26. Tyler
TYLER
It's been about two weeks since Christmas, and I'm back at practice, which is, you guessed it, a fucking nightmare.
It’s Thursday afternoon, and Reaper's in one of his moods. The kind where he makes it his personal mission to remind everyone, especially me, that he runs this team and I'm just barely tolerated.
We're running power play drills, and I'm positioned where I should be—at the top of the circle, the one-timer spot. It's my job. It's what I'm good at. Danny wins the faceoff, gets it back to the point, and the defenseman has a clear lane to me.
I'm open, calling for the pass.
The pass goes to Reaper instead, who's in a terrible position and forces a shot that gets blocked.
"West was open," Coach says, but there's no force behind it. Just an observation.
We reset. Run it again.
Same thing. I'm open, calling for it, and the puck goes anywhere but to me.
The third time, Reaper actually skates past me with the puck, close enough that I could reach out and touch him, and dumps it into the corner instead of passing.
"What the fuck?" I mutter under my breath.
"You got something to say, West?" Reaper's in my face immediately, his stick coming up between us.
"Yeah. I'm open. Pass the fucking puck."
"Maybe if you were in a better position."
"I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
Coach blows the whistle, breaking it up before it escalates, but the damage is done. The rest of the practice is brutal—physical and aggressive, with Reaper taking every opportunity to hit me harder than necessary.
During the scrimmage, he cross-checks me into the boards hard. My ribs scream, my shoulder jams, and I go down hard on the ice.
The whistle doesn't blow.
Coach is watching. I know he's watching because I can see him standing there behind the bench. He doesn't say anything. Doesn't call it. Just lets it happen, the same way he's let all of it happen since day one.
I've thought about going to him. I've run the conversation in my head a hundred times, walking into his office, sitting down, laying it out calmly and professionally.
Reaper is deliberately targeting me. It's affecting the team's power play.
Something needs to be said. And every time I get to the end of that conversation in my head, I hit the same wall.
Coach knows. He's seen it. He watches every practice and every game, and he makes the same choice every time, which is no choice at all.
Either he doesn't think it's bad enough to act on, or he doesn't think I'm worth the conflict with his captain.
Both options tell me the same thing: going to him does nothing except make me look like I can't handle it.
So I get up slowly, my entire body throbbing, and skate to the bench when my shift ends.
"You good?" Liam asks quietly.
I don't answer. I can't trust my voice right now, so I just nod and focus on breathing through the pain radiating from my ribs.
By the time practice ends at six, I'm wound so tight I might snap. My ribs are bruised, my shoulder's aching, and I need an outlet for all this rage and frustration before I do something stupid like confront Reaper in the locker room.
I shower quickly, get dressed, and leave without talking to anyone.
The drive home takes twelve minutes, and I spend every second trying to calm down. Failing miserably, but trying.
I walk through the door at six thirty-four, dropping my gear bag with more force than necessary.
"Ty?" Nora's voice comes from somewhere deeper in the house. "That you?"
"Yeah."
I follow the sound to the laundry room, where I find her folding Harper's tiny clothes. The room is small, barely big enough for the washer and dryer and a person, and she's got laundry sorted into neat piles on top of the dryer.
She looks up when I appear in the doorway, and her smile fades immediately.
"What happened?"
"Practice."
"Reaper?"
"Always, Reaper." I lean against the doorframe, trying to keep my distance because I'm too keyed up right now, too angry, too everything. "Where's Harper?"
"Asleep. She went down early. She was exhausted." Nora sets down the onesie she's folding. "How bad?"
"Cross-checked me into the boards—hard. Coach watched and did nothing."
"Tyler—"
"I don't want to talk about it." I push off the doorframe and move into the small space. "I just need—"
I don't finish the sentence because I don't know how to finish it. I need to hit something. I need to scream. I need some kind of outlet for this rage that's been building for months.
I need her.
Nora's watching me, and I can see the exact moment she realizes how close I am. How small this room is. How the air between us is charged with something that has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with months of wanting.
"Ty." My name on her lips is barely a whisper. "What do you need?"
You. I need you. I've needed you for months, and I'm tired of pretending I don't.
"Red." My voice comes out rough, wrecked. "If you don't want this, you need to tell me to leave right now."
For a moment, neither of us moves. She could stop this. Should stop this, probably—we need to talk first and figure out what this means, what happens after.
She’s staring at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and I can see the war happening behind her eyes.
But then something in her expression shifts. Settles. Decides.
"What if I don't want you to leave?"
That's all the permission I need.
I close the distance between us in two steps, my hands cupping her face, and I kiss her like I've been dying to for months.
She makes this sound, half gasp, half moan, and then she's kissing me back just as desperately, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer.
It's not gentle. It's months of tension exploding, all the wanting and yearning and desperate need we've been holding back finally breaking free.
My hands slide into her hair, tilting her head back so I can kiss her deeper, and she arches against me, her body fitting perfectly against mine.
"Fuck," I breathe against her mouth. "Red, I—"
"Don't stop." She's pulling at my shirt, trying to get it off. "Please don't stop."
I help her, yanking my shirt over my head and tossing it somewhere behind me. Her hands are on my chest immediately, exploring, and when her fingers brush over my bruised ribs, I wince.
"Sorry—"
"Don't care." I capture her mouth again, walking her backward until she hits the dryer. "I've wanted this for so long."
"Me too." She's breathless, her pupils blown wide. "God, me too."
I lift her onto the dryer, stepping between her legs, and the position puts us at the perfect height. Her hands are in my hair now, tugging, and I'm kissing down her neck, tasting her skin, feeling her pulse racing under my lips.
My hands slide under her shirt, pushing it up, and she helps me pull it off. Her bra is simple, pale pink, and when I unclasp it and toss it aside, the sight of her bare in front of me makes me groan.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I murmur, my hands covering her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples.
She gasps, arching into my touch. "Tyler—"
I lower my head, taking one nipple into my mouth, and she moans my name. I work her with my tongue and my teeth, switching between both breasts until she's writhing against me.
"Tyler." She tugs my hair, making me look at her. "I need to tell you something."
"Tell me later."
"No. Now." She's serious, her hazel eyes locked on mine. "I love you. I'm in love with you. I have been for weeks, and I can't—I don't want to do this without you knowing that."
Everything stops. The anger, the frustration, the desperate need—it all crystallizes into this one perfect moment.
"Fuck." I rest my forehead against hers, my hands on her bare waist. "I'm in love with you, too, Red. So fucking in love with you, I can't think straight."
"Then don't think." She pulls me back to her mouth. "Just feel."
And I do. I kiss her until we're both breathless, my hands roaming over her body, learning the curves I've been dying to touch. She's pulling at my belt, and I help her, shoving my jeans and boxers down.
I help her out of her leggings, then hook my fingers in her underwear, pausing.
"You sure?"
"Yes. God, yes."
I slide them down her legs, and when I see her bare in front of me, I have to take a second just to breathe.
"You're perfect," I murmur, my hands on her thighs, spreading them wider. "Let me taste you first. I need to taste you."
Her yes comes out as a whimper.
I drop to my knees in front of the dryer, hooking her legs over my shoulders, and the first sight of her pussy this close makes my mouth water.
"So pretty," I murmur, using my thumbs to spread her open. "Fuck, Red. You're already so wet for me."
"Tyler, please—"
I lean in, dragging my tongue through her folds, and she gasps. She tastes incredible—sweet and perfect and mine. I work her slowly, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her fingers tighten in my hair.
I focus on her clit, circling it with my tongue, then sucking it gently. Her thighs are trembling around my head, her hips rocking against my face.
"That's it, baby," I murmur against her. “Ride my face. Take what you need."
She does, her movements getting more desperate, and I slip two fingers inside her, groaning at how tight she is.
"Oh god," she gasps. "Ty, that feels—"
"Tell me." I curl my fingers, finding that spot that makes her cry out. "Tell me how it feels."
"So good. Your fingers—your mouth—I can't—"
I work her harder, my tongue on her clit, my fingers pumping in and out, and I can feel her getting close. Her pussy's clenching around my fingers, her breathing ragged.
"I'm close," she whimpers. "So close—"
"Not yet." I slow down, pulling back slightly, and she actually whines. "I want to be inside you when you come. I want to feel this pretty pussy coming around me."
"Then stop teasing me and fuck me already."
I laugh against her thigh, pressing a kiss there. "Bossy."
I stand up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and her eyes are dark with lust as she watches me.
"Condom.” My brain is barely functioning. “Hang on, I have one in my wallet.”
I grab my jeans from the floor, fishing out my wallet with shaking hands. The condom's been in there for months, and I send up a silent prayer that it's still good as I rip it open.
"You okay?" I ask, rolling it on. "You're sure about this?"
"I've never been more sure of anything." She pulls me closer by my hips.
I line myself up at her entrance, the head of my dick pressing against her pussy. "Tell me if it's too much."
I push in slowly, and we both groan at the sensation. She's so tight, so wet, and it takes everything in me not to just slam in.
"More," she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders. "I need more."
I push in further, inch by inch, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. When I'm fully seated inside her, we're both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
"Fuck, Red. You feel incredible." I'm shaking with the effort of staying still.
"Move," she begs. "Please, Ty. I need you to move."
I start slow, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, and she moans.
"Harder," she gasps. "I need it harder."
I pick up the pace, driving into her with more force, and she meets me thrust for thrust. The dryer's shaking beneath us, the sound of our bodies coming together filling the small room.
"This pussy," I groan, my fingers digging into her hips. "So fucking perfect. Taking me so well."
"Ty—oh god—right there—"
I angle my hips, hitting that spot inside her that makes her cry out, and she's clinging to me, her head thrown back.
"Look at me," I demand. “I want to see your face when I make you come."
Her eyes lock on mine, and I reach between us, my thumb finding her clit.
"I’m not going to last," she gasps. “I’m so close—"
"Then come for me, Red. I want to feel your pussy squeezing me."
I rub her clit in tight circles while driving into her, and she shatters. Her whole body clenches around me, her nails raking down my back, my name a broken cry on her lips.
The sensation of her coming around me pushes me over the edge. I bury myself deep, my release hitting me so hard I see stars, groaning her name against her neck.
We stay like this for a long moment, both of us shaking, her arms around my neck, my face pressed against her shoulder. Our hearts are racing together, our breathing slowly coming back to normal.
"Holy shit," she finally whispers.
"Yeah." I pull back enough to look at her. "That was—"
"Perfect."
"I was going to say life-changing, but perfect works too."
She laughs, the sound bright and free, and I kiss her again because I can. Because she's mine and I'm hers, and we just crossed every line we've been dancing around for months.