Page 39 of Lighting the Lamp
“Thanks,” he mutters, the word thin and dull. “Good win.”
Even his voice sounds hollow, dry and rough like sandpaper, grating against my ears. It sounds like he’s running on fumes and denial, only a few steps from closing himself off from the world to suffer alone. Just like he did when Uncle Mark passed away, when Cole left their childhood home without a second glance, when he was in the hospital, terrified that he’d never play hockey again.
Cooper gives me a subtle shake of his head as he and Ramona walk off with Auntie Mel. “Keep an eye on him.”
I don’t respond, just nod my head, my eyes focused on Beau. There are only a few inches of space between us, yet it feels like a chasm the size of the Grand Canyon.
“Hey,” I say, stepping into his line of sight.
His eyes find mine slowly, like it costs him something just to lift his head.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” he responds too fast, angling his body away from me like he’s shielding something from me. His voice is flat as his eyes shift to the side, away from mine.
My eyes scan over him, noticing there’s a shimmer of sweat clinging to his brow despite the cool hallway, and his skin looks ashen beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. He clenches his teeth tight, and his breaths are shallow and strained, like each inhale is tearing his lungs raw.
“What happened at the doctor’s?”
“Momma told you about that, huh?”
“Of course, she did. But that’s not the point, Beau. You should’ve told me.” My voice wavers. “I don’t like it when you keep secrets from me.”
His eyes flick to mine, just for a second, but there’s something there. Panic, guilt, pain, and something else I can’t quite place, but it vanishes just as fast.
He tries to shrug, but his left shoulder jerks awkwardly and immediately drops like it cost him everything just to move. “Nothing. Cleared for light stuff.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
“Beau.” My tone sharpens.
He doesn’t look at me or say anything, just shifts his weight like he’s trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt but fails. Then I see it. That tiny tremor in his left hand. The way his spine stiffens like a board, rigid with pain. The flicker of something just beneath the surface that he can’t quite hide anymore.
“There’s something wrong.”
His head snaps to mine, eyes wide like a cornered animal. “I’m fi—” He swallows the word. “It’s not too bad.”
“Then why do you look like you’re one breath away from collapsing?”
His eyes blaze for half a second, full of both pride and anger, but then the fire dies, and he looks away.
“Beau,” I whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me about the appointment?”
“Because it wasn’t a big deal.”
“It was,” I snap, louder now. “If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be hiding out here like a ghost. You wouldn’t be limping. You wouldn’t be lying to everyone who cares about you.”
“I didn’t want to dump it on you,” he bites out, his jaw tightening slightly. “You’ve been running around like you’re invincible—taking care of Aunt Peggy, juggling everyone at the rink, wedding planning with Ramona. Do you even hear yourself anymore? You don’t stop. You don’t breathe. You’re already holding everyone else’s world together, Alise.”
“I’m not made of glass, Beau.”
“No, you’re just stretching yourself so thin, I can see daylight through you,” he says bitterly. His hand twitches to the hem of his hoodie again, tugging it lower as he shifts a step back, the motion sharp and defensive, like he’s protecting something I can’t see. “And I won’t be one more thing that snaps you in half.”
I step back as if he physically shoved me. “This isn’t about me!”
“Yes, it is!” His voice cracks like thunder.
