Chapter 26
TY
There is no denying it. My place smells like stale air and something faintly sour, like time itself has been left sitting out for too long.
I’m on the couch, or I have been for what feels like weeks.
It’s only been days, but it’s hard to tell how long.
The TV is on, muted, throwing flickering light across the room, but I couldn’t tell you what’s playing.
Something moves on the screen. People probably talking.
Laugh track, maybe. It doesn’t reach me.
Everything feels dulled. Like I’m wrapped in something thick and heavy, and every thought has to push its way through just to exist. I drag a hand over my face, fingers catching on the scruff along my jaw.
Two days. Maybe more. I can’t quite remember the last time I stood under hot water and let it hit the back of my neck.
The idea of it feels distant. Like something other people do. Functional people.
I shift forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor. There’s a water bottle tipped on its side near my foot. Empty. I don’t remember finishing it. I don’t remember much of anything from the last few days except the way everything cracked open and didn’t put itself back together.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, I’d managed to text one of the fill-in coaches for Emma’s team.
Pure luck that he’d just gotten back into town from vacation and could cover the two practices this week I couldn’t do.
Otherwise, those girls would’ve been standing on the ice waiting for a coach who never showed.
The thought sits ugly in my chest. I need to get it together before Saturday, so I can show up for Emma, but I don’t know if I can.
I press my palms together, hard enough to feel the bones, like maybe if I push hard enough, I’ll feel something sharp and real, but nothing. Just that same heavy, dragging fog.
There’s a stretch of silence before I hear the sound of keys at the door. It cuts through everything.
My head snaps up, heart kicking hard and sudden, like it’s been waiting for something to do. For a second, I don’t move. I just listen.
Keys. In the lock. My stomach drops.
No one has keys. The thought hits fast and sharp, slicing clean through the fog. I’m on my feet before I fully register the movement, pulse spiking now, real adrenaline burning through my system.
No one has keys.
The lock turns. “Hey, Ty?”
The door opens, and I’m already halfway across the room, tension wound tight in every muscle.
My sister steps inside, shoulders hiked up to her ears. I watch them visibly relax when Emma sees me, and she shuts the door behind her with a solid click.
“I’m here,” she says immediately, like she can see the exact second I go from ready-to-fight to completely thrown. One hand lands on her hip, the other still holding her keys. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”
My brain takes a second to catch up. “You—” My voice comes out rough, unused. I clear my throat, try again. “What are you doing here?”
She lifts her chin slightly, eyes sweeping over me in one quick, assessing pass that misses absolutely nothing. Not the scruff. Not the clothes I’ve been wearing too long. Not the fact that I look like I’ve been merely existing the past couple of days.
Her mouth tightens, just a fraction. “Before you say anything—yes, I know you didn’t give me a key. Yes, I know you’re going to ask how I got one. We can circle back to that.”
“Emma, I don’t need this now.”
“Ty,” she cuts me off, stepping further into the condo, like she’s already decided she’s staying. “I’m here with love.” Then she adds, very deliberately, “But I’m also about to be tough.”
I huff out something that might’ve been a laugh in another lifetime, dragging a hand through my hair. “No one can be as hard on me as I’ve been with myself, trust me.”
She takes another step closer, her gaze softening just a little now, but not enough to let me off the hook. Not even close.
“When’s the last time you slept?” she asks.
I open my mouth to respond but end up slamming it shut.
“Ty.”
“I don’t know,” I mutter.
Her jaw flexes. “And showered?”
I glance away.
“Okay,” she says, like she’s checking things off a mental list she absolutely came in here with. “I had a feeling we were here.”
“Emma—”
“Nope.” She lifts a hand, stopping me before I can even try to deflect. “You don’t get to ‘Emma’ me right now. You’ve been off the grid for five whole days. Your phone goes straight to voicemail. Liam reached out to me.” She gives me a look.
Silence settles between us for a second as she studies me, something in her expression shifting. The edge is still there, but there’s concern layered underneath it now. Worry. The kind she’s trying very hard not to lead with.
“What happened?” she asks, quieter.
I look at her, then past her, then down at the floor again, because I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know how to put it into words without everything unraveling further.
“I…” I exhale, the sound rough. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
It’s not the full answer. It’s not even close, but it’s the truth.
Emma lets it sit, lets my words breathe, like she knows if she pushes too fast, I’ll shut down completely. Then she steps closer, right into my space, close enough that I can’t pretend she’s not here, can’t pretend I’m fine.
“Okay,” she says, steady and sure. “Then we’re going to figure it out.”
I let out a small, humorless laugh. “You got a plan for that?”
“Step one,” she says, nudging my shoulder as she moves past me toward the hallway, like this is already in motion whether I’m ready or not. “You’re getting in the shower.”
I stare after her. “Like it’ll help?”
“Step two,” she calls over her shoulder, already halfway to the bathroom, “you’re going to eat something that didn’t come from a vending machine, nor is it laced with sheer neglect.”
I drag a hand down my face again, but there’s something different in my chest now. I don’t feel so alone, thanks to my sis showing up like a superhero.
“And step three,” she adds, stopping in the doorway and glancing back at me, “you’re going to talk to me. Probably Dr. Hale, too, but we’ll dip our toes into the water with me first.”
Her voice gentles, enough to slip past my defenses. “We’re also going to talk about Vivian and where your head is. We won’t fix anything, but we’ll unravel some of these knots so you can breathe.”
As if following her instructions, I let out a slow breath, scrubbing a hand over the back of my neck. There’s a rhythm to this that harks back to our childhood. Me, trying to regulate, and Emma, making sure I was balanced. “I guess that’ll be okay.”
Emma leans against the doorway, arms loosely folded, giving me space like she knows I’ll bolt if she comes in too hard.
“Start anywhere,” she says. “There’s no wrong entry point here.”
“Feels like there are about fifty.”
“Great,” she says lightly. “Pick one. Dealer’s choice.”
I stare at the floor for a second, tracking a scuff mark on the hardwood like it might give me an answer.
“I met her,” I say finally, because that’s the part that feels the loudest. The clearest. “Vivian. And it was—” I shake my head, searching for the right word and coming up short. “It was good. Easy. For once, I didn’t have to work so hard to be…okay or perfect.”
Emma’s expression eases, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“And the other day, everything…” I make a vague motion with my hand, like I can physically show the pileup. “Hit. All at once.”
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Sounds like it did.”
I glance up at her and exhale, frustrated. “I finally feel like I’m doing something right. Hockey’s good. Really good. I’ve got my own place. I have friends, support. I’m not scrambling all the time. And then…”
“The diagnosis,” she fills in gently.
I nod once, tight.
“And then Vivian,” she adds.
“And then you leaving,” I mutter.
She winces a little at that, but takes it on the chin. “Yeah. That, too.”
“It’s like the worst timing,” I say. “Or the best, I don’t even know anymore. It’s just—everything happened at once. And I don’t know how to…” I gesture uselessly between us, the room, my own chest. “Sort it. To be what I’m supposed to be in all of it.”
Emma pushes away from the doorframe, closing some of the distance between us, but not all of it.
“You’ve had this huge realization about who you are,” she continues, tapping a finger lightly against her arm like she’s organizing it as she goes. “Not a small thing. Not a casual, ‘oh, cool, learned something new’ moment. A ‘this changes how I understand myself’ kind of thing.”
My throat tightens. “Yeah.”
“And it’s happening at the same time as everything else in your life is on an upswing.” Her brows lift slightly. “I mean, did you ever think when we were kids that you’d end up in the NHL?”
A quiet, disbelieving huff leaves me. “No.”
“Exactly,” she says, pointing at me like that proves her point. “You’re playing at the top of your game. You bought your own place. You’ve got attention on you, expectations, pressure—all of it. And you’re handling that.”
I shift, uncomfortable under the weight of it. “Barely.”
“Handling it,” she repeats, firmer. “And then, on top of that, there’s this diagnosis. And then you meet someone who matters. Then I leave town.” She grimaces. “Bad sister timing. I’ll own that.”
I shake my head, but don’t argue.
“It’s not the worst mashup of bad things,” she goes on, softer now. “It’s a massive pileup of life things. Big, important, complicated things.”
I swallow, because this is so on point.
“And that doesn’t mean any of it is wrong,” she says. “It just means your system is overloaded.”
I drop my gaze again, my chest feeling constricted in a different way now—less numb, more crowded.
“I don’t know how to show up for her,” I admit quietly. “I don’t know if I can be what Vivian needs when I can barely—” I cut myself off, shaking my head.
“Breathe?” Emma offers gently.
I let out a rough breath. “Yeah.”