It is bullshit. But it's also my reality, and I'm learning to live with it.
The rest of the practice is more of the same. Reaper is taking every opportunity to hit me harder than necessary, making it clear he owns this ice, and I'm barely tolerated. My ribs are bruised, my back is killing me, my lip is split, and by the time we hit the showers, I'm moving like an old man.
"You should report that," Danny says quietly in the locker room, nodding toward where Reaper's holding court with some of the veterans.
"Report what? Hockey?"
"That wasn't hockey. That was assault."
"I can handle it, Danny."
He doesn't look convinced, but he drops it.
I shower quickly, trying not to wince when the hot water hits my bruised ribs. In the mirror, I can see the damage—my lip is swollen and split, there's a bruise forming around my left eye, and my back is already showing dark purple marks.
I pull on my hoodie carefully, wincing at the movement, and head out before anyone can ask more questions.
The drive home takes twenty minutes, and I spend it trying to figure out how to hide this from Nora. She's going to notice. She notices everything. But I don't want her worrying; I don't want her involved in the ugly reality of my team dynamics.
I walk through the door at six twenty-three, dropping my bag quietly.
"Ty?" Nora's voice comes from the kitchen. "That you?"
"Yeah."
I head toward the kitchen, already formulating excuses, and find her at the stove with Harper in her bouncer nearby. She looks up when I walk in, and her smile immediately disappears.
"What the hell happened to you?"
"Practice." I try to be casual, like this is no big deal. "Just hockey?—"
She's already moving toward me, her hands reaching for my face. I try to pull back, but she's faster, her fingers gentle on my jaw as she examines my split lip and swelling eye.
"This is not 'just hockey.'" Her voice is tight with barely controlled anger. "Who did this?"
"Red, don't worry?—"
"Of course I’m going to worry." She's looking at me now, really looking, and I can see the exact moment she notices how carefully I'm holding myself. "Take off your hoodie."
"Nora—"
"Now, Tyler."
I sigh and carefully pull my hoodie over my head, wincing when the fabric catches on my back. Nora's sharp intake of breath tells me she's seen the bruises.
"Oh, my god." Her fingers hover over the purple marks blooming across my ribs. "Tyler, this is—who did this to you?"
"Reaper. During practice. It's?—"
"Don't youdaresay it's normal." She's furious now, her hazel eyes flashing. "This is not normal. This is abuse."
"It's hockey, Red. It happens."
"Not like this, it doesn't." She's examining every bruise, every mark, her touch gentle even though I can see how angry she is. "Did Coach see this?"
"Yeah."
"And?"