Page 133 of Lighting the Lamp
The words shatter the standoff, leaving us all blinking at each other, strung tight and frayed, before the weight of what matters most drags us forward again.
None of us move right away. The air between us is still sharp, too much left unsaid, too much burning. Auntie Mel’s eyes glisten, but her chin holds steady. Cole’s jaw works like he’s grinding back every word he wants to hurl. Michele’s arms wrap tighter across her stomach as if holding herself together is the only way she won’t splinter.
Finally, I nod and step forward, because someone has to. “We’ll go,” I say, my voice low and hoarse.
The nurse gestures for us to follow, and the four of us fall in step. The tension doesn’t vanish. It trails with us down the hall,heavy as the squeak of the gurney wheels, each of us carrying the weight of anger and fear that refuses to let go.
The hallway blurs past in a smear of light and shadow, the squeak of the gurney wheels and the low hum of voices fading into white noise. My legs move automatically to keep pace, but everything else feels disconnected. It’s like my body’s still back in that trauma bay while the rest of me is being dragged forward.
A nurse falls into step with us, clipboard tucked under her arm, her tone brisk but calm. “We’ve got a room ready for him upstairs, 417. They’ll be waiting.”
Cole nods sharply, like the number is already burned into him. He glances at Michele, then at me, his jaw tight. “We’ll wait down here until Cooper and Ramona get here. They need to know where to go.”
Michele swallows hard, her voice unsteady but certain. “You and Ms. Mel go with him. He shouldn’t be alone if he wakes up.”
I can only nod, my throat too raw to answer. The nurses wheel Beau out of the trauma bay, and Auntie Mel and I follow them. We reach the elevator, and the sudden stillness when the doors slide shut is almost violent. No beeping monitor or anyone barking orders over my head, just the hum of the lift and the too-loud sound of my breathing.
My fingers are wrapped tight around Beau’s hand, clutching like if I let go, he might slip through the cracks of this moment and vanish. His skin is warm, but there’s no squeeze back this time, only the faint rhythm of his pulse against my palm.
The tension doesn’t leave with the hallway. It thickens in the elevator, filling every corner until it’s hard to breathe. Auntie Mel stands rigid, her shoulders squared like armor, but her eyes keep darting to where my hand grips Beau’s. Michele’s last words echo in my head, the image of her face pale and wet with tears, and Cole’s fists still clenched as if he can hold back the whole world by sheer will.
I hold tighter to Beau’s hand, the bones of my knuckles aching, my thumb brushing slow circles across his skin. It’s the only thing tethering me in place while the fury and fear in the elevator press against me from every side.
The silence is thick, brittle as glass. I want to scream. I want to shake them all until the words spill out and the air clears. Instead, I lean closer to Beau, whispering against the faint rise and fall of his chest. “I’ve got you. I’m not letting go.”
No one answers. The only sound is the ding of the elevator as it climbs, each chime striking like a hammer, and the ragged breaths we’re all trying too hard to hide.
I can feel my pulse in my fingertips, in the ache in my chest, in the tremor I can’t quite hide. The elevator hums around us, Beau’s shallow breaths the only thing tethering me in place.
The elevator doors open into a hallway washed in unforgiving fluorescent light, the kind that makes every shadow sharper. Nurses and Patient Care Assistants (PCAs) move around us in quiet efficiency, their faces unreadable, their voices hushed as they attend to their patients. I stay at Beau’s side, my hand locked around his, following the gurney like I’m tethered to it.
The brittle calm I force onto my face is paper-thin. The argument with Auntie Mel still burns hot in my chest, the unanswered questions simmering until they taste like acid on my tongue. Every so often, my grip on Beau’s hand tightens. It’s not that I think he’ll slip away in these few steps but because I can’t risk the feeling of him fading from my palm.
They wheel him into a private room upstairs. The moment they lock the bed in place, the bustle starts all over again: nurses checking lines, adjusting the monitors, and noting vitals. I edge closer, claiming the space at his side before anyone can ask me to step back. I haven’t let go of his hand since we made our way up here from the ER, and I’m not about to now. The steady beepof the monitor is the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely.
His eyes are closed, his face slack, and the healthy flush of his skin has practically drained away. Every minute he stays like this twists the knife deeper into the center of my chest. My mind tries not to think of all the horrible things that could’ve happened as my thumb strokes over his knuckles in slow, steady passes, the motion as much for me as for him.
“Beau,” I whisper, leaning close to his ear to ensure he hears me. “It’s me. You’re okay. You scared the hell out of me, but you’re okay.”
I wait a minute or two, long enough for the beeping of the monitor to crawl under my skin and lodge there, hoping he’ll grunt, blink, something, but there’s nothing.
The room is quiet except for the soft hiss of the oxygen and the steady blip of the monitor. Auntie Mel sits in the corner, her hands folded tight in her lap, eyes fixed on Beau like she can will him to stay put. It’s just us—me anchored at his side and her keeping watch—until I feel something twitch against mine. It’s the smallest movement, but it slams into me like a tidal wave.
“Beau?” My breath catches so sharply it hurts, a jagged stab beneath my ribs.
His eyelids flutter before they finally lift. The confusion hits him first, his gaze darting around the room, trying to anchor itself in something familiar.
“Lisey?” His voice is rough, scraped raw, but it’s there.
“Yeah, I’m right here.” My hand tightens on his instinctively, needing him to feel it. “Don’t move too fast. You passed out at the house.”
“I… what?” He blinks, brows drawing together like the memory is already a shadow slipping out of reach.
“You went down,” I whisper, my throat thick. “Cole and I caught you. Michele was there. EMTs brought you here. You’ve been out for a while.”
He tilts his head just enough for me to catch the flicker of mischief so faint I almost think I imagined it. “So, what you’re saying is I just wanted an excuse to get you into bed again?”
“Beau—” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to, but the anger is already climbing my spine, curling hot and tight beneath my skin.
