Page 13 of Lighting the Lamp
Where the hell am I?
I try to move my fingers on my left hand, and then my right, but nothing happens. It’s like commanding someone else’s body to move as the numbness slowly recedes. My thumb twitches, and a dull aching pain that reverberates through my entire arm is the answer I receive. The loud rhythmic beeping of a machine fills the room as a shadow shifts near me.
The pressure in my chest grows as I force my eyes open, needing to see what’s going on, where I am, and who is watching over me. Light punches through my skull like a sledgehammer, and I flinch, my body barely responding to the movement. Everything is buzzing around me as the ceiling above me sways, or maybe it’s me. There’s something pressed across the cheekbones, my cheeks itching in the same place. My nostrils flare against the sting of oxygen and plastic. Tubing. It must be tubing.
A harsh breath claws at my throat as I try to speak, wanting to ask where I am and why I’m having such a hard time moving. Nothing comes out on my first attempt, but I try again. I just need to say one word, a name, anything, but my mouth feels like sandpaper. Every muscle in my body trembles under my skin, as if it’s still fighting an invisible battle even though it’s clear I’ve already lost.
I blink hard, willing my eyes to focus on what’s around me. My vision sharpens further, the dark shadows sharpening around me, and then I hear it.
“He always downplays this stuff, Coop. I can’t turn a blind eye to what’s going on, not after he collapsed on the goddamn ice. We can’t?—”
That voice, steady but filled with so much controlled rage, must be Parker.
Another voice slices through, louder and rawer with emotion.
“He lied to me. Beau told me the doc cleared him. You think I wouldn’t have dragged him to the hospital myself if I’d known? Don’t put this on me, Parker?—”
“I’m not blaming you, Coop. The doctor did clear him; he just omitted a few key details about what else he said.”
Something sharp lodges in my chest at the sound of my big brother’s voice. I don’t have to see him to know Cooper is pacing the room like a caged animal, his anger coiled tight enough to snap. Parker’s trying to keep his voice down, but the tension in his words is like static. It buzzes through the air, thick enough to choke on.
I blink again, the edges of the world coming a little more into focus. Fluorescent lights. A hospital curtain. Wires taped to my skin. Relentless beeping. Cooper and Parker fighting over what to do next because I screwed up.
Cooper spins around to face Parker, his eyes wild as his fists flex at his sides. “You think this is about lying? You think this is just a bad judgment call? He scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m right here,” I rasp, needing him to know that I’m awake and fine. Well, not exactly fine. I am in a hospital bed, but that’s a step up from being passed out in a hospital bed.
Both men freeze for half a second, Cooper ready to rush to my bedside, but Parker grips his arm. “Don’t crowd him.”
“I’m not crowding him. I just…” His voice cracks, full of something I don’t want to name.
“I’m o—” I begin, but Cooper cuts me off.
“If you fucking say you are fine, or any variations of that phrase, while you are lying in a hospital bed, I will punch you.”
“Then how do you expect me to get out of here if you plan on continuing to injure me?” I ask, chuckling softly before groaning.
“This isn’t funny, Beau. You had a premature atrial contraction, or PAC for short, right on the ice. We managedto get you stable at the rink before transporting you to the hospital.”
“A what?” I ask, pushing myself up too fast, causing the room to tilt sideways.
“Sit still,” Cooper growls, coming to my bedside and slowly raising the top of the bed so I’m completely upright. “Better?”
“I said I was fine.”
“I think we’ve already discussed the fact+ that you aren’t fine,” Parker says, crossing his arms over his chest. “To answer your earlier question, in layman’s terms, your heart skipped a beat and you passed out.”
Before I can even process what he said, the curtain snaps back with a violent swish.
“Where is he?”
Alise’s voice barrels through the room like a storm front, ragged, desperate, and already on the edge of breaking. Every syllable vibrates with urgency and desperation to see me with her own two eyes. She doesn’t even stop to wait for them to answer. Her boots hammer against the tile in a panicked staccato as she charges in, shouldering past Cooper and Parker like they don’t exist.
Her eyes lock on me, and she stops cold. It’s like someone sucked the air out of her lungs. “Jesus, Beau.”
She’s beside my bed in seconds. Her hands flutter frantically across my arms, chest, face—checking for blood, bruises, or broken bones. Her fingers tremble hard against my skin as I take in her appearance. Her coat hangs off one arm, her bag sliding down to her elbow. She’s looped her favorite noise-canceling headphones haphazardly around her neck, and they bounce with every frantic move. Her afro looks untamed, curls pointing in every direction, and mascara is smudged beneath her eyes like she hasn’t stopped crying since someone told her what happened.
And it’s my fault. The truth slams into me like a puck to the ribs. She’s unraveling because of me. I pushed too hard and ignored the signs. I didn’t tell her or anyone else that something had been wrong for a long time, but I was too stubborn to admit it.
