Page 4 of Lighting the Lamp
“Just a little headache, nothing too serious. Now have a seat before you give yourself a heart attack.”
“Take your glove off.”
“I’m good,” I mutter without looking up.
Cooper drops onto the bench across from me, arms on his knees, jaw tight, watching every breath I take like he’s counting them. “You haven’t been fine for a while now, and we both know it.”
“Are you keeping tabs on me now, big brother?” I chuckle as my knee bounces without permission. The tremble in my hands has moved up my arms. My whole body’s buzzing, nerves frayed at the end. Not a single part of me feels like it’s firing right.
Cooper reaches forward and grabs the bottom of my glove, and I jerk back.
“Don’t!” I shout, causing everyone in the locker room to turn in our direction.
He doesn’t flinch. “You’re pale. Hands are shaking. You didn’t track the rebound in the second, and your lateral push on that breakaway looked like hell.”
“Can’t you just drop it?”
“No, I can’t. Not this time.” His voice rises a notch. “You think I want to go to Coach and say the guy who keeps us in half our games might need a rest?”
I finally meet his eyes, and something cold twists in my gut when I see the fear there. Right now, he isn’t just my older brother; he’s my team captain.
“You’re not just my blood, Beau. You’re this team’s wall. Our anchor. And if you aren’t at 100 percent, we all need to know.”
A part of me wants to tell him. To let him know how I’ve felt trapped in my body all game. That I’m barely able to stand, let alone go out on that rink for another period, but he’s right. The team is depending on me to help them win this game.
“I’m fine,” I snap, the once-dull ache behind my eyes now a sharp shooting pain in my head. “But I will go see Parker about getting some ibuprofen.”
I stand up too quickly, and the room tilts. The light above the door cuts into my vision like a knife. I blink hard until the line between floor and wall settles back where it’s supposed to be.
“Bullshit. You’re not fine,” Cooper says softly, “And I have a feeling that you haven’t been for a lot longer than you’re saying.”
I rake my hand through my hair, wincing at the motion.
“I already watched Dad go down that day. I still see it almost every night when I close my eyes. Every time someone gasps for air on the ice, I see it,” Cooper says, voice barely above a whisper now. “When he died, it nearly destroyed me. I don’t know if I’ll survive if I have to do it all over again with you.”
I freeze, memories of that day playing through my mind on repeat. I remember the panic on Cooper’s face when he couldn’t find him. I wanted to run past him to the last place I saw our dad, but I grabbed Cole’s hand and continued down the mountain, acting completely oblivious to how our lives had changed forever.
The words crack between us like a slap as I look down at my trembling hands. I feel my breath stutter, trying to search for the right thing to say to ease all his worries, but come up empty. The air burns as it goes in, as if my lungs are made of scraped-out metal. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“I know. But this time? If something happens to you and I didn’t say something… I won’t survive that.”
“If you say something to Coach—” I wince, unable to finish my sentence. I know this is the right thing to do for me and the team, but I’m selfish to the core. I want to be out on the ice with my team. I want to help lead them to victory tonight. I want the choice to come off the ice to be mine, not my body’s.
Cooper continues the phrase for me. “He’ll bench you. Full stop. I need to know, are you a liability out there?”
I want to lie. I want to say I’ve got it, that I’ll bounce back. I just need rest, electrolytes, tape, and a bit of luck. But I can’t feel my toes right now, and the ringing in my ears is almost deafening. So, I clench my jaw closed and nod my agreement.
“I’ll talk to Parker after the game.”
Cooper doesn’t move. His arms are crossed, jaw tight, eyes locked on mine like he’s trying to read past the words. “Promise?”
“I said I’ll handle it.” My voice is low and tired—not combative, just worn down.
“But do you promise?”
I glare at him, hesitating just long enough for something raw to flash across his face, and it guts me just a little. “Yeah, I promise.”
He exhales—barely a sound—and nods. Cooper stands slowly, like he’s still not sure I won’t crack in the half second it takes to turn his back. “You scare the shit out of me, you know that?”
