Page 121 of Lighting the Lamp
The words lodge in my chest, heavy and hot, threatening to crack me open. He takes a deliberate step back, eyes still holding mine as if he’s physically reluctant to let go, and then tilts his head toward the tunnel. “Go, before I change my mind and keep you here.”
My feet obey, but it’s like I’m still caught in his gravity. Every step away only makes me more aware of his scent clinging to the jersey, the phantom weight of his hands on my skin, and the taste of him still sparking on my lips.
When I glance over my shoulder, he’s still there. Leaning against the wall, with that slow, dangerous smile in place, looking like he already knows I’ll come back.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Beau
It’s the next day, and it still feels like I’m riding the high of last night.
Momma’s backyard is exactly how I remember it. Same sagging string lights stretched between the maple trees, the big picnic table already bowed under too much food, and the cooler half-buried in the grass with condensation dripping down its sides. But what’s different is the people. Instead of high school friends sneaking beers when Momma wasn’t looking, it’s our teammates and their wives, girlfriends, and about six kids darting underfoot like they’re running drills. It’s loud in a way only this family can be.
The scent of the grill drifts through the air, smoky and rich, mingling with the sweetness of cut grass and my mom’s pie cooling by the open kitchen window. Someone’s got a country music playlist playing low from a porch speaker, the bass mixing with overlapping voices, clinks of bottles, and bursts of laughter.
“Cole, that’s not how you flip a burger,” Ramona calls, one hand on her hip.
Cole doesn’t even look up from the spatula. “It’s exactly how you flip a burger.”
“No,” Cooper says, stabbing his fork into the potato salad, “it’s exactly how you drop one.”
“That’s rich, coming from the guy who almost tripped over his own skates during the pre-game skate,” I chime in, smirking.
“Almost,”Cooper says, pointing his fork at me. “Keyword.”
“Yeah, well, the keyword for you last night was ‘retirement.’ Keyword for me was ‘shutout.’”
The pride in my voice isn’t just about me. Last night was one of my best games in a long damn time—clean, sharp, not a single puck past me. The kind of night you wish you could bottle and keep forever. I gave my big brother the send-off he deserved, one last win with him on the ice, where he belongs. Next time, he’ll be behind the bench with a whistle instead of a stick, but that night will always be ours.
“Don’t forget the glove save in the third. You made that poor rookie question his life choices. The arena went nuts,” Bower pipes up, grinning like a fool.
The table breaks into overlapping chatter about the game. Cooper’s last shift, the standing ovation, and my glove save. It’s the kind of teasing, proud noise that feels like home, half loving and half cutting at the same time.
Momma just shakes her head, setting down another bowl like she’s worried we might starve if there’s even one square inch of the table left uncovered. I should be part of this. Eating, talking, letting myself bask in Cooper’s send-off and my personal high from last night. But I can’t because my gaze keeps finding Alise. Not that I’m complaining about it. Not at all.
She’s tucked between Ramona and Michele, her afro soft and full, the sunlight catching the warm brown of her skin. She’s got a cider in her hand, one elbow resting on the table, curls bouncing as she grins at something Ramona just said. Her headphones are looped casually around her neck instead of on her ears, a quiet safety net if the volume spikes too high. Noone else notices, but I always do. And the fact that she’s smiling through it anyway, still here in the middle of all this, hits me harder than any ovation last night.
It’s the same sound from last night, the one that cut through the noise in the tunnel and hit me straight in the chest before I even kissed her.
“Beau!” Cole snaps his fingers like I’m ignoring him on purpose. “You gonna eat, or are you planning to brood all afternoon?”
“I’m good.” I lift my beer in a lazy toast.
“You look like you’re watching a film of something you screwed up,” Cooper says, chewing slowly like he’s waiting for me to take the bait.
“Maybe he’s just trying to figure out how to say hi to his girlfriend,” Bower adds from across the table, his grin wide enough to punch.
“She’s not—” I start, but Alise glances at me, slow and deliberate, and I clamp my jaw shut.
“So, any truth to the rumor that you only came to last night’s game to see me?” Bower leans toward Alise, dropping his voice just enough to make sure I hear.
“I’d have to know who you are for that to be true,” she responds, her smile sharp and full of mirth.
The table loses it immediately. Even Momma chuckles as she passes behind Alise.
Bower clutches his chest like she’s ended his career. “Cold. Absolutely ice-cold.”
“Careful, Alise,” Cooper warns. “That’s how he plans to get you. Beau is going to talk big, then convince you to wear his jersey every game instead of mine, like he did last night.”
