Chapter 86 TYLER
Christmas morning did not feel like Christmas.
The gym was already lit when we filed in, the overhead lights washing everything in the same pale brightness they always did. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and rubber mats, not pine or cinnamon or anything that belonged to the holiday.
A few of the guys looked half-awake, shoulders slumped, hoodies pulled tight against the cold that clung to the building no matter how high the heat was turned up. Someone yawned loudly. Someone else complained under their breath about the time.
Mandatory training meant mandatory misery, even on Christmas.
I stood off to the side near the equipment rack, my left arm still secured in its sling, watching the rest of the team stretch and jog through warm-ups. Every movement felt louder when I wasn’t part of it. The scrape of sneakers against the floor, the dull thud of bodies dropping into lunges, the easy way they shook out sore muscles and kept going.
It reminded me of everything I couldn’t do yet.
Coach Turner clapped his hands once and started barking instructions, already in his element. Conditioning first. No shortcuts. No excuses. The groans that followed were familiar, almost comforting in their predictability.
“You,” he said, pointing at me without even looking twice. “Bike. Stretch. Rehab-approved work only.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied automatically.
I moved to the stationary bike while the rest of the team spread out across the floor. Jax shot me a look that was half sympathy, half relief that it wasn’t him stuck on limited duty. Mark didn’t look my way at all. He was already jogging backward, ignoring me for reasons I was sure was connected to last night's dinner. I thought of going to talk to him but what the hell was I supposed to say?
The bike hummed beneath me as I pedaled, my legs warming slowly while my shoulder stayed stiff and useless at my side. I focused on keeping my breathing even, on not staring too long at the drills unfolding in front of me. Watching always made it worse.
Fragments of conversation drifted across the gym.
“Kane’s cousin’s place is confirmed,” Jax said between reps. “About forty minutes out.”
“Does it have heat?” Peter asked.
“And alcohol?” someone else added.
Jax laughed. “Plenty of both.”
A few heads turned my way.
“You coming, Mercer?” Kane asked.
I hesitated. “Maybe.”
Peter snorted. “Of course he is.”
Mark finally glanced over then, his expression unreadable. “It’s just a weekend.”
I nodded, even though the thought of being surrounded by them, pretending everything was fine, made my chest feel crowded. “I’ll see.”
When the bike timer beeped, I slowed to a stop and stretched like I’d been told. I rolled my neck. I flexed my fingers. I did exactly what Harper's mom had cleared me for.
And then I waited, watching for an opening.
Coach Turner turned his attention to the far side of the gym, shouting corrections, pacing back and forth with his clipboard tucked under his arm. The rest of the team followed him, pulled along by habit and obedience. That was when I slipped away.
The auxiliary training room sat tucked behind the locker rooms, smaller and quieter, with mirrors lining one wall and a rack of lighter equipment shoved into the corner. It was usually used for individual rehab or private workouts. At this hour, it was empty.
Perfect.
I shut the door behind me and stood there for a moment, listening to the muffled noise from the gym bleed through the walls. My heart was already beating faster than it should have been.
I told myself I’d be careful. I told myself I’d stop if anything felt wrong.
I pulled the sling off.
The relief was immediate and dangerous. My shoulder felt exposed, like it knew it wasn’t supposed to be free yet. I rotated it slowly, carefully, testing what it would give me. The joint dragged, tight and sore, a dull warning humming beneath the movement.
I grabbed a resistance band first. Light. Safe. Controlled.
The stretch burned, but it stayed manageable. Predictable.
That wasn’t enough.
I moved to the cable machine instead, lowering the pin just enough to pretend I was being smart about it. Less than I would’ve used before the injury. Still more than I’d been cleared for. I set my stance, tightened my core, and braced without thinking, muscle memory taking over where common sense failed.
The first pull sent a sharp, unmistakable jolt through my shoulder, like something catching where it shouldn’t. My teeth clenched on instinct, breath locking in my chest as I held the position a second too long.
I let the handle ease back, arm shaking.
I should’ve stopped.
I reset and pulled again, slower this time, jaw tight, eyes fixed on my reflection in the mirror as if that might keep me together. Pain radiated deeper now, not acute but dense, spreading down my arm and settling into the joint like it meant to stay.
One more. Just to see. Just to feel like myself again.
I was halfway through another set when the door opened.
“Are you serious right now?”
The voice stopped me cold.
I turned, already knowing who it was, and found Harper standing in the doorway. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, her coat still on, her expression tight with something between disbelief and frustration.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, stepping inside and pushing the door shut behind her.
For a second, all I could do was stare at her. She wasn’t supposed to be here.
“Training,” I said finally, dropping the handle. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like you ignoring every instruction you were given,” she shot back. Her gaze dropped to my bare shoulder, then to the machine, then back to my face. “You’re not cleared for this.”
I shrugged, trying for casual. “Feels fine.”
She crossed the room in a few quick steps and reached for the weight selector, lowering it without asking. “That doesn’t mean anything, Tyler. You're playing with fire. One wrong pull, and you could set yourself back badly.”
I should have been annoyed. I should have snapped back. Instead, all I could think about was how she looked flushed from the cold, how her brows drew together when she was upset, how familiar it felt to have her fussing over me again.
“Why are you here?” I asked lightly.
Her mouth tightened. “You know you’re not supposed to push yourself if you want to play in the closing game.”
I leaned back against the machine, studying her. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She rolled her eyes. “What do you think? Coach called me and asked me to come oversee your ‘light’ training. Imagine if I hadn’t shown up when I did.”
“Oh,” I chuckled, raising a hand to scratch the back of my head sheepishly. I could tell she was really offended. “My bad.”
“That’s not going to cut it, Tyler,” she said, folding her arms. “I’m glad I was called to make sure you don’t undo weeks of progress, seeing as you’re stubborn.”
I laughed softly. “Funny… feels like you’re undoing something else pretty well.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Forget it.”
She exhaled, clearly trying to keep her patience intact. “Put the sling back on.”
“No.”
“Tyler,” she warned, voice firm.
I smiled, despite myself. “You always say my name like that when you’re mad.”
Her lips pressed together. “I’m serious.”
“I know.”
For a moment, we just stood there, the tension stretching between us. She looked different than last night. More distant. Like she was holding something back on purpose.
“Are you going to the weekend thing?” I asked suddenly.
She blinked. “What?”
“The getaway,” I clarified. “Kane’s cousin’s place.”
Her gaze dropped. “Mark and I already have plans.”
The words landed exactly where I expected them to.
“Oh,” I said. “Right.”
She shifted her weight. “You should go back to the gym. Coach is going to notice you’re gone.”
“Scared I’ll get in trouble?” I asked.
“I’m scared you’ll get hurt,” she said quietly.
That did it.
I reached for the sling and slid it back on, my movements slower now. “Happy?”
She nodded, relief softening her expression. “Yes.”
We walked back together in silence.
The rest of the team was already laced up in their hockey gear, skates in hand, as they began filing out of the gym. Coach Turner glanced at us, then at Harper, clearly unsurprised.
“Good timing,” he said. “Scrimmage. Mercer, you’re watching.”
We followed them to the school’s stadium. I took my spot near the boards as the guys hit the ice.
Harper drifted toward the bleachers. Mark skated over before the puck even dropped. He said something that made her smile. Really smile—the kind that reached her eyes. He leaned in and pressed a slow, quick kiss to her lips.
Something in my chest twisted. She clapped as the whistle blew, cheering when Mark touched the puck. I found myself explaining the play to her from where I stood when I realized she had no idea how the game worked, pointing things out without thinking. She listened. She laughed, even asking questions. But her gaze never remained on me for more than a few seconds
By the end of the scrimmage, my shoulder throbbed worse than before—I hadn’t taken any painkillers—and my muscles were tight from the morning’s conditioning. My body ached, but my heart felt strangely calm from just watching Harper smile and cheer, even if it wasn’t at me.
I watched her leave with Mark, their hands brushing, without so much as a glance in my direction. It hurt, seeing her focus on someone else—her boyfriend. Yet, for the first time in a long while, I realized something I hadn’t expected.
I wanted her to be happy.
Jealousy twisted inside me, sure. But I didn’t plan on doing anything to ruin what they had, as much as it ached.
I hated to admit it, but Peter had been right: as long as she was happy, even if it wasn’t with me, that was all that mattered.