Page 75 of Lighting the Lamp
Block. Pivot. Recover. Push.
Every movement takes more than it gives, burns deeper than it should. My vision pulses at the edges like a warning light I can’t afford to see, but I still move. I push through it because I have to. If I just keep going, maybe no one will notice I’m holding my breath with every shift. Maybe no one will realize this body, this machine I’ve trained and sharpened and bled for, is quietly turning on me.
“Beau?” a voice barks from the other end of the arena. “What the hell are you doing?”
I glance over my shoulder, mask half-down. Cooper is standing just off the boards, arms crossed, jaw tight, and eyes narrowed beneath the bill of his cap. I skate over, slow and steady, trying to keep my expression blank.
“Tell Coach to check his email,” I say, breathing tight in my chest. “My release is waiting for him.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
He doesn’t say anything for a beat, just stares at me like he’s trying to read the fine print behind my eyes. I hold the stare. Eventually, he shakes his head and mutters something about paperwork before walking off.
I don’t let myself react to his disbelief; it’s warranted after all, but this time, it’s legit. The release is technically real. It’s for practice only, just lke Dr. Conway said. My hand twitches toward the bulge of the patch beneath my shirt, then drops fast before anyone notices. She wanted more data before making any bigger calls, but I promised I’d be cautious. A lie dressed in good intentions, but no one needs to know that part. It’s just one more secret to bury that no one can dig it out.
I turn and push back into the crease. The throbbing in my knees grows sharper, but I stay. A slapshot slams into my pads. The impact rocks me back a step and knocks the air from my lungs, but I stay up. Barely.
“Nice one, Hendrix!” someone calls.
I lift my glove in acknowledgment, even though two of my fingers are numb and my ribs ache like they cracked under the hit.
After practice, I strip down in silence. One piece of gear at a time. I let the exhaustion pool in my bones like cement. I don’t fight it. Don’t resist. The shower water is scorching, but I don’t flinch. I let it burn, scalding away everything I can’t afford to feel and drowning the part of me that’s still screaming.
By the time I’m back in the locker room, it’s mostly empty, just the hum of the overhead lights and the slow drip of someone’s leftover water bottle hitting tile. I towel off and get dressed quickly, pulling my hoodie over damp skin beforedropping onto the bench like it might break beneath me, and maybe I want it to. My whole body thrums with exhaustion, not from drills, but from pretending. Carrying my diagnosis like a secret bomb ticking beneath my skin, locking down every emotion so no one sees the cracks forming beneath the surface. From telling everyone I’m fine and almost believing it.
I reach for my phone, finding no missed calls. A couple of texts from Cole asking if Alise has called yet and wanting to update the group chat, then one from Cooper:
Pain in the Ass #1
I’ll start on the paperwork to have you removed from IR. Welcome back, brother.
My fingers hover over Alise’s name and open our text thread, and my eyes widen in surprise.
Tiny Terror
You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know I’d wait forever if it meant you’d open the door again.
I thought I had deleted that message, leaving it unsent like every other message I started in the last twenty-four hours, but I didn’t. I sent it, letting her know my innermost thoughts, it being the only honest thing I’ve felt since yesterday, and now it sits there, unanswered.
I go to shove it back into my pocket, trying not to let the ache hollow me out, but then it buzzes. The sound slices straight through me, causing me to fumble the phone like an idiot, my hands suddenly too big and too desperate.
Tiny Terror
Cooper texted and said they removed you from the IR list. Congratulations!
Congratulations on telling a convincing lie, but then the three dots appear and disappear a few times. I grip the phone tightly, willing her to send another message, and then it appears like magic.
Tiny Terror
Beau. Are you okay?
My heart stutters—violently. I stare at it like it might disappear if I breathe wrong, like it might not be real. The ice I’ve been skating on all day—thin, cracked, breaking—splinters beneath me. The pieces shift, but I remain standing even as my chest seizes and my lungs forget how to work. Every cell in my body screams,Tell her the truth,but I already know what I’ll do. I’ll text her back, make her laugh, and tell her I’m fine. Alise needs me to love her when I’m whole, but I’ll never be that way again. So I’ll fake it and pray she never sees the cracks.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Alise
