Page 126 of Lighting the Lamp
I open my mouth, but the sound around me folds, warped like I’m hearing it underwater.
Cole’s moving fast from the other side of the table, his voice cutting sharper now. “Hey. Sit down. You don’t look?—”
The air feels heavier, like someone siphoned the oxygen out of the room and replaced it with heat. My heart’s slamming against my ribs in a rhythm I can’t predict. Each beat lands sharp and wrong, like it’s trying to break free. Breath rasps in, jagged and thin, every inhale dragging through me like wet cement. My throat tastes of metal, sharp and sour, the tang of adrenaline flooding my mouth.
Somewhere in the distance, too far away for how close it must be, someone’s fork clinks against a plate. The smell of fried food turns oily and oppressive, coating the back of my tongue until I want to gag. My vision collapses inward, the edges blurring first and then the colors bleeding into shadow. Black seeps in from the corners like spilled ink, creeping toward the center until I’m staring down a tunnel that’s shrinking by the second.
Alise’s fingers clamp around my arm, her grip firm and urgent, nails biting just enough to cut through the haze. The warmth of her skin sears against mine, an anchor in a bodythat feels like it’s slipping away. Michele’s palm presses into the center of my back, her touch the only thing keeping me upright as the floor tilts again. My ears ring high and sharp, drowning out voices until it’s just a whistle in my skull. The pressure in my chest grows until it’s almost unbearable, and the rest of the world falls away.
The last thing I know is the shape of them, two points of heat in a world gone cold, holding me when I can’t hold myself.
And then nothing.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Alise
One second, Beau’s firing back at Crosby about missed shots, all sharp grins and quick comebacks, and the next… something changes. It’s subtle at first. His laugh lands a little late, or his shoulders drop like someone let the air out of him. But he’s still talking, still keeping pace with the conversations, so I tell myself I’m imagining it.
“Better start stretching before you so much as stand up, old man,” Cole tosses out from the grill, flipping burgers like this is a full-on sports roast.
“Maybe ice your hips just for showing up,” Kyle adds, grinning like the punk he is.
Even Michele’s in on it, shaking her head with a mock-serious expression. “Don’t let them bully you, Beau. There’s no shame in warming up your joints before walking to the cooler.”
“It’s cute, though. I love seeing you try to keep up with the youngins like your brother.” Ramona leans forward, eyes dancing.
Cooper nibbles on Ramona’s ear, making her giggle softly. “You weren’t saying that when I had you pressed?—”
“Nope,” Darius cuts in fast, voice pitched high with mock-horror. “I’ve been traumatized enough. I do not need to hearanything else about anyone’s bedroom activities for the rest of my life.”
He wads up a napkin and tosses it at Cooper, who bats it away with a smirk.
Cole finally abandons the grill, handing the spatula off to Bower with a muttered “Don’t burn anything.” He drops into the chair across from Beau, stretching out like he owns the place, smirk firmly back in place.
“If you learned to knock before walking into a room, you’d save yourself a lot of heartache,” Cole chimes in, slinging an arm around the back of Michele’s chair.
“You all gave me a key. Told me to come and go as I pleased. Not my fault none of you know how to keep things in the bedroom,” Darius fires back without missing a beat.
“Oh, yeah? That reminds me of that one time?—”
“La la la la la.” Darius slaps his hands over his ears with exaggerated dramatics. “This is torture. Someone, please call child services.”
Laughter rolls around the table, warm and easy, settling in your bones. I’m right beside Beau, close enough that when his knee bounces under the table, it brushes mine. Our chairs are tucked so close that my elbow keeps bumping his whenever I shift. Beau’s grinning with the rest of them, tossing a sideways look at me like he’s got his own private punchline waiting. And for a second, it’s perfect, but then something shifts.
It’s not dramatic at first, just a tiny beat where his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He rolls his shoulders as if he’s shaking off a cramp, but the movement is tighter than usual.
“What’s the matter, Grandpa? Need a minute to catch your breath?” Cole chuckles, his eyebrows pulling down in concern.
Beau shoots him a look, smirk still in place. “Breath’s fine. Can’t say the same for your slapshot.”
The table erupts again, but I don’t join in this time. My gaze catches on the way his hand flexes around his glass like the condensation is slicker than it should be. His knee bounces under the table, not his usual restless bounce, but faster, like his body’s trying to burn off something it can’t.
Without thinking, I brush my fingers against his under the table, a small touch meant to steady both of us. His hand doesn’t move, but the tension in it makes my own chest tighten.
“I’m fine,” he says when Cole makes another crack about his age.
No, he’s not. I know his face, the lines at the corners of his eyes when he’s tired and the stubborn tilt of his mouth when he’s hiding something. And right now, every alarm bell inside me is going off.
