Page 127 of Lighting the Lamp
The table’s still buzzing. Crosby tossing in some joke about oxygen tanks, Michele smirking like she’s in on it, and Ramona’s giggle cutting through. Beau plays along, fires back a jab, but his voice is thinner, pulled tight like it’s squeezing through a too-small space.
Cole shakes his head, chuckling. “We just don’t want to lose you mid-meal, man.”
Beau grins faintly, but there’s sweat at his hairline now. The evening heat hasn’t changed, but something about him has. His jaw works as if he’s grinding through something he doesn’t want anyone to notice. I catch the twitch in his jaw, the way he shifts like his seat’s suddenly uncomfortable. And then there’s that flicker in his eyes, like the world just tilted and he’s trying to hide it. And then his words come slower. It’s subtle enough that most people miss it, but my stomach knots. “Beau,” I press, quieter this time, my voice catching in my throat, “are you sure you’re?—”
“I’m fine,” he cuts in, but it’s softer now, almost breathless.
Cole’s still mid-laugh when it happens. His expression freezes mid-smile, and his words die in his throat. He’s lookingat Beau the way you look at a teammate who’s just taken a hard hit and isn’t getting back up.
“Beau?”
“Just—” Beau blinks, pushing back his chair and standing.
For half a second, I almost let him go. But then his knees shift just enough, his balance tipping the wrong way, and something deep in my gut twists hard. Cole’s head snaps towards Michele, his posture sharpening.
“Sit down,” Cole says, voice different now, stripped of the easy edge from a second ago. “You don’t look?—”
“Something’s wrong,” I say, the legs of my chair scraping across the ground before I realize I’m moving.
“Hey.” Cole’s already shoving his plate aside and running around the table, his hand gripping Beau’s shoulder like he’s trying to keep him tethered. “Talk to me, man.”
Beau shakes his head. His movements are sluggish, like his body’s forgotten how to be his.
“It’s… fine. Just?—”
The way his breath catches—shallow, strained—makes my heart lurch. The easy banter from earlier is gone now, replaced by a jagged edge of tension that splinters through the group.
“Beau, are you dizzy?” Michele asks, already sliding out of her seat, eyes scanning him like she’s cataloging symptoms, taking mental notes of every flicker, every falter.
Beau opens his mouth, but nothing comes, just a rough, broken exhale that sounds wrong. His glass slips from his hand, shattering against the patio in a spray of lemonade and shards. Beau stumbles, one hand catching the back of his chair, shoulders curling in like someone knocked the wind out of him. I’m already moving, my chair scraping back as my knees bang into his. My hands are reaching for him before I even think.
“Beau—”
His knees buckle, and I’m already there, shoving my chair aside as I grab for him. My hands clutch at his arm, trying to steady him, but his weight sags too heavily into me. The ground feels like it’s yanking him down. Cole appears beside me in a rush, his arms locking under Beau’s shoulders to take most of the weight before either of us can hit the patio.
“Shit. I’ve got you. I’ve got you—” Cole’s voice is tight, panicked, a far cry from the easy teasing of a minute ago.
I drop to my knees, and my hands find his chest. It’s hot and damp under my palms, his heartbeat pounding too hard and too fast against my fingers.
“Beau, look at me,” I beg, my voice shaking as the words rip out of me. “You’re okay, just—stay with me.”
My hands are on his face before I even think, thumbs brushing over skin that’s already gone clammy. Around us, the noise changes. The laughter from earlier is gone, replaced with scraping chairs, hurried footsteps, and the sharp edge of voices flipping into alarm.
“What happened?” It’s Crosby’s voice from somewhere behind me, sharp and startled.
“I don’t know!” My voice comes out higher than I mean, too close to breaking.
“Easy, man, breathe,” Cole says to him, shaking Beau’s shoulder. His eyes flutter open but are unfocused, like he’s chasing a thought he can’t quite grab. Cole’s jaw tightens as his movements grow rougher, less sure, panic bleeding into every word. He looks at Beau like he can force him awake if he just shakes hard enough, and for the first time, I see his composure crack. He’s not letting go, but he’s too frantic to help the way Beau needs.
“Hey. Hey, look at me.” I try to make my voice steady, but it’s trembling along with my hands. “It’s me. Stay with me, Beau.”
“Cole, move.” Michele’s voice cuts clean through the chaos. She’s already dropping to her knees beside us, her calm sharp enough to slice through his panic. For a second, Cole doesn’t, his grip still iron-tight on Beau’s shoulder, but then he curses under his breath and shifts back, his hand lingering a beat before pulling away. His chest heaves, and he scrubs a hand down his face like he’s trying to get a grip.
“Get him flat. Now,” Michele commands, pushing in on my left to help Cole and me lower him to the grass.
My hand slides under his head, fingers spreading into his hair, cradling it like I can anchor him here with touch alone. The weight of his skull feels wrong in my palm—too heavy, too still. His chest rises, shallow and broken, each breath dragging like it costs him more than he has, like every inhale is a negotiation he’s losing.
“Is he—?” Ramona’s voice cracks, cutting off when Cooper pulls her back, his grip firm like he knows she’s one step away from falling apart, too.
