Page 28 of Lighting the Lamp
Beau’s smile twitches but doesn’t quite hold. There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes before he reins it in.
“Not this time, buddy,” he responds, trying to seem like the picture of ease.
Anyone else would’ve missed the subtle clench of his jaw and the flex in his neck like he’s swallowing down whatever he actually wants to say. I ache to ask if he’s okay, to really know how he is feeling, but I keep my question to myself. Instead, I watch as he turns, heading toward the bench, and for a breathless second, we lock eyes. I see the weight he won’t speak about and the ache of what he won’t admit. Instead of choosing my words carefully, I say the first thing that pops into my head.
“You were just in the hospital a month ago.”
“Three and a half weeks,” he mutters, not looking at me as he grabs a water bottle off the wall. “And I feel good. I swear.”
I narrow my eyes at him, scanning his face for any sign he might be lying to me. The dark shadows under his eyes have faded a little, but they aren’t gone. His lips are pale, and he’s gripping that water bottle like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the floor. He’s definitely not fine, and he knows it.
“Promise me you’ll take it easy, even if you feel good. Especially if you feel good.”
His gaze flicks down to my hand, clenched tight on the wall around the rink, thumb worrying the edge like it might splinter before shifting back to my face.
“You been losing sleep over me, Lisey?”
I scoff, but the sound’s thinner than I want it to be. “No more than usual.”
He grins slowly, crooked, and a little dangerous, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Liar.”
“You’re not that special.”
“I am to you.” He says it too easily, and it lands hard, like the truth dressed up in our usual sarcastic banter.
My breath catches just long enough for him to see it, and his eyes darken, zeroing in like he’s found something he wasn’t sure he’d get to hold again. I’ve potentially given away my biggest secret, and now I can’t take it back. I roll my eyes, but it’s flimsy at best. The weak defense a girl throws up when she’s already bleeding confidence.
“You always this full of yourself, or is this a special occasion?”
Beau leans in just enough to breach the line between teasing and temptation. He’s so close I smell the lingering heat of his skin, the salt of sweat, and the ghost of whatever cologne he’s wearing under all the gear.
“Only when you’re looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, my voice quieter, like it’s trying not to crack under the weight of my questions.
“Like I’m the problem you don’t wanna solve.”
My pulse trips over itself like my heart’s scrambling for cover, because he’s right. I have been looking at him like that because, deep down, I don’t want him to change in the slightest. He isn’t a problem to solve, more like I want to circle around him forever, orbiting the danger like a moth too smart to touch the flame but too desperate to leave the light. I should laugh his statement off and say something sarcastic. Anything to flip the script, reminding him, and myself, that this is just a game we play. Although right now, I can’t seem to remember the rules.
The silence stretches between us, tight and buzzing and too full. My chest aches with the weight of all the things I haven’tsaid, the years I’ve spent pretending he doesn’t still have this hold on me. Right when the space between us tips too close to something I might not come back from, Ford skates over, flinging a towel across his shoulders and panting from the last drill like he didn’t just shatter whatever fragile thing was about to take shape in front of him.
“You know,” he says, grinning widely, “you keep hovering like this, Coach, and people are gonna start asking if you’re afraid to get back in the net.”
Beau’s jaw ticks, but Ford doesn’t notice. He just keeps going with the same playful tone. “Don’t worry. Langley will protect your precious save percentage while you rest your ancient knees.”
Beau’s smile doesn’t move; it freezes. This can not mean anything good for Ford and the other boys on the team.
“Great,” he responds flatly, before blowing the whistle twice and making a circular motion with his finger near his head. “Laps.”
Ford’s eyes widen in horror before he groans. “Come on, I didn’t even say anything that bad!”
The boys all groan in unison, “Nooooo.”
“You’re the one who told us to chirp more!” one of the boys adds as he starts skating.
“That was before your friend decided to be clever,” Beau deadpans. “Now, you all get to suffer.”
More groans and stick taps, the sound of mutinous laughter echoes against the boards.
