37. Tyler

CHAPTER 37

TYLER

The break-up voicemail from Sydney has been on a loop in my head for the past two days, like a terrible jingle that just keeps repeating itself. I've tried calling her, texting. But no response.

DJ and I caught up on the phone last night about it and he told me he went to see her in her office and she gave him the full-on professional treatment.

So brutal. She must be hurting so much—but just not letting us in.

My mind snaps back to what I'm doing as Carlos, one of our trainers, steps back over to my mat. Damn, I've been doing that a lot—zoning out, losing track of what I'm doing. Bad sign for tonight's game .

"Come on Tyler, keep that core engaged," Carlos urges as I stretch my hamstrings.

The spacious gym is empty except for us, the clanking of weights and whir of treadmills conspicuously absent. It's just me, Carlos, and the endless loop of thoughts dancing around in my head.

I force a grin that feels more like a grimace. "You got it, boss."

My quads are on fire as I pulse deeper into the stretch, trying to focus on the burn instead of the ache in my chest. Nothing like a little physical pain to distract from the emotional shitstorm raging inside me.

Carlos eyes me skeptically, clearly not buying what I'm selling. "What's going on with you, man? You're wound tighter than a drum." He tosses me a foam roller. "Work out those knots before they turn into a pull."

I catch the roller and flop onto my back with a grunt, viciously attacking my IT band. "Just pre-game jitters. I'm good."

The pressure borders on excruciating as I dig in, teeth clenched.

"Bullshit." Carlos kneels down, pinning me with his stare. "This isn't like you. If your head's not in it, you've got no business on the ice tonight."

Anger flares in my chest and I sit up abruptly, hurling the roller against the wall.

"I said I'm fine," I snap. "I don't need a fucking babysitter."

Carlos raises his hands in surrender, jaw tight.

"Look, I'm not trying to bench you. But you've been pushing too hard. Rest up before the game, get your head straight. Team needs you at a hundred percent." His voice softens. "And I'm here if you need to talk."

I deflate, scrubbing a hand over my face. He's right and I fucking hate it.

"Yeah, okay." I stand, shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'll see you tonight."

Carlos claps me on the shoulder as I head for the door, his eyes worried. If only he knew the half of it—that my heart's as bruised as my body, that losing Syd has me twisted up in knots.

That I'm not sure I can be the man, the goalie, that everyone needs me to be.

I paste on a hollow smile and shoot Carlos a half-assed salute. But as I exit into the harsh afternoon sun, all I can think about is squeezing in a few more drills before grabbing a pre-game meal.

Rest is for the weak, and I can't afford to be weak. Not now, not ever.

I'm taping up my stick, going through my usual pre-game routine, when a sudden commotion outside the locker room breaks through the whir of my tumultuous thoughts. Confusion knits my brow as I set down the tape and pad over to the door, poking my head out.

"Ty!"

My sister Leah stands there in all her glory, her face split in a proud smile, hands clutching a big homemade sign with my name covered in glitter and hokey motivational phrases.

My heart seizes in my chest at the sight of her, emotions welling up and catching me completely off guard. Seeing her care so much, show up when I need her most even though I didn't realize how badly I needed her until right this second...it bowls me over.

Before I know it, she's got me wrapped up in a bear hug, the posterboard crinkling between us. I breathe in the familiar scent of her flowery perfume, letting it center and ground me.

"Come here," I tug her elbow, leading her to a quiet alcove away from the pre-game hustle and bustle. We huddle close together, making the most of these stolen seconds.

"I've missed you," she murmurs, looking me over with obvious concern in her eyes. "How are you holding up, really? With the playoffs and everything with Mikey going down in the press…"

A sigh escapes me. After how chill Leah was when I came out, I knew I was safe telling her about my relationship with Sydney and DJ. She's been a nonjudgmental safe harbor for me recently.

"I just—I don't know what to do," I tell her. "Syd's completely shut me and DJ out ever since Mikey relapsed. Won't talk to us, won't let us be there for her. I get it, but..."

"But it still hurts like hell," Leah finishes gently when I trail off.

I nod, throat tight. "Yeah. And the pressure of stepping up, being the guy the team is counting on in goal...it's a lot. I don't want to let anyone down."

Leah rubs my arm, her touch soothing and reassuring in a way only a big sister's can be. "You could never let anyone down, Ty. You're so strong. You've got this. I believe in you, and I know Syd and DJ and the boys do too, even if things are hard right now."

That well of emotion rises again in my chest, a swelling of gratitude and affection and the sting of tears. I blink them back, not wanting to get too sappy before a big game. "Thanks, Lee. I really needed to hear that."

The concern doesn't leave her eyes, but she nods, giving me one last quick squeeze. "Anytime. Now go get ‘em. I'll be cheering my head off from the stands!"

"Wouldn't expect anything less." I flash her a smile, genuine if a bit tremulous, then duck back into the locker room to finish getting in the zone.

Her words turn over and over in my mind as I strap on my pads— strong, believe, got this . I cling to them like a lifeline, hoping against hope that she's right.

The puck whizzes past my head, deflecting off the post behind me with a loud clang. That was a close one . I quickly recover, holding my stick out to deflect the rebound attempt.

Not on my watch, buddy .

I settle back into position, sweat dripping down my face. These guys are relentless tonight, peppering me with shots. But I'm in the zone, laser-focused.

At least I'm trying to be. But as the forwards line up for the faceoff, my mind can't help but drift to Sydney. The way her voice sounded on that voicemail when she broke things off. The fear and hurt on her face when she found out that Mikey had relapsed, when we were at the basketball game. The desperation with which she took off, ready to make things right with the team.

Snap out of it, Tyler. Head in the game.

The ref drops the puck, and the action starts up again, fast and furious. Their top line comes charging into the zone on an odd-man rush. I track the puck carrier, square to the shot. He dishes a quick pass and I push off hard, extending my pad just in time to deny the one-timer.

They're knocking on the door but I'm turning them away. C'mon boys, help a goalie out. Let's get some offensive zone time . As my d-men finally clear the puck out of danger, I can't resist hazarding a glance up into the stands.

I scan the crowd...nope, no sign of Sydney with the rest of the staff, but the arena is packed tonight, so it's impossible to know for sure.

I wonder if she's still coming to games, or if she's staying away.

A clear thought comes to me that feels so obvious and right that I can't believe I didn't reach this sooner: DJ and I need to go get our girl.

As soon as this game is over, I'm going to talk to him about it.

With that in my mind, I'm able to focus back entirely at the game playing out in front of me. The hours pass in a blur.

And at the end, DJ hits an incredible slapshot. The puck rockets off his stick and flies past the other team's goalie's outstretched glove to bury itself in the back of the net. The arena erupts in screams and cheers as the final buzzer sounds.

Blizzards win!

After the game, I'm getting worked over by a massage therapist when DJ tracks me down.

"Yo, what's up?" I ask him quietly once we're huddled in the corner. "Any word on Syd?"

He shakes his head, frustration written all over his face. "Nah man, nothing. She's not answering texts or calls. I don't know what to do."

I chew my lip and then say, "I've been thinking about this, man. What we need is a grand gesture, like in the movies. Y'know, run through an airport, stand outside her window with a boombox, some epic romantic shit."

A chuckle bursts out of DJ, the first real I've heard from him in days.

I know it's over-the-top, but I think I'm on to something.

"You're right, we need to do something big to win her back," DJ muses. "I'm thinking… skywriting? Flash mob? Ooh, what about a puppy dressed as Cupid?"

I snort. "With our luck, it'd probably piss on her shoes."

We're both cracking up now, the tension from the game and this whole effed-up situation finally easing a bit. This is what I need right now—DJ, a dash of self-deprecating humor, and the spark of a plan.

"C'mon," I say, holding my fist out. "Let's get out of here and figure out our grand gesture. Operation Woo Sydney starts now."

DJ bumps my fist with his, grinning. "Let's do this."

As we head out, tossing increasingly wild ideas back and forth, hope flickers in me for the first time in a while. DJ, Syd and I—we've got something special, something worth fighting for. And if a ridiculous, sappy, made-for-the-movies grand gesture is what it takes?

Then that's exactly what we'll do.