Chasing the puck

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tyler sat in the dark, the only light in the room coming from the soft glow of his phone screen. His eyes were fixed on the latest message, the words burning into his mind: “You’re running out of time.” The cryptic warning had settled deep in his chest, a weight he couldn’t shake. His heart pounded in his ears, louder than the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. The stale taste of hours-old coffee lingered on his tongue, and his hands trembled as he set the mug aside.

He stood up, running a hand through his messy hair, pacing the small living room. The floorboards creaked under his feet, the familiar sound doing little to soothe his spiraling thoughts. Whoever was behind these messages knew too much—more than Tyler was comfortable admitting. They weren’t just watching from a distance. They were close, and the pressure of it all was suffocating him.

From the hallway, Sarah watched him. She leaned against the doorframe, her arms wrapped around herself as she observed Tyler’s every movement. He hadn’t spoken much in days, and the silence between them had grown heavy, suffocating. His shoulders were tense, the once confident posture now burdened with an invisible weight she couldn’t lift for him. Her heart ached to reach out, to help him shoulder the load, but every attempt had been met with coldness, a distance she hadn’t expected.

The lavender diffuser she’d placed in the corner puffed gentle clouds of fragrance, but the soothing scent did little to ease the tension hanging in the air. Tyler hadn’t even acknowledged her presence yet. He was lost in his own world, one she was no longer a part of.

“Tyler, are you okay?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, almost afraid of breaking the fragile quiet.

Tyler didn’t look up. He rubbed his eyes, his frustration palpable. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. He was anything but fine.

At work the next day, Sarah sat at her desk, staring blankly at her computer screen. Her emails were piling up, but her mind was elsewhere. The familiar buzz of office life—the soft clatter of keyboards, the distant hum of conversation—faded into the background. All she could think about was Tyler and how much their relationship had changed. Her career was advancing quickly, but with every step forward, she felt herself drifting further from him.

Her phone buzzed with another email, but Sarah ignored it, instead glancing at the picture of her and Tyler on her desk. It had been taken months ago, back when things were easier. They were laughing, arms wrapped around each other, and there hadn’t been a cloud on the horizon. Now, everything felt different, and Sarah wasn’t sure how much longer she could juggle the weight of her new job with the emotional strain of her relationship.

The sharp scent of fresh coffee reached her, but it did nothing to shake the unease that had settled in her stomach. Tyler was pulling away, and she didn’t know how to stop him.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Tyler’s paranoia was reaching a boiling point. As he tied his skates, he could feel Mark’s eyes on him, the tension between them simmering just beneath the surface. Every laugh, every whispered word felt like it was aimed at him. Tyler’s heart raced as his gaze flickered toward Mark, who was chatting casually with a couple of the guys. He knew they were talking about him—he just didn’t know what they were saying.

Ryan skated by, his skates scraping against the ice with a sharp sound that cut through Tyler’s spiraling thoughts.

“What are they talking about?” Tyler asked, his voice low and tense.

Ryan frowned, taken aback. “What? It’s just locker room stuff, man. Nothing serious.”

But Tyler didn’t believe him. The room felt colder, the smell of sweat and gear stronger, almost suffocating. Every smile, every laugh felt like a knife twisting in his gut. He was losing control, and he knew it.