Chapter 4 HARPER

The ride to his house was painfully quiet. Tyler kept one hand on the wheel, eyes straight ahead, like I wasn’t even sitting next to him.

The silence was thick enough that I found myself counting the streetlights just to have something to focus on. He didn’t bother with music, didn’t ask if I was comfortable, didn’t say a single word until we pulled up to the gates of his house.

The Mercer house was massive. Wide gates opened as we approached, the driveway curving past manicured hedges and lights that flicked on automatically. The car hummed to a stop in front of stone steps that looked like they belonged to some grand hotel. I fumbled with my bag, but Tyler was already out, striding up the steps like he couldn’t get inside fast enough.

“You’re slow,” he muttered without looking back.

I swallowed my reply and followed him up the steps.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of vanilla and polish, the kind of scent no candle could fake.

The living room stretched wide, with high ceilings and spotless glass windows. Family portraits lined the wall—Tyler with a hockey stick in his hand, holding trophies, at different ages, always at the center.

He tossed his keys on a marble counter and kicked off his shoes. “Don’t touch anything,” he said flatly, like I’d come to steal the silverware.

I set my bag down gently beside me, resisting the sting of his words. Mom had told me to be patient. “He’s in a rough place right now,” she’d said this morning before heading out. “Don’t take it personally if he lashes out. Just focus on helping him.”

But standing in his palace of a home, with him giving me the cold shoulder like I was an unwelcome guest, patience already felt impossible.

He sank into the couch, leaned back, and rubbed his temple like just being awake was too much effort. His face stayed unreadable, except for the tension around his jaw.

“Are you supposed to be timing me or something?” he asked suddenly.

“I’m supposed to see what you can manage without pushing too far,” I said, my tone even.

Before I could say anything else, a soft voice came from the hallway. “Tyler? You’re home early.”

I turned to see a woman step into view. She looked like the kind of mom who belonged in magazines—perfect hair, neat sweater, a gentle smile that reached her eyes. Rose Mercer.

Her gaze flicked to me and softened. “And you must be Harper. Thank you for being here, dear. Your mother spoke highly of you.”

I managed a small smile. “It’s no problem, Mrs. Mercer. Happy to help.”

Rose’s lips curved warmly before she glanced at her son. “Don’t give her a hard time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, staring at the ceiling.

Rose sighed but didn’t reprimand him for his tone. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

With one last kind smile in my direction, she disappeared, leaving us in the heavy quiet again.

Tyler finally sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. “So what’s the plan, therapist?” The word dripped with sarcasm. “You gonna make me stretch? Talk about my feelings? Maybe hold my hand and tell me it’s all gonna be okay?”

My jaw clenched, but I forced myself to keep my voice steady. “We’ll start simple. Mobility exercises. I need to see how much you can move without straining.”

He frowned. “Sounds like a babysitting gig. Guess you’re qualified.”

I ignored the jab and dug into my bag for the notes Mom had left me. My hands shook a little as I unfolded them, but I kept my eyes down. He didn’t need to see me flinch.

“Stand up,” I said quietly.

For a moment I thought he’d refuse. Then he pushed himself off the couch, towering over me. Even injured, he looked like he could crush anyone who dared challenge him. He stood with his arms crossed (more like the good one resting on the sprained one), daring me to tell him what to do next.

“Lift your arm slowly,” I said.

He gave me a look. “Which one?”

“The injured one.”

“Brilliant idea,” he muttered, but he did it anyway, only able to lift it halfway. His face tightened with the effort, though he tried to hide it behind a tight-lipped smile. “Happy now?”

“Lower it back down.”

He did, carefully, letting out a quiet breath. “Feels worse at night.”

“Not unusual,” I said. “You’ll need consistency, though. A little every day.”

His gaze sharpened. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think people don’t always do what they know,” I said evenly.

He studied me for a beat, but I didn’t look away.

“This is pointless.” He let out a sigh. “ I should be on the ice, not wasting time with an unqualified, underaged therapist in my living room.”

“You’re not cleared for the ice,” I said through gritted teeth. “The exercises are supposed to help you heal faster.”

“Or keep me weak longer.” He sank back to the couch, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t get it.”

Rose popped her head in just then. “Do you two want anything to drink?”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly.

“Water,” Tyler said, not even glancing her way.

Rose nodded and disappeared again.

The silence returned, heavier now. Tyler leaned back again, closing his eyes this time, as if I’d already exhausted him just by standing there.

“Look,” he said finally, voice low, “I don’t need you. I don’t need your mom. I don’t need anyone. So don’t start thinking you’re some kind of savior here.”

The words cut sharper than I expected. I swallowed hard, clutching Mom’s notes tighter. I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I wasn’t here to save him, that I was just doing my job.

But Mom’s warning rang in my head—be patient with him.

So I said nothing.

His lips twitched, not quite a smile, but enough to suggest he thought he’d won.

“Thought so.”

The session dragged on with more of the same—me giving instructions, him mocking them, obeying only halfway. By the time Rose returned with water and a tray of snacks, I felt like I’d run a marathon. Tyler, on the other hand, looked bored, like he’d proved his point.

When I finally packed up my notes, he pushed off the couch without a word, already heading upstairs, not sparing me another glance.

“Meet me at the parking lot next time.” He paused halfway up the steps. “I’d advise you to google what it takes to be an athlete’s therapist before our next session if you don’t want to get replaced.”

I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes and slipped toward the door just as he disappeared from sight.

The moment I was outside, I pulled out my phone and dialed the one number I’d memorized since I was three. When the familiar sing-song voice filled my ear, the wall I’d been holding up shattered.

“Darling, is everything okay?”

“I can’t do this, Mom.” My voice cracked as

tears spilled hot and fast. “When are you coming back?”