Page 111 of Lighting the Lamp
Tonight is the final skate of a career that built this team, this family, and a legacy that even the arena lights seem to respect. Everywhere I look, there’s green and black, his number nineteen printed across the backs of fans, old and young, like a badge of honor.
I should be excited. Scratch that, I am excited. For Cooper and this family, who have welcomed me like I’ve always belonged here. For the way Ramona is practically glowing as sheleans into Darius, her smile soft but fierce, like she’s holding this whole night close to her heart. But beneath the excitement, lodged somewhere under my ribs like a bruise, is something else. Something tight, mean, and whispering all the wrong things.
But Beau is here. If I’m being honest, it’s hard as hell to be excited for Cooper when all I can think of is Beau somewhere in this arena and the fact that I haven’t seen him since that night. Since the quiet of his condo, where he kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him breathing, and I…
God, I left before the sun came up. Before I could talk myself into staying, before I could read the truth in his eyes and decide if it would save me or break me. I left him sleeping, his hand still curled around mine, the imprint of everything we didn’t say burned into my skin. It’s only been a few days. A few long, aching, quiet days. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe he’d call or show up or at least say something.
But he hasn’t called. Nothing but a few quick texts and a couple of those dumb emojis he sends me when words get stuck in his throat. Maybe he regrets it. Maybe this is his way of letting me know, without saying it, that whatever happened between us isn’t supposed to mean more than it did.
Except I felt him in every shuddered breath. Every rough, quiet sound in the dark. The way his hands held on like he wasn’t sure he could let go. Those hours weren’t just stolen moments; they were a shift I don’t even know how to explain. And now, here I am, sitting in the family box while the crowd buzzes beneath us, swept into a night that belongs to someone else. Cooper’s night. The Hendrix family’s night. I should be clapping, smiling, soaking up the nostalgia along with everyone else. Instead, I’m carrying a secret that doesn’t even have a name yet.
No one knows what happened between Beau and me. They know I have been trying, slowly and clumsily, to let him in, tostop holding him at arm’s length. But the way he touched me, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing tethering him to the world… that is not something I can share. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The noise is becoming overwhelming, even in here, so I slide my headphones over my ears, letting them muffle the sound and dull the edges. Just enough to make it manageable. I tug at my sleeves, fingers restless, as if fidgeting could shake this off. I don’t know what I’ll do if I see him. I don’t know what will show on my face or his if our eyes meet. So, I fold my hands in my lap, pretend I am just another supporter, and try to breathe past the weight of that night still pressed against my skin just as Auntie Mel shoves a jersey in my face.
“You arenotwalking in there with a neutral top,” she says, waving it like a battle flag. “This is Cooper’s last game. Youwillrepresent.”
She’s smiling, but her voice has that steel edge I’ve learned not to test.
I manage a small smile and take the jersey with both hands, running my thumb along the stitched letters ofHENDRIXacross the back. It’s soft from too many washes, broken in, and familiar. Everyone here knows what it means to show up and be loved. They’ve lived it, and I’m trying to live it, too, but my stomach has twisted into tight, nauseating knots since we left the house.
Every laugh, every bump of the shoulder, every bit of family banter on the way here, I wanted to let in. I tried to let it in. But I’m not really here, at least not all the way, because I don’t know how to be in this space anymore. This is my family, my friends, my people, but after the other night, everything feels different. After what happened, I don’t know how I’ll ever go back to the way things were before. This is what I was afraid of: theawkwardness of not knowing what this is and the silence that’s stretched between us like a canyon ever since.
I need to get a damn grip. It’s only been a few days. He probably has a million things to do to get ready for today’s game, not to mention the feelings he has to sort through. This is his big brother’s last game. This is the last time they’ll be on the ice together. That has to mean something to him. He needs time to process and sort out his feelings, so it makes perfect sense he hasn’t texted me once, right? Of course, and to be honest, I haven’t reached out either. Beau could be just as unsure about how to move forward as I am, although I doubt that.
“Are you just going to stand there and stare at it or put it on?” someone says, causing everyone to laugh at my expense.
I pull the jersey over my head with shaking hands, the soft fabric catching on my fingertips. The jersey is obviously too big for me, with the hem coming down almost to my knees. What else did Auntie Mel expect when every member of the Hendrix family is almost a foot taller than me? Maybe she’ll let me get away with just wearing a hoodie or something. I’m sure they have one lying around here somewhere.
As if she can sense what I’m thinking, Ramona links her arm through mine before I can adjust the hem.
“Do yourself a favor,” she murmurs. “Just wear it. You’ll save yourself a twenty-minute lecture and an unsolicited TED Talk about legacy.”
I huff out a breath, but my throat’s tight. “She would never?—”
Ramona raises an eyebrow as I glance up just in time to watch Auntie Mel fussing at Kyle. He’s halfway tangled in his jersey, arms pinned awkwardly inside the sleeves as he tries to yank it over his head.
This is my first time seeing Kyle Hendrix in person in almost a year. As the youngest of the bunch, he’s the chaos baby of the family, as I lovingly call him. I’ve known him forever, andhe’s always been equal parts troublemaker and golden child, depending on the day. Tonight, he’s here for Cooper’s last game, but everyone knows he’s getting ready to graduate from college and step into the draft for next season, like he’d ever choose anywhere else but home.
He looks older somehow, taller in ways that aren’t just about height. Broader through the shoulders, sharper around the jaw. My chaos baby grew up when I wasn’t looking, and for the first time, I can see the man he’s becoming right alongside the kid I’ll probably always see when I look at him. First Cooper stepping off the ice, now Kyle is about to take his first real steps onto it. It feels like everything is shifting at once, the whole family tilting into something new.
“Better practice getting that jersey on,” Ramona teases, sipping from her cup. “You’ll be pulling on one of your own soon enough.”
That earns her a round of smirks, and Cole pounces. “So, baby brother, you finally ready to admit you’re coming home to Portland?”
I mean, he is coming home to Portland, right? Where else would Kyle go but home, to the team his brothers play on, and his eldest brother coaches? The Timberwolves are a part of his DNA. But the gleam in his eyes tells me this must be one of his troublemaker days. The ones where he pushes buttons just to see how far they’ll go before someone snaps.
“Who says I’m coming here? Florida’s looking pretty good after winning the Cup this year,” Kyle responds, as he finally yanks the jersey down his body.
The box goes quiet for a beat, like he just announced he’s defecting to the enemy.
“You’d melt before the first period even started,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Heat builds character,” Kyle fires back, puffing his chest out like he’s already in the spotlight.
Ramona shakes her head, laughing. “Yeah, so does frostbite. You belong here, and we all know it.”
“Well, I guess someone’s gotta show these old men what real speed looks like on the wing.” Kyle tips his chin toward Cole with a devilish grin.
