!”
An arm hooked around my stomach, the impact enough to knock the breath out of me for a second. I stumbled back a step, boots skidding slightly on the thin layer of snow gathering on the driveway.
I looked down.
My little brother was grinning up at me like I’d just fallen from the sky. Taller than the last time I’d seen him. Stronger too.
“You’re finally back!” he yelled. “I’ve been wondering when I’d see you.”
“I live here,” I muttered. “Not exactly a legend.”
His grin faded as his eyes darted to my face. “Dude… you’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.”
“That’s what you’ll say until Mom freaks out.”
The front door burst open behind him, mom’s voice echoing from inside before she appeared in the doorway.
“Careful with his shoulder!”
My brother froze and then slowly released me. “Your arm’s broken?”
“Torn,” I said. “Still attached.”
That did nothing to ease his anxiety.
“Inside, Jacob, before you catch a cold,” mom called, cutting off whatever he was about to say next.
The house glowed with Christmas lights and the smell of cinnamon and pine. Garland hung along the banister. A half-decorated tree stood in the living room, lights twinkling but ornaments still scattered across the floor.
Too much warmth. Too much noise.
My dad stood near the tree untangling a string of lights. He looked up when he saw me.
“There he is.”
I nodded once. “Hey.”
His eyes moved to the blood on my face. The sling. The stiffness in my posture.
“What happened?”
“You look like you got into a fight,” my mom said as her eyes scanned me.
“Car accident. It was minor,” I said. “Everyone’s fine.”
My mom was already guiding me toward the couch. “Sit. Don’t argue.”
She pressed a cloth to my cheek. I flinched.
“This is why I don’t like you leaving the house,” she said quietly. “Tyler, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
“Doing what?”
“Acting like you’re indestructible.”
My dad folded his arms. “You shouldn’t be driving at all with that shoulder.”
“And now your face,” my mom added.
The room felt smaller with every word.
“I can take care of myself,” I said.
“You barely let us help you,” she replied.
“I don’t need help.”
My dad exhaled. “Son—”
The word drove straight into the open parts of me. Son. I felt unworthy of it. From golden boy to benched athlete. Torn shoulder. Injured.
Useless.
“I said I’m fine,” I snapped.
The room went quiet.
My brother shrank back. My mom’s hands froze at my face.
“Ty…” she said carefully.
“I’m tired,” I muttered, standing. Pain tore through my shoulder but I didn’t slow. “I’m going to my room.”
“Tyler,” my dad called.
I ignored him.
I took the stairs too fast, running on adrenaline and frustration instead of sense. By the time I reached my room, my chest was tight and my head swam again.
I shut the door.
Locked it.
The Christmas music downstairs kept playing, but the house still felt quiet. I knew I shouldn’t have snapped like that. Just because my Christmas was ruined didn’t mean I had to ruin theirs too.
I slid down against the door until I hit the floor.
My head dropped to my knees.
There were so many things I should have been worrying about, yet my mind kept circling back to one image—Mark’s hand on her waist.
The way she looked happier with him. I should’ve been happy for her.
But it hurt too much.
I squeezed my eyes shut and dragged in a slow, shaking breath. I was late—and it was something I was going to regret for the rest of my life.