Page 15 of Lighting the Lamp
The words hit harder than they should. My breath catches in my throat as if someone slapped me. A sting that lingers long after the words settle between us. He could have said anything else, but he chose that. The one thing that makes it feel like he reached inside my chest and twisted my heart in his fist, finding the one thing I haven’t had the courage to say out loud. And he’s just sitting here with a lopsided smile, like he didn’t just collapse on the ice in the middle of practice. Like it’s just an everyday occurrence, and it wasn’t because his heart practically stopped fucking beating. Yes, I know skipping a beat and stopping aren’t the same thing, but that’s not the point. Beau didn’t just pass out because he was dizzy or got winded but because there is something obviously going on with his heart.
I lift my head slowly, searching his face for the man I just sat here trying to breathe for, but I don’t see him. Not the one whose name I was shouting as the ambulance peeled out of the arena parking lot. Not the one I’m desperately clinging to while machines beep loudly and wires snake across his chest.
This is a stranger. A mask that Beau has always hidden behind to keep everyone from seeing what is really happening in his mind. That crooked grin and forced charm he hides behind when things get too real. I’ve seen it a thousand times on a thousand bad days, and I can usually blow it off. But not this time, not after I almost lost him.
“It’s not funny,” I say, barely louder than a whisper. My voice is raw, scraped thin from holding back everything I’m not allowed to say. “God, Beau, it’s not fucking funny.”
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off, sharper than I mean to.
“I’ll remember that next time you’re unconscious,” I snap, every syllable laced in ice, as I slide out of his lap. “Maybe I’ll just wait until they call time of death and save us both the trouble.”
His smirk falters, a small flicker that my words hit the mark, as his expression shifts like he wants to reach for me, but doesn’t. That hurts almost as much as the words did, but there is no going back now. He hurt me with his words, so I hurt him with mine. The endless cycle we both seem to be stuck in because we’re both too afraid of what would happen if we let down our guard long enough to tell each other what’s going on in our minds. We both have a role to play for our families, and neither of us has the strength to stop doing it.
The curtain rustles, breaking the awkward silence in the room. I jerk at the sound, wiping my face with the back of my sleeve just as a nurse steps in, followed by a man in navy scrubs with a clipboard tucked like a shield against his chest.
“Beau Hendrix?”
Beau sits up straighter in the bed, but everything about his movements looks stiff and almost calculated. His jaw ticks once as his hands curl into the blanket beside him. The grin he wore seconds ago is gone, erased as if it never belonged there. What’sleft behind isn’t calm, but a kind of silence you build when you’re trying not to break.
His eyes flick briefly to the doctor, then past him, before he nods. It’s like he’s already retreated into his mind, shutting the door on whatever comes next. But I see the fight behind the numbness. The panic crawling just beneath his skin because he’s bracing for the bad news. Bad news that could change the entire direction of his life, and he doesn’t know how to survive if that happens.
I take a step closer and place my hand on top of his, squeezing gently to let him know I’m here. That, no matter what, he can get through this. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Parker and Cooper stepping closer to his bed on the other side.
“I’m Dr. Raman,” the doctor says, checking the monitor before meeting Beau’s eyes. “You experienced a premature atrial contraction. It’s a very common type of irregular heartbeat. Most times it’s benign, but in your case, it likely triggered a vasovagal response. Basically, your body overreacted, and you fainted.”
Isn’t that a very clinical way of saying you scared the shit out of us? Fainting is what you do when you haven’t eaten enough or when you lock your knees during a wedding. Not when you go limp in someone’s arms with your eyes wide open and your chest terrifyingly still.
Beau’s brows pull in a fraction. He’s listening, nodding, and absorbing everything Dr. Raman is telling him. But I can tell by the shift in his jaw, the subtle tension around his mouth, that he’s already trying to move on. Trying to figure out a way to ignore everything the doctor just said.
The doctor continues. “We ran an electrocardiogram (ECG) and drew blood; both were clear. There are also no signs of structural heart damage, and your rhythm is stable now. However, we’d like to keep you for observation. Run a stress test and echocardiogram before you resume training.”
Beau doesn’t respond to what the doctor said. He just sits there, frozen in place like a statue carved out of anxiety and pride. A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. I blink hard, but the sting in my eyes doesn’t fade.
Cooper reaches out suddenly, his hand landing on Beau’s shoulder with a quiet urgency, like he needs to feel that Beau is still here. But Beau doesn’t react or even glance in his direction.
“Overnight? That’s all?” Cooper says sharply, voice raw with disbelief.
“It’s precautionary. Nothing to worry about,” the doctor explains. “We just want to make sure?—”
“How soon can he get back on the ice?”
Everything in me stills as my head turns toward him slowly. There is no way Cooper just asked that. The blood roars loudly in my ears as my fingers curl into fists against my thighs. I dig my nails into my skin, trying to ground myself, but it doesn’t work.
I grip Beau’s hand tightly, my eyes focused on the side of his face as his eyes dart around—first to Cooper, then to the doctor, then Parker, then me. He’s taking every word, every shift in tone, every bit of tension he’s trying so hard to absorb without reacting. But I know him too well. I can see the panic winding tighter as his fingers flex and then fist again. He swallows hard. His throat works as if it physically hurts to breathe.
He’s spiraling quietly and alone, like always. My breath stutters as I watch him retreat into himself because I’ve seen this before. After bad hits, hard losses, and locker room fights, but never like this. This is different. And when Cooper dares to prioritize getting back on the ice over the fact that Beau nearly died, something inside me snaps.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I whisper, tearing the raw, trembling words from the deepest part of me.
Cooper doesn’t answer me; his eyes remain locked on the doctor like that’s the most important thing right now. His handdrops from Beau’s shoulder like it suddenly burns. He’s already slipping and retreating into captain mode. The tone of his voice tightens into the efficient and controlled demeanor he has on the ice. It’s easier for him to ask about practice schedules than to admit the truth. Beau could die from whatever is going on, and there is nothing we can do about it.
“Jesus, Coop,” Parker scoffs under his breath.
“You watched him collapse,” I spit out, blinking back a fresh rush of tears. “The doctor said his heart isn’t beating correctly, and you want to know when he can play again?”
Cooper turns to me, mouth opening, but I’m already on my feet.
“You don’t get to act like this is just a hiccup. This isn’t about a bad hit or making the goddamn playoffs. This is about his life. If you can’t see that, then you’re just as much of an asshole as he is for making jokes like this didn’t almost?—”
