39. Tyler
TYLER
It's finally Thursday morning, and I'm wearing a suit that costs more than my first car, standing outside a courthouse mediation room, trying not to throw up.
Nora's beside me in a navy dress that makes her look professional and competent, her hand gripping mine so tight I'm losing circulation. Ms. Chen is on my other side, briefcase in hand, looking ready for battle.
Harper's with Michelle and Liam at their place; it’s safer than bringing her here, safer than risking Jessica seeing her before the trial.
"Remember," Ms. Chen says quietly. "Stay calm. Don't engage directly. Let me handle the talking."
"What if she—"
"I'll handle it."
We push through the doors, and there she is.
Jessica looks different from the way she did three weeks ago when she showed up high at my house.
Cleaner. Her hair is washed and styled, she's wearing a conservative dress, and her makeup is done.
She looks closer to the woman I remember from one night a year and a half ago, the one who didn't tell me her last name in the morning.
Almost.
But I can see the slight tremor in her hands. The way her eyes dart around the room. The tightness in her jaw suggests she's barely holding it together.
Her lawyer is a middle-aged man in an expensive suit, and he smiles professionally as we sit down across from them.
"Thank you all for coming," the mediator, a woman in her sixties with kind eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, says. "We're here to see if we can reach an agreement without going to trial. Ms. Torres, would you like to start?"
Jessica clears her throat, and when she speaks, her voice is soft, almost fragile.
"I made a mistake." She's looking down at her hands, not at me. "I was scared and overwhelmed and suffering from severe postpartum depression. I wasn't in my right mind when I left Harper with Tyler. I thought it was temporary. That I'd get help and come back for her."
"But you didn't," Ms. Chen says. "For almost eight months."
"I was in treatment. Getting sober. Learning to manage my mental health." Jessica's lawyer slides a folder across the table. "We have documentation. Rehab completion, therapy sessions, clean drug tests."
Ms. Chen examines the documents, her expression neutral. I'm trying to read them upside down from across the table, but all I can make out are official-looking letterheads.
"These are dated recently," Ms. Chen says. "The rehab completion was from two weeks ago."
"Ms. Torres has been working hard on her recovery," her lawyer says smoothly. "She's ready to be a mother to her daughter now. She's stable, sober, and eager to make up for lost time."
"Lost time she chose to lose," Ms. Chen counters. "Mr. West made multiple attempts to contact Ms. Torres in those first weeks. Texts, calls, all unanswered. She made a conscious choice to abandon her infant daughter."
"She was sick—"
"She was using drugs. There's a difference."
The mediator holds up a hand. "Let's keep this productive. Ms. Torres, what are you asking for?"
Jessica finally looks at me, and I see something calculated in her eyes that makes my skin crawl.
"I want my daughter back. Full custody. Or at minimum, fifty-fifty shared custody." Her voice gets stronger. "She's my child. I carried her; I gave birth to her. Tyler's done a good job taking care of her temporarily, but she belongs with her mother."
Temporarily.
Like almost eight months of my life, learning how to be a father, falling in love with Harper every single day, like that's all just temporary.
"Mr. West has been Harper's sole caregiver since she was eight weeks old," Ms. Chen says. "He's provided a stable home, excellent medical care, and consistent love and attention. Harper is thriving under his care."
"With help from his live-in girlfriend," Jessica's lawyer says, and there's an edge to his voice now. "A romantic relationship that began while Ms. Collins was employed as a nanny. Hardly the most stable arrangement."
Nora's hand tightens on mine.
"Ms. Collins has been integral to Harper's care and stability," Ms. Chen responds. "Her presence is an asset, not a liability."
"We'll let the judge decide that."
The mediation continues for another ninety minutes, with both lawyers going back and forth, presenting evidence and making arguments.
Jessica plays the victim beautifully. Tearful when describing her postpartum depression, earnest when talking about her recovery, desperate when discussing missing almost eight months of Harper's life.
And her lawyer hammers on biology, on the mother’s rights, on the idea that no matter what mistakes Jessica made, she deserves a second chance with her own child.
By noon, it's clear we're not reaching an agreement.
"I recommend we proceed to trial," the mediator says finally. "March twenty-fourth, 9 a.m. Judge Morrison presiding."
Just over two weeks away. Sixteen days to prepare for the rest of our lives.
We gather our things in tense silence, and as we're leaving, Jessica's lawyer stops us in the hallway.
"My client is willing to compromise. Weekend visitation to start, working up to shared custody. It would save everyone the trauma of a trial."
"No," I say before Ms. Chen can respond. "Harper's not going anywhere near her until a judge tells me I have to allow it."
"Mr. West—"
"She showed up at my house three weeks ago, high out of her mind, making threats. Now she's suddenly sober and reformed? I don't believe it. And I'm not risking my daughter's safety on Jessica's promises."
"Then we'll see you in court."
He walks away, and I'm left standing here shaking with rage and fear.
"You did well in there," Ms. Chen says. “You stayed calm and didn’t engage. But Tyler, they have a case. The rehabilitation documents, the postpartum depression angle, and the biological mother's rights. It's not as clear-cut as we'd like."
"What are our odds now?"
"Still sixty-forty. Maybe fifty-five-forty-five." She looks apologetic. "I'm sorry. I wish I could guarantee you a win. But Judge Morrison is fair. She'll look at what's best for Harper. That's what we have to focus on."
Nora and I leave the courthouse feeling devastated. Sixteen more days of this limbo, of not knowing if Harper stays with us or gets ripped away.
Sixteen more days of hell.
"I have a game tonight," I say as we're driving home. "7 p.m. I can't miss it."
"You should be with Harper—"
"Contract obligation. And honestly?" I glance at her. "I need to hit something. Legally. On the ice. Before I do something stupid."
That evening, I show up to the arena wound so tight I'm surprised I don't snap. The guys can tell something's wrong. I'm never this quiet before games, never this tense.
"You good?" Danny asks in the locker room.
"Fine."
"You're not fine. You look like you want to murder someone."
"I do. But it has to be legal. So I'm going to take it out on Toronto instead."
The game starts, and I'm playing angrily. Taking hits harder than necessary, finishing checks with more force than required, my play teetering on the edge of dirty without quite crossing the line.
During the first period, I'm in the corner battling for the puck when Toronto's defenseman gives me a shove. I shove back harder, and suddenly we're face-to-face, chirping at each other through our cages.
The ref separates us before it escalates, but I'm already keyed up, already looking for the next hit.
In the second period, Danny feeds me a perfect pass in the slot, and I one-time it top shelf.
The lamp lights up, and I’m already turning toward the family section, pointing at where Nora and Harper are sitting.
She was still barred from this building not that long ago.
Now she’s back, and I look for her face every single shift.
I want them to see it. I want them to know I'm playing for them, that the only thing keeping me upright tonight is the two of them in that section, that everything I'm doing on this ice is for the family I might lose.
In the third period, I set up Rodriguez with a beautiful cross-ice pass for another goal, and then score myself on a breakaway. Both times, I point at the family section. Both times, I look for Nora's face.
We win four to two, and I'm drenched in sweat and slightly less wound up than I was before the game.
Back in the locker room, I'm halfway through stripping off my gear when I feel someone standing near me. I look up.
Reaper. Awkward. Not meeting my eyes, exactly, but close enough that the question on his face is clear.
"Heard about the case," he says quietly, just to me. "Hope it goes your way."
I look at him. He looks at the floor.
"Thanks."
"That's all. Wasn't gonna say anything, but thought you should hear it from me."
He goes back to his stall.
It's not much. It's a sentence and a half from a man I've spent six months learning to coexist with. But it's the first thing he's said to me directly that wasn't either about work or that night in his stall in February. I sit with it for a second.
Then Liam drops onto the bench next to me, towel around his shoulders.
"You played angry tonight," he says.
"Yeah."
"You okay?"
I almost give him the standard answer. Yeah, fine. But I'm too tired to bother, and Liam's been good to me for months without ever asking for anything back, and he was there the day Nora slapped Reaper on the ice and didn't make me feel weird about it after.
"Trial's soon," I say. "Harper's mom is trying to take her."
His face changes.
"Fuck."
"Yeah."
"How bad?"
"Sixty-forty in our favor. Maybe."
"Jesus, West. What do you need?”
"Not much you can do. I just needed to hit Toronto, and they were here. Thanks for asking."
He nods, lets it go, and claps my shoulder before he stands.
"Well, whatever you need, just let me know.”
"I will."
He walks away, and I sit there for a minute, breathing slowly, the adrenaline from the game leveling out.
I find Nora and Harper outside the family area. Harper's asleep in her carrier, completely passed out, and Nora looks exhausted.
"You played well," she says.
"I played angry."
"I noticed. The whole arena noticed." She loops her arm through mine as we walk to the car. "Everything okay? You seem... lighter than when you left this morning."
"Reaper said something to me. After the game."
She stops walking. “What did he say?”
"Said he hoped it goes our way. It wasn't a big deal. It was a sentence and a half. But it was the first time he's ever said anything to me that wasn't related to a drill."
"Huh."
"Yeah."
"Are you okay with that?"
I think about it. About six months of his bench checks and his cold shoulder and the specific quiet that's settled between us. About the fact that I'm not the man I was when I let him do that to me, and he's not the captain he was either, not exactly.
"Yeah," I say. "I think I am."
She squeezes my arm.
We start walking again, slowly, Harper warm against my chest in her carrier.
"Whatever happens," I say. "I want you to know something."
"Okay."
"I'm not done with us. I'm not waiting until after the verdict to tell you that. Whether we win, lose, or whatever the judge does, I'm in this. We're a family, the three of us, and I'm not pretending otherwise."
"I know, Tyler."
"I'm saying it anyway."
"I know."
She kisses me, right here in the parking lot, and I kiss her back like we have all the time in the world instead of a few weeks until everything might fall apart.