Chapter 72 TYLER
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW BADLY YOU FUCKED UP?”
Coach Turner’s voice detonated across the gym, piercing and unforgiving. It echoed off the bleachers, the polished hardwood, the banners from past championships hanging overhead like reminders of what’s expected each season.
We stood in a crooked line in front of him—no jerseys, no helmets, no sticks to hide behind. Just a bunch of bruised, stiff, barely-holding-it-together teenage boys pretending not to wince every time they shifted their weight.
The school gym looked wrong without the chaos of practice—sticks abandoned in corners, damp gear piled carelessly, the air usually heavy with sweat and the sound of labored breathing.
Every single one of us wore the fight somewhere. Split lips. Swollen knuckles. Tape wrapped around wrists and fingers. Kane’s eye was already swollen, darkening into a bruise. Peter had streaks of dried blood crusted along his knuckles. Jax rolled his shoulder like it might fall off if he didn’t keep it moving.
And me?
I stood front and center, captain’s posture drilled into my spine, my arm locked uselessly in a sling like the universe’s cruelest punchline.
Coach Turner paced slowly in front of us, hands clasped behind his back, jaw tight. He stopped abruptly and turned, eyes snapping straight to me.
“You,” he said flatly. “Mercer.”
My stomach dropped.
“Captain. Center. The kid every scout already has starred on their clipboard.”
His gaze burned.
“And you decide to throw punches at a party like this is some no-name rec league.”
I swallowed hard, my jaw tightening.
“Do you know how many calls I got this morning?” he continued, voice rising. “Westbrook’s athletic director. Your principal. Parents threatening lawsuits. And that was before I even opened my inbox and saw the videos.”
A low murmur rippled through the line.
Coach’s head snapped toward the rest of the team behind me. “You think this is funny?”
Silence slammed down hard.
“Winter break doesn’t mean you stop representing this team,” he snapped. “You wear this school’s name whether you’re on the ice or drunk in a rented hall.”
He turned back to me again, slower this time. Colder.
“And you,” he said. “Fighting. With. A. Sling.”
The words felt like a public execution.
“What part of rotator cuff tear sounds like permission to throw punches?” he demanded. “Do you have any idea how close you are to ruining your shoulder permanently?”
My shoulder throbbed faintly, like it was siding with him out of spite.
“I—” I started.
“Go on,” Coach said, gesturing with a tilt of his chin. “I want to hear it.”
Every head turned toward me.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” he asked. “All of you.”
The gym went quiet, every pair of eyes drilling into me.
I hesitated only a second before stepping forward, instincts kicking in before logic could stop me.
“It was on me,” I said.
The words came out before I could take them back. Some of the guys exchanged quick, tense glances. Peter stiffened beside me. Jax swore under his breath.
Coach Turner’s brow lifted, slow and skeptical. “Explain.”
I kept my eyes forward. If I looked at them—at Mark’s bruised face, at Peter’s busted knuckles—I might lose my nerve.
“I lost my temper,” I said. “I threw the first punch. If anyone deserves whatever punishment’s coming, it’s me.”
The gym stayed quiet. Too quiet.
Coach took a step closer. Then another. He stopped an arm’s length away, his shadow cutting across the floor at my feet.
“That’s convenient,” he said calmly. “The injured captain taking responsibility. Real noble.”
My jaw clenched.
“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” he continued. “You think I’m going to go easy on you because you’re benched and half-broken?”
“That’s not—”
“Because let me be very clear,” Coach snapped, voice rising again. “Being hurt doesn’t make you untouchable. And being the golden boy sure as hell doesn’t make you immune.”
A muscle jumped in my cheek.
“I’m not asking for immunity,” I said. “I’m asking you to put it on me.”
Coach laughed again, that same sharp, humorless sound. “Oh, I will. Don’t worry.”
He turned his head slightly, eyes cutting down the line. “Anyone else want to contradict their captain?”
For a second, no one moved.
Then Jax sighed—long and resigned—and stepped forward.
“It wasn’t just him,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swung too. We all did.”
Coach’s gaze snapped to him. “You volunteering for extra trouble, Donovan?”
Jax shrugged, wincing when his shoulder protested. “Guess so.”
Peter cursed quietly. “Fuck it.” He stepped up beside Jax. “I didn’t exactly try to stop it either.”
Mark followed, jaw set. “Same.”
Kane stepped up next. One by one, they shifted forward. Not dramatically. Not heroically. Just a line of stupid, loyal idiots refusing to let one guy take the fall.
My chest tightened.
Coach Turner stared at us for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he raised a hand.
“That’s enough.”
The single word cracked through the gym, cutting us off instantly.
“This isn’t some feel-good movie where you all share the blame and walk away closer,” he said coldly. “You don’t get points for solidarity.”
He turned sharply and stalked back toward the whiteboard.
“You want consequences?” he went on. “You got them.”
The marker screeched as he wrote.
MANDATORY TRAINING
DECEMBER 25th — 6:00 A.M.
Groans rippled through the line before anyone could stop them.
“Save it,” Coach snapped. “Christmas doesn’t cancel stupidity. You’re welcome to skip it—but don’t expect to be on the ice for the championship game. That’s if your team even makes it there at this rate.”
He underlined the words twice, then wrote again beneath it.
WESTBROOK — JANUARY 12
A few heads lifted despite themselves.
“That’s right,” he said. “You’ll face the same team again. And you’d better win. Since you’ve got so much testosterone to be picking fights, how about you take it out on the ice instead?”
His glare swept over us.
“You’re already skating on thin ice for finals qualification,” he continued. “Lose focus now, and March won’t matter because you won’t be there.”
March.
My stomach twisted.
Coach turned back to me last.
“And Mercer,” he said, voice lowering. “Since you seem determined to test how fragile your future is—you’re back at practice.”
I straightened. “Yes, sir.”
“Light training only like your therapist said,” he added. “Rehab-approved drills. Skating. Stick work.”
Relief flickered—brief and dangerous.
“And watching every game,” he finished. “If you want to remain captain, you don’t get to disappear just because you’re hurt.”
That one stung more than the yelling.
“You skip another practice,” he said quietly, “and we have a different conversation.”
I nodded. “Understood.”
Coach clapped his hands once, sharp and final. “Get out of my gym. Ice time starts tomorrow.”
We didn’t linger.
As I pushed open the doors, Harper came into view, standing by the entrance, arms wrapped around herself. Her breath clouded faintly in the cool air near the doorway, and for a stupid, hopeful second, I thought she was waiting for me.
Then her eyes slid past me.
Mark emerged behind me, his forearm wrapped thickly, bruises dark against his jaw. The second Harper saw him, her face softened. She moved to him without hesitation, brushing past me like I didn't even matter.
He kissed her forehead. She leaned into him.
I looked away before the tightness in my chest could turn into something worse.
“Easy,” Peter muttered, grabbing my jacket and pulling me away from them. “Not worth it.”
Kane snorted. “Coach would personally murder you if you started round two.”
Jax rolled his shoulder carefully. “Also, I think my ribs are cracked, so if we’re fighting, I’m sitting it out.”
A weak huff escaped me despite myself.
“Let’s eat,” Peter said, letting go of me when we reached the exit. “I’m starving, bruised, and pissed off. That’s a dangerous combo.”
“Diner on Ridge?” Jax offered.
I hesitated, eyes flicking once more to Harper and Mark, their heads bent together.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “Let’s go.”
Anything to get away.
As we walked, every step sent a dull ache through my body, injuries announcing themselves one by one. But beneath it all, a heavier realization settled in my chest.
I’d protected her.
I’d paid for it.
And I still didn’t get to have her.
Not even close.