29. Nora
NORA
Ididn't sleep last night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Tyler's bruised ribs, his split lip, and the careful way he moved, trying to hide how much pain he was in. And every time I thought about Reaper doing that to him—deliberately, repeatedly, while their coach watched and did nothing—I got angrier.
Tyler left for practice at nine-thirty, kissing me goodbye at the door, still moving stiffly even though he tried to hide it. Harper was fussy, teething again, and wanted nothing to do with her toys, books, or anything except being held.
"Perfect," I murmur, strapping her into the carrier against my chest. "We're going on a field trip, baby girl."
The drive to the arena takes twenty minutes, with Harper dozing off in the back seat. I know Tyler's practice schedule by heart now—10 a.m. to 1 p.m. on Wednesdays, full ice time, the whole team.
I arrive at twelve-fifteen, park in the visitor lot, and get Harper situated in her carrier. She's awake now, looking around with those wide blue eyes that are so much like Tyler's.
"We're going to see Daddy," I tell her quietly. "And Mommy's going to handle something."
The word lands before I've finished saying it.
Mommy. I don't know when that started feeling like mine.
I'm not her mother. I know that—I have always known that—and I've been careful with it. I’ve kept a quiet distance from the word the same way I've kept a quiet distance from a lot of things in that house.
But it came out easy just now, naturally, the way things do when you've stopped thinking about them.
I look down at Harper's wide blue eyes and feel the particular weight of it settle in my chest. Not guilt exactly.
Something softer than that. Something that feels a lot like belonging somewhere I didn't plan to stay.
The arena's mostly empty this time of day, just practice, ice, and a few staff members. I can hear the sounds echoing from inside—skates on ice, pucks hitting boards, the occasional shout.
There's a viewing area with windows overlooking the rink, and I position myself where I can see everything without being immediately visible.
Tyler’s on the ice, running drills with his line.
Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s favoring his left side slightly.
And the captain—Reaper. The C on his chest is the only thing that lets me pick him out at this distance; the helmets make everyone else look the same.
Reaper is skating through a drill, and when he passes Tyler, he says something that I obviously can’t hear. Whatever it is, though, makes Tyler’s jaw clench, but it doesn’t look like he responds.
I watch for the next thirty minutes, cataloging every interaction: the way Reaper deliberately won’t pass to Tyler during drills, the checks that are harder than necessary, and the passive-aggressive comments I can see, even if I can’t hear them.
The intimidation tactics that would be bullying in any other context, but apparently pass for normal in professional hockey.
My anger crystallizes into something cold and sharp.
At twelve forty-seven, Coach blows the whistle, and practice ends. The team starts skating toward the bench area, and I know this is my moment.
I head down the stairs, through the door with Players and Staff Only on it, and straight toward the ice.
A staff member tries to stop me. "Ma'am, you can't—"
"Watch me."
I push through the door onto the rink level, and suddenly I’m standing at the edge of the ice in my boots, with Harper strapped to my chest. The team’s clustered together near the far bench, helmets still on, in a loose ring around Coach.
I can see a few numbers on the backs of the guys facing away from me—but the inner ring is blocked, and that’s where Reaper probably is, somewhere in the middle of his teammates, hidden from view.
Tyler sees me first. His head snaps up, and his face goes from confused to panicked in about half a second.
He skates over fast, stepping off the ice onto the matting, blades scraping as he rushes toward me.
“Red?” His voice is alarmed, mortified. “What are you doing here?”
“Where is he?” I ask calmly, adjusting Harper’s carrier. “I can’t see him from here.”
Tyler’s eyes widen. “No. Absolutely not. Whatever you’re thinking, no.”
“Where, Tyler?”
“Red, please don’t—”
“Tyler.” I look him dead in the eye. “Where. Is. He.”
He stares at me, and I can see him weighing his options. Either try to physically remove me from the arena, refuse to tell me, or just accept that this is happening.
With a tilt of his head, he motions toward the cluster of players. “Middle of the group. Eleven.”
"Hold her." I unbuckle the carrier and hand Harper to Tyler, who automatically takes her.
"Nora, don't—"
But I’m already walking. Not toward the ice, but along the rubber matting near the far bench. One of the players has noticed the commotion and is skating over to me—the C on his upper left chest is the first thing I notice. Reaper.
He steps off the ice onto the matting and pulls his helmet off. Dark hair, sweat—damn, that face I recognize from the team photo on the website. The face I’ve now seen up close, with no shield, no distance, no glass.
“Can I help you?” His tone is dismissive; he’s barely looking at me. “Puck bunnies stay in the lobby, sweetheart.”
"You're Reaper."
"That's ‘Captain’ to you." He's already turning away to yell over at Tyler. "Tyler, control your—"
I step directly into his path. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."
"Excuse me?"
"You've been using Tyler as your personal punching bag. Cross-checking him, hitting him dirty, generally making his life hell because you're threatened by how good he is." My voice is calm, steady. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to leave him alone."
Reaper actually laughs. "Or what? Some girl is going to lecture me?"
"Or I'm going to make it my personal mission to ensure everyone, the team, the league, and the media, knows exactly what kind of captain you are. The kind who beats up his own teammates because he can't handle the competition."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know Tyler came home yesterday with bruised ribs, a split lip, and marks all over his back from your stick. I know you've been doing this for months. And I know your coach is too weak to stop you." I step closer. "But I'm not your coach. And I'm not afraid of you."
The entire team is watching now, dead silent. Tyler's got Harper in his arms, his face pale, and I can see Liam and Danny exchanging looks.
"You need to leave," Reaper says, but there's something uncertain in his voice now. "This is a team practice."
"Beat up someone who can fight back, you coward."
His face flushes red. "What did you just call me?"
"You heard me. You're a bully and a coward, picking on someone who can't fight back without risking his career. So here's your chance." I spread my arms. "Take a swing. Hit me instead. I'm right here."
"I'm not going to hit a woman—"
"Then stop hitting Tyler."
The silence in the arena is deafening. Even Coach is listening in, watching but not intervening, as usual.
Reaper's jaw clenches. "You don't understand hockey—"
"I understand assault. And that's what you're doing. Assaulting your teammate. In front of witnesses. Repeatedly."
"Nora—" Tyler's voice is behind me, pleading. I hadn’t even noticed he’d followed me over with Harper still in his arms.
I ignore him, keeping my eyes locked on Reaper. "Leave him alone. Or I promise you, everyone will know exactly what you've been doing. The bruises are documented. I have photos. Timestamps. Medical evidence, if we need it."
I don't, but he doesn't need to know that.
Reaper's face is getting redder. "You can't threaten me—"
"It's not a threat. It's a promise." I step even closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "Touch Tyler again, and I will destroy you. Your reputation, your captaincy, your career. All of it."
He's staring at me, and I can see the moment he realizes I'm serious. That I'm not bluffing.
And that's when I slap him.
Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough that the sound echoes through the silent arena. Hard enough that every single person watching flinches.
Reaper's hand flies to his cheek, his eyes wide with shock.
"That's for every time you hit Tyler and got away with it," I say calmly. "Consider it a warning shot."
I turn on my heel. Coach has stepped forward, opening his mouth to say something, but I don’t wait to find out what. With Tyler right behind me, I take Harper from his arms.
“We’re leaving.”
“Red—”
“Now, Tyler.”
Behind me, Reaper scoffs. I refuse to look back at him. Instead, I walk out of the arena with my head high and Harper babbling happily against my chest, oblivious to the fact that her nanny just slapped a professional hockey captain in front of her dad’s entire team.
Tyler catches up to me in the parking lot, still in his practice gear, his face a mix of horror and something that might be awe.
"What the hell was that?"
"That was me handling it." I unlock the car and start buckling Harper into her seat. "Since no one else seems capable."
"You slapped him. You slapped Reaper. In front of the entire team."
"He deserved it."
"That's not—Nora, you can't—" He runs his hand through his damp hair. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"
"I protected you. Since you won't protect yourself."
"I can handle Reaper—"
"You shouldn't have to!" I whirl on him, all the anger and fear from last night finally breaking through.
"You shouldn't have to take it while he beats you up and everyone watches.
You shouldn't have to come home covered in bruises and pretend it's normal.
And you definitely shouldn't have to do it alone. "
Tyler's quiet, staring at me.
"You're going to get in trouble," he finally says. "The team's going to ban you from the arena. Reaper might—"
"I know."
"You don't, though. You really don't, Red.
" His voice is shaking slightly. "The team has lawyers.
The league has procedures. He could file an assault report by tomorrow morning.
There could be PR people calling within the hour.
I'm not telling you that you shouldn't have done it.
I'm telling you that what you just did doesn't end at the parking lot. "
"Then it doesn't end at the parking lot." I don't look at him, continuing to buckle Harper in. "I knew that going in."
He's quiet for a long second.
"You knew?"
"Tyler, I'm not stupid. I knew there'd be consequences.
I came anyway." I straighten and finally look at him.
"I broke our agreement. I know I did. We said we'd keep this quiet for Harper's sake, and I just walked into your workplace and made it impossible for anyone in that building to think I'm the nanny.
I know. I made the choice. I'd make it again. "
He stares at me. Doesn't say anything.
"I love you." The words come out fierce, protective. "I love you, and I'm not going to stand by and watch someone hurt you. I don't care if it's hockey. I don't care if it's normal. I don't care about any of it except keeping you safe."
He pulls me into his arms, and I can feel him shaking slightly.
"That was the most terrifying and impressive thing I've ever seen," he murmurs into my hair.
"Good."
"You're insane."
"Probably."
"I love you so much it scares me."
"Good," I say again.
Inside the arena, I know the team is probably losing its minds. Coach is probably furious—though that line about the cameras suggests something else, something I'm going to have to work out later. Reaper is definitely plotting revenge.
But none of that matters yet. The fallout will come. It always does. I'll handle it when it gets here.
Because Tyler's safe.
And I just made it very clear that anyone who wants to hurt him has to go through me first.