Page 10 of Lighting the Lamp
“I’ve tried for weeks. We all have, but he brushes it off, makes a joke, or changes the subject. I know he doesn’t want to add any stress with everything going on with Cole, but…” My voice cracks slightly.
“But you’re worried about him.”
“Yes. I just want him to prioritize himself for once in his life. But I also don’t want to push him. You know how he is when he feels cornered.”
“Yeah.” A soft sigh filters through the speaker. “I know.”
I slide down onto one of the kitchen stools, resting my forehead in my hand. “I feel like I’m holding this house together, my mom’s meds and appointments, your wedding stuff, and I’m doing it all. I’m fine, but Ramona, I’m not fine. I’m so tired. And I can’t stop thinking that something’s really wrong with him.”
There’s a long silence. Not awkward, just full of everything she wants to say and everything I don’t want to hear out loud.
“You’re not alone in this,” she says quietly. “I know it feels like it, and I know you’re carrying too much, like always. But I’ll talk to Cooper in the morning, okay? I’m sure he has already talked to Beau about going to see the team doctor. If he hasn’t, I’ll get him to feel Beau out. If he won’t talk to you, maybe he’ll talk to his brother.”
I nod, even though she can’t see it. “Okay. Thanks.”
“You want to stay on the line a little while?” she asks. “Or do you want me to come over?”
“No. No, I’m okay. I’m gonna try to sleep.”
“Promise me you’ll try.”
“I promise.”
“Love you.”
“I know.” I hang up and set the phone down gently.
The silence feels less sharp now, but the ache in my chest is still there. Beau’s still not responding, but at least now I’m not the only one who has noticed.
Feeling marginally better, I shut off all the lights and check on Momma before heading back to my room. She’s fast asleep, curled on her side. I stand there for a few moments longer than necessary, watching the soft rise and fall of her breathing, which is just barely visible under the comforter, before gently closing the door behind me.
But I don’t go back to my room. I stand alone in the hallway, staring down the dark corridor like it might give me an answer. I don’t cry. I never do. Not unless I’m alone, with the water running.
I’m a good daughter. The responsible one. The one who says it’s fine even when it’s not, because someone has to. But tonight, for some reason, the weight is heavier than usual, and the one person I want to talk to about it—the only person who’s ever really seen me—is the same one I’m most afraid of losing.
Please be okay, Beau. Just… please.
Chapter Four
Beau
The slap of the cold air hits me as soon as I step onto the ice. It cuts through my layers, sharp and familiar. Like I’ve come home. I dig my blades in and take off, falling into the rhythm of warm-up laps like I haven’t spent the last four days trying to convince myself that sleep counts as recovery. That the chest tightness is nothing. That the dizzy spells are just dehydration. That the buzzing behind my eyes is normal. Everything is manageable, just like the team doctor said.
Okay, that’s not exactly what he said, but it’s close enough. The doctor found nothing major wrong with me, just slightly low iron levels. He suggested more rest, hydration, and a follow-up panel “just in case.” I nodded, smiled, and promised I’d check back in after the new year, but I haven’t.
I know my body, and although I had doubts after our last game, I know this is just fatigue. My body is finally revolting after months of pushing it to its limit, but I can rest when I’m dead. We have at least four more months until the end of the season, not including playoffs. After we win the Cup, I’ll check in with the doc again and let him run all the tests he wants, but until then, I need to deal with it.
I head for one more lap around the rink, angling into a turn and pushing off toward the end of the rink. A few laps around the rink sometimes help clear my head so I can focus on practice, but today, that same nagging feeling from the game is back. Not as bad as that day, thank fuck, but my legs feel heavier than they should. My breathing is already shallow, like I’ve played two periods of a game, the cold air stinging my lungs with each inhale. But I ignore it.
“Beau.” Cooper skates up beside me, brows drawn, mouth pulled tight like he’s been waiting to say something since he got here.
He doesn’t look at me right away, just matches my speed, eyes on the boards ahead. If Cooper has something to say, he’s going to say it, but not before overthinking it to death and looking for the perfect way to say exactly what he means. It didn’t use to be that way, but therapy has worked wonders on his communication skills. So instead of poking at him, I wait and keep skating. Besides, I have a feeling I already know what he’s going to ask me.
“Doc clear you to come back?” he asks, voice low enough not to carry while he keeps pace beside me.
“Yep,” I say, my eyes flicking toward him. “He said I just need rest.”
Cooper finally looks at me, brows lifting like he doesn’t believe a word of it. “You don’t look rested.”
