15. Tyler
TYLER
The locker room is electric with pre-game energy, guys taping sticks and adjusting equipment, and blasting music from competing speakers. I'm sitting in my stall, staring at my phone, my equipment half on.
I make it my wallpaper. Lock screen and home screen.
"You good, West?" Liam's standing in front of me, already in full gear except for his helmet. His goalie pads make him look even bigger than usual.
"Yeah." I lock my phone and shove it in my bag. "Just looking at Harper."
"Are both your girls here tonight?" He grins, leaning against the partition between our stalls.
Your girls.
I should correct him. Should say Harper's my daughter and Nora's her nanny; that's it, nothing more. But the words stick in my throat, and I just nod.
"Front row family section. Harper's wearing my jersey."
"Jesus, man." Liam laughs, shaking his head. "You're so fucked. You know that, right? Completely gone on both of them."
"Shut up."
"I'm just saying. The way you talk about them, the way your face looks right now... you're in deep."
I don't answer immediately. The thing is, it's not like I've been opening up to the whole team.
I haven't. Reaper's crowd still treats me like furniture.
But at some point during practice, Danny started talking to me like I was a person, and then Rodriguez, and then Liam.
Small things at first, hockey talk, nothing personal.
Then one night on the team bus, Danny asked how Harper was doing—genuinely asked—and I'd answered before I'd thought better of it.
After that, it was harder to pretend I had no life outside the rink.
So yeah. A handful of them know more than I intended.
And apparently I'm not as subtle as I thought.
"I need to focus on the game."
"Yeah, you do." He claps my shoulder pad. "But after? You should maybe think about what you're doing with the nanny you're clearly in love with."
He walks off before I can tell him he's wrong, which is probably for the best because I don't have a good argument anyway.
The team gathers for Reaper's captain’s speech ten minutes before we head out for warm-ups. We all crowd around him in the center of the locker room, and I end up toward the back because that's where I always end up. Where I belong, apparently.
"Home opener," Reaper starts, his voice carrying over the noise. "This is what we've been working toward all camp. This is where we prove what kind of team we are. I want everyone to give one hundred percent out there. Leave everything on the ice."
His eyes scan the group, hitting everyone. Danny, Liam, the defense pairs, and the other forwards.
Everyone except me.
He looks right through me like I'm not even here.
"Let's fucking go!” He finishes, and everyone's shouting and banging sticks, feeding off the energy.
Yet I’m standing here feeling invisible.
Warm-ups are my favorite part of game day. The ice is fresh, the crowd's building, there's no pressure yet, only the pure joy of skating. I hit the ice and immediately start scanning the stands for the family section, even though I should be focused on stretching and loosening up.
There.
Front row, behind the glass. Nora’s holding Harper, who’s awake, her wide blue eyes taking everything in. The Jersey is still comically oversized, but Nora’s adjusted it somehow so it’s not swallowing Harper whole. I also notice that she’s wearing tiny pink ear defenders.
She thought of that. I didn’t even think of that.
I can't help it. I smile.
Like a full, genuine smile that probably makes me look like an idiot, but I don't care. They're here. They came.
I skate closer to the boards, weaving through guys doing their warm-up routines, until I'm right in front of their section. Harper sees me first, or at least I think she does, and Nora lifts her hand to wave.
I wave back, feeling like a teenager with a crush, and behind me, I hear Danny laugh.
"West's got fans," he calls out to whoever's listening.
"That's his daughter," Liam says from the goal. "And his—well, his daughter's nanny."
"Sure," Danny says, grinning at me. "His daughter's nanny. That's definitely all that is."
I flip him off and skate away, but I can't stop smiling.
The national anthem feels longer than usual. I'm standing on the blue line, stick across my knees, and I keep glancing over at where Nora and Harper are sitting. Harper's awake, squirming in Nora's arms, and Nora's bouncing her gently, in that patient, competent way she has.
The crowd's roaring by the time we finish. Opening night energy is different, bigger; everyone is ready to see what this season's going to bring.
Coach has me on the second line tonight, which is fine. Better than sitting on the bench. Danny's my center, Rodriguez on the other wing, and we've got decent chemistry from camp scrimmages.
In the first shift, I'm trying to find my legs. Getting used to game speed, the hitting, the pace that's faster than practice. I backcheck hard, break up a play in the defensive zone, and get the puck out cleanly.
"Good shift, West," Coach says when I hit the bench.
It's the first positive thing he's said to me in weeks.
In the second shift, I nearly score. Danny wins the faceoff, gets it back to the defense, and they work it around to me at the circle. I one-time it, catching it clean, but their goalie makes a ridiculous save, and it hits the post.
"Fuck," I mutter, skating back for the faceoff.
"You'll get the next one," Danny says.
The first period ends scoreless. Both teams are feeling each other out, playing cautiously; nobody wants to make the first big mistake.
In the locker room between periods, Reaper's talking strategy, and I'm only half listening. I'm thinking about that shot that hit the post, about Harper in the stands wearing my number, about Nora watching me play.
The second period starts with more energy. The crowd's louder, both teams pushing harder, and I can feel the game opening up.
Six minutes in, Danny wins a faceoff in the offensive zone and passes it to me along the boards. I've got a defender on me immediately, physical and aggressive, trying to pin me against the glass.
I protect the puck, spin off him, and suddenly there's space.
I see the gap between the defender and the goalie. Not huge, but enough.
I deke once, get the defender leaning the wrong way, and go backhand. Top shelf. Bar down.
The lamp lights up red.
Goal.
The crowd fucking explodes.
I'm already turning, my arms up, skating directly toward the family section where Nora and Harper are. I point at them, both hands extended.
Danny crashes into me, laughing, and then Rodriguez is there, and we're celebrating, but all I can see is Nora's face through the glass, her smile bright and proud, Harper squirming in her arms.
"Hell yeah, West!" Danny's shouting. "Fucking beauty!"
I get back to the bench, and Liam taps my pads through the glass. "Nice goal, buddy."
"Thanks."
The game continues. We're up one-nothing, and I can feel the momentum shifting. Our crowd's loud, the other team's rattled, and everything feels possible.
During the third period, I'm out on a shift when Danny's got the puck in the corner. Two defenders are pressuring him, and I can see him looking for an outlet. I'm at the slot, blade down, tapping it on the ice so he knows where I am.
He finds me.
The pass is perfect, tape-to-tape, and I have about half a second before their defense closes. Instead of shooting, I see Rodriguez streaking toward the net, completely open.
I pass it across.
He buries it.
Two-nothing.
The arena's deafening.
Rodriguez tackles me in celebration, and I'm laughing because this is what hockey should feel like. This is why I love this game. Not the politics or the bullshit or Reaper's hostility, but this—the plays, the goals, the pure joy of doing something you're good at with guys who give a shit.
The other team gets one late in the third, but it's not enough. Final buzzer sounds, and we're streaming off the bench, everyone mobbing Liam at his net because he was incredible tonight. We win the game, three to one.
I find Danny in the chaos. "Thanks for the passes."
"You earned them." He grins. "Think Reaper noticed?"
"Don't care."
And I mean it. For the first time in months, I genuinely don't care what Reaper thinks because tonight I proved I belong here. Not to him, but to me.
The announcements come over the PA as we're heading off the ice. Three stars of the game. The third star is me.
The crowd cheers when they say my name, and I skate back out for a quick wave, feeling surreal. This is my first star selection as a Falcon. The first time this crowd has actually cheered for me specifically.
In the locker room, guys are congratulating me, Danny, Rodriguez, and Liam, all chirping about the goal and the assist. Even a few of the veterans nod their approval. Reaper doesn't say anything, doesn't even look at me, but for once it doesn't matter.
I shower quickly, desperate to get out to the family area where Nora and Harper are waiting. I throw on jeans and a Falcons hoodie, run a hand through my wet hair, and I'm out the door before most guys are even undressed.
The family section is crowded with wives, girlfriends, and kids, everyone waiting for their player to emerge. I scan the crowd and find Nora immediately, standing near the wall with Harper in her arms.
Harper's asleep, her head on Nora's shoulder, still wearing my jersey. Nora's smiling when she sees me, and the bottom drops out of my stomach in the best possible way.
"Hey," I say, slightly breathless from rushing. "Did you see Daddy play, baby girl?"
I gently take Harper from Nora, careful not to wake her. She makes a small noise but settles against my chest immediately, her tiny hand curling into my hoodie.
"You were incredible," Nora says quietly. "That goal was beautiful."
"You know hockey?"
"I'm learning." Her smile is soft. "Emma's been texting me play-by-play explanations all night."
"That tracks." I adjust Harper, making sure her head is supported. "What'd you think? First game experience?"
"Harper slept through most of it. But I..." She pauses, something shifting in her expression. "I couldn't look away. You're really talented, Ty. The way you move out there, the way you read the play... It's impressive."
There's something in her voice that makes my heart race, something warm and honest that feels like more than just professional observation.
"Thank you," I say, the words carrying more weight than just the compliment. Thank you for being here, for bringing Harper, for watching me play, for existing in my life in a way that makes everything better.
Michelle appears beside Nora, beer in hand. “He was incredible tonight, right?” She gives me a wink. “Hi, West. Your girl here knows her hockey, by the way. She saw the breakaway coming before you did.”
“Did she now?”
Nora’s cheeks go pink. “I did not.”
“You absolutely did. I’m telling everyone.”
Liam appears, freshly showered and grinning. "West, you fucking killed it tonight. That backhand was disgusting."
"Thanks, man."
"You guys coming to the bar? Team's doing drinks at Riley's."
It's the first time anyone on this team has pointed that question at me directly like this, and for a second, I don't know what to do with it. Two months of eating lunch alone in my car, then Danny knocking on my window and sitting with me like it was nothing, and now drinks at Riley's.
Part of me wants to say yes just to prove I can. Part of me wants to say yes out of sheer spite, to show Reaper I'm not going anywhere.
But I look down at Harper, asleep in my arms, and the answer's easy.
"I should get Harper home. It's late."
"Next time," Liam says easily. "Good game, buddy."
He and Michelle head off, and it's just us in the slowly emptying family area. Other players are finding their families, everyone heading out into the cool September night.
"Let's go home," I say.
Home. With Nora and Harper. The three of us together.
And for tonight, after that goal and that assist and proving to everyone, including myself, that I belong on this team, that's all I want.