"And nothing. He doesn't care."
She's quiet for a long moment, her hand still resting carefullyon my ribs, and when she looks up at me, there are tears in her eyes.
"I hate this," she whispers. "I hate that he's hurting you and no one's stopping him."
"I can handle it."
"You shouldn't have to." She stands on her toes, pressing a careful kiss to my uninjured cheek. "Come on. Let me look at these properly. See if anything needs ice."
She guides me to sit at the kitchen table, Harper’s babbling happily in her bouncer, oblivious to the tension. Nora gets ice from the freezer, wraps it in a towel, and gently presses it to my eye.
"This is getting worse," she says quietly. "The way he's treating you. It's escalating."
"I know."
"Tyler, you can't let him?—"
"What am I supposed to do, Red? Complain to Coach who doesn't care? Fight back and prove I'm the problem? Quit and give Reaper exactly what he wants?" I take the ice from her, holding it myself. "I have to survive it. That's all I can do."
She's quiet, and I can see her working through it, trying to find a solution to a problem that has none.
"I hate this," she says again.
"Yeah. But I'm okay. I promise."
Throughout dinner, I catch her watching me. Every time I wince when I move wrong, every time I shift trying to find a comfortable position, she notices. Harper's oblivious, eating her puréed sweet potato and making a mess, but Nora's hyperaware of every sign that I'm hurting.
After Harper's in bed, we end up on the couch like we do most nights now. Nora's careful about how she curls into my side, avoiding my ribs, and I'm grateful she doesn't push the Reaper thing anymore tonight.
"How bad is it really?" she asks quietly.
"Bad enough. But I've had worse."
"That doesn't make me feel better."
"Yeah." I kiss the corner of her jaw. "But I'm here. I'm home. And nothing Reaper does on the ice matters when I havethiswaiting for me."
She tilts her head up, kissing me carefully, avoiding my split lip. "I'm still furious."
"But there's nothing you can do about it, so maybe we just don't think about it tonight?"
"Fine. But Tyler?" She looks at me seriously. "If it gets worse, if he really hurts you, you tell me. Immediately."
"I will."
"Promise me."
"I promise, Red."
She settles back against my chest, and we sit in comfortable silence, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on my stomach where there are no bruises.
Two weeks of being together but not together.
Two weeks of the best and worst at the same time.
But lying here with Nora, even bruised and battered, I wouldn't change a thing.
Because this—her in my arms, Harper sleeping upstairs, the life we're building—this is worth every hit Reaper can throw at me.