12. Tyler

The shrill ring of my phone through my Bluetooth headphones had my feet halting on the pavement, hunching over to catch my breath before touching my watch to accept the call.

"She won't stop vomiting, Ty. What do I do?" It was Jamie, his panicked voice making him sound much younger than he actually was.

I wiped the sweat from my eyes. The phone line echoed with the sound of my own breath panting back at me.

"There are wafers in the cupboard over the exhaust fan. Get her one of those and some Hydrolyte, two sachets in a bottle of water. Make sure she sips slowly. A cold flannel on the back of her neck also helps. Then call Auntie and get her to come over and help."

I heard a grunt and the telltale sound of a wooden chair being scraped across the tile floor. Then the old creak from the cupboard–the one I always had to spray with WD-40 to silence the old, rusted hinges.

Jamie didn't talk, nor did he hang up as he banged around in the kitchen. His footsteps echoed down the hall, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of retching. My heart sank. Years of protecting my brother from this exact scenario had me instinctively pulling my phone from my pocket to text Auntie Kay.

"Ty said to give you these."

"Baby, I am fine. Honestly, this will pass. You didn't need to call your brother."

I pinched my nose, the wave of emotions threatening to bubble up once more. Hold it together.

"Jamie?" Even with the distance, I could vividly picture his face. He was the one who struggled to express his emotions properly—that's why he was put into martial arts. He needed an outlet for his energy because when Jamie was upset, God help anyone in his path.

The bathroom door shut, and I counted his steps until I knew he'd reached his room. The door slammed, followed by a muffled groan as he screamed into the pillow.

"I can't do this, Ty. I can't. She couldn't even cook dinner last night. She fell asleep on the couch and when I tried to wake her, she was trembling so hard. I made toast because I didn't know how to do anything else! I am not you. I can't do this. I'm useless at caring for her."

Every feeling I had about leaving came rushing back. I sighed, knowing that following my dreams was too good to be true.

I steeled myself, realizing I was standing in the middle of the pathway. Students were giving me a weird look as I tugged at my hair. I heard shuffling, then another voice. "Jamie, give me the phone."

"Mum, he's just a kid. I have to come home."

"You will not come home, Tyler Riley. I'll have Aunt Kay come stay with us. We're fine. I promise."

The desperation in her tone did nothing to quell how not fine I felt. "Let me say goodbye to Jamie, mum."

I heard her sigh, and I knew this killed her. It's why I needed to be there, to protect her from thinking she was failing—to protect Jamie from the sight of our mum dying.

"Ty?" He was crying.

"Hey bud, awesome job. You did great. You are doing great. Auntie Kay will be there soon, okay? And if you ever need to talk just give me a call, okay? No matter the time"

"Okay," he said, though he sounded anything but.

"I love you, James."

"Yeah, you too." He hung up, and the silence was deafening. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached. Quickly, I stuffed my phone into my pocket and sprinted back to the dorm.

The combination of music and the thud of each footfall on the treadmill battled with my thoughts. I was breaking my strict training routine, because even after this morning's run, my body was buzzing with a need for release.

Golden eyes appeared before me, breaking my focus enough to make me stumble. Luckily, I caught myself, bracing on the arms of the machine enough to regain control and pause my run. I jerked my headphones off, choice words sitting on the tip of my tongue.

"You know Aus, you can't run away from your problems. Through running does seem to be your specialty," Those infuriating golden eyes gleamed with mischief. With the help of the treadmill, we were eye-to-eye. I noticed a couple of scars that I was normally too short to see. They were more noticeable with his cheeks flushed from his own workout and his damp hair raked back out of his face one scar streaked across his forehead and disappeared into his hairline. The other sat on his right eyebrow. My hand itched to touch them, feel their depths. But I didn't. "Don't know what you're on about, Graves."

Hunter stiffened. "Don't call me that."

His tone made me stiffen. It was a lot like the one he used the day he knocked me over.

"What is your problem, Boston?"

His shoulders relaxed, but his face remained as stoic as it was before.

"Didn't think you would be the kind to abandon one date for another."

I scoffed. Washe jealous?

"Stalking me now? It was one night, remember? What I do is none of your business." I drew the line. My hand began to massage my chest as if it could rub away the ache there.

"Sure, if stalking is going to the only coffee house on campus and seeing you leave with one of my old conquests. I heard you loud and clear with the whole one-night shit when you were gone in the morning. Excuse me for treating you differently and letting you sleep over. If I'd known that's all you wanted I'd have sent you home with Kins."

I glanced around the gym, thankful we seemed to be the only two to get a workout in before practice. Hunter didn't miss my obvious concern. "Oh don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. But know this, Aussie: I know what you look like when you come, what you look like when you've completely come undone. I know you murmur in your sleep, and your leg twitches as you dream. I know you're scared of women and know every point on your body that makes you cry when it's touched."

My body shivered despite myself. "Good to see I still have that effect on you. It'll only be a matter of time before you come crawling back. The question is, Aus: will I let you in for thirds? Because that's not something I usually do."

His lips curled into a sneer. It was a threat rather than a promise, yet I couldn't ignore the unmistakable lust in his eyes. They raked over my body. His tongue grazed his bottom lip and I tracked the movement.

"You don't have to worry about that, Hunter. You caught me with whiskey glasses. Like any alcohol, it left a bad taste in my mouth in the morning."

He flinched and I instantly regretted my choice of words. But there was no turning back. He nodded, lips screwing to the side of his face.

"Right, Mr. Perfect got to dip his toe in the water. I am glad to have been your little experiment Aussie. Have fun with your baby Captain America. He's cute and all, but remember he's just a bottom. But you like the control right? Like holding the reins—both on and off the ice? Everything's perfect when you're in control, right?"

I felt the jab where he intended, sliding under my rib cage and racing toward my heart, just nicking it enough to let me know the knife was there. I bit my lip, head moving up and down as if sucking up his blow.

"Sure Boston, pretend you know me. You don't know a fucking thing about me. Enjoy your endless rounds of emotionless ass, pretending you don't give a flying fuck about anything on this earth other than being the cockiest man on and off the ice, right? But the game always ends. The high wears off and you realize you're all alone. You wouldn't know chivalry if it bit you in the ass."

The reality check was harsh; my conscience was slapping me hard. Hunter, in all his perceptive glory, peeled away the layers to reveal me for who I truly was. It all started with my desperate need for control, stemming from the very moment I found myself unable to say no. From there, it infiltrated every corner of my life: waiting anxiously for my dad's return that would never come, facing the unpredictable nature of watching someone fight cancer…

Life's unpredictability hit me hard. It forced me to play pretend, to convince myself I was in the driver's seat. But the truth was, I was gripping the wheel of a hydroplaning car, hurtling forward with no seatbelt and no brakes. Hunter's discerning gaze intensified my internal conflict, making me itch to reach out to him. Yet just as that impulse surfaced, another voice disrupted the moment, invading the gym and pulling me away from the emotional precipice.

"You two better not be fighting again. Are we going to have a problem?" Colton bellowed as he approached us, a towel slung over his broad shoulders.

"No problem," Hunter and I responded at the same time. But I could see it in his eyes. We very much had a problem—a big fucking problem. I hit my mark, and he worked his jaw like he was eating his final meal.

"Aussie here has made it clear where we stand, and I am glad to know. Don't you worry Colt, we agreed to be good hard-working teammates on the ice, isn't that right…Tyler." He stood confident, shoulders back as he commanded the boardroom. His smile was almost foolproof. It might have convinced others, but it didn't escape me. Hunter Graves was harboring pain and anger—a lot of it. And I knew I was the cause of at least some. I'd never spoken to someone that way. The echoes of my mother's disapproving voice resonated in my mind – "I'm so disappointed in you." She was right: that wasn't how she raised me.

She taught us early the value of addressing hurtful behavior Yet, in the presence of my broody Bostoner, all rational thought seemed to fly out the window. I nodded numbly, my remorse sinking in as I watched him turn his back and exit the gym.

"Sorry about him. He's an arrogant ass. If he is going to be a problem, let me know we can talk to Coach."

I nearly lost my footing on the treadmill, my eyes widening in disbelief. It was a shocking realization that our captain—someone I considered a friend—was willing to throw Hunter aside so quickly. In my eyes, Hunter was so much more than just a troublemaker; he was an asset to our team, a key player who knew how to navigate the complexities of the game. It pained me to see our captain so swift in betraying a friend. The camaraderie that bound us on the ice now teetered on the brink of destruction, and the ache in my chest mirrored the internal conflict I felt. I was torn between loyalty to a teammate and the disheartening reality of impending betrayal.

"Hunter is on the track to go pro too. I wouldn't discount him so quickly." I was defending him. Maybe it was guilt. Or the way he treated me when I was so vulnerable. Or simply because he was my teammate, but what Colton said wasn't sitting right with me.

No one speaks shit about Hunter. The thought was rich coming from me, but it played in my head as I clenched my fist.

Colton scoffed. "Sure he's a good player, but he fucks up everything he touches. Just you wait and see. Know that I have your back, okay? Don't get stuck in his orbit, all he does is bring down those around him."

I blinked at my Captain, feeling like I just got checked into a whole new game. It was like flipping between two periods: one where he's the chirping, supportive leader, and the next he's throwing me hit to the boards that's spinning my world faster than a slapshot.

"You have no reason to worry about that. But I will say, you need to cut him some slack. He's good on this ice and good on this team. Maybe it's you, Cap, who needs to let it lie and put some faith in your teammates. Because I know whatever shit is said off the ice is just that: shit."

I walked off, not bothering to look back at his expression. I didn't need to—his thoughts were radiating off him. I was starting to think I wasn't the one with the issue with Hunter. I just wondered if Hunter had anyone truly watching his back.