Page 20 of Lighting the Lamp
“You’ve been there for me more times than I can count, Beau. You sat with me during panic attacks, held my hand, and helped me breathe when the world felt too loud. You never asked for anything in return.” My voice cracks, but I don’t care because I want him to hear this. “So if I can be that for you now and make this just a little less terrifying, I want to because you deserve an anchor, too.”
I close my eyes, forehead pressing lightly to his. For weeks, I’ve watched him unravel in silence. Seen the exhaustion under his eyes, the quiet flinches, and heard the hollowness behind his jokes. He thought he was hiding it, but I’ve seen those cracks before. It’s like looking in a mirror at my reflection.
His hand tightens around mine again, not in panic this time, but something steadier. “Did Coach really mean it? IR until the playoffs?”
I pause, wanting to lie to him, but decide against it. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s over.”
He doesn’t answer, but I hear the slight hitch in his breathing. The way his jaw tightens and his shoulders curl inward again, like he’s trying to disappear into himself. His knee bounces up and down rapidly, shaking the entire bed. I know that feeling. The spiral is coming back, quieter this time, but no less dangerous.
I drop onto the bed beside him, still holding his hand, and watch him closely. His grip tightens suddenly, as if he’s trying to stop the freefall with sheer force. I can see exactly what’s flashing through his head. He’s terrified of losing hockey, hisplace in the world. He’s terrified that if he’s not in the net, he’s nothing because Beau isn’t just a player. He’s the constant. The glue. The quiet, dependable one who’s held his brothers and the Timberwolves together through every disaster, every loss. And if he breaks now, after everything that happened with Cole, what happens then?
What happens to the fragile bond Cole’s just started rebuilding with Cooper? Will that fall apart again if Beau’s not there, a few doors down, to keep the peace? Will they still need him? Will everything he’s sacrificed still not be enough?
“I c-can’t—” He stutters, unable to finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. I can feel what he’s saying in the way he shakes.
“Beau.” My voice is firm now, grounding. “Stop it right now.”
His head jerks like I just snapped a cord inside him.
“You can’t do anything for anyone else until you take care of yourself,” I say, pressing his hand against my chest. “You can’t keep everyone else together if you’re bleeding out. You can’t be the glue, the big brother, the teammate, the peacekeeper if you don’t start with you.”
He tries to argue, but a helpless and broken sound escapes him.
“You’re allowed to need rest. You’re allowed to fall apart. Neither of those things makes you weak, Beau.” I pause, letting him hear every word. “It makes you real.”
His shoulders shake with grief, and I hold him closer, letting him feel my breath against his temple. “You’ve been holding everything up for so long, it’s no wonder you’re collapsing.”
Finally, he speaks, so quietly I almost miss it.
“He took everything away from me. Everything I’ve worked for. Everything I am.”
“No,” I whisper, leaning into him. “He didn’t.”
“You don’t understand.” He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and the fear in his eyes cuts me clean. “I am hockey, Alise. That’s all I’ve ever been.”
I hold his face between my palms, gentle but unyielding. “You’re still you, Beau. And that has always been enough.”
He blinks, lashes wet, breath shuddering.
“You were never just hockey to me or anyone else in our makeshift family. We all see you, Beau. The person behind all of that. The person you rarely let anyone see.”
His throat works around a hard swallow, like he’s trying to bury the ache, but it’s already out in the open. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
“I know it doesn’t feel like that now, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”
He doesn’t answer, just leans forward until his forehead touches mine again. His hands, still trembling slightly, stay laced in mine. “I don’t know how to stop and just be if I’m not pushing.”
“Then let me help you learn.”
He exhales shakily. His walls aren’t down, not fully, but something has shifted.
“I think more of you,” I say again, softer this time, barely more than a breath. “Not less. Never less.”
And when his fingers squeeze mine, I know he hears and believes me. Maybe not all the way yet, but enough to try, and that’s all I can ask for. We stay like that for a long time until he lifts his head. His eyes are red-rimmed and unfocused, but I don’t ask him to say anything.
“You’ve done this for me so many times. Let me do it for you now.”
Beau leans back slowly, one arm draped across his middle, the other swiping beneath his eyes with the heel of his hand like he’s trying to erase everything that just happened. His mouthtwitches, but not quite a smile. “Guess that means I’m not allowed to joke about faking my death and running off into the woods, huh?”
