Page 60 of Lighting the Lamp
“Then stop acting like she is.”
“She hasn’t called, Cole. Not once. I told her I’d wait—and I meant it—but it’s been over a week. Every day that goes by feels like another brick in a wall she’s building between us.”
I shoot him a sharp look, and my hands curl into fists so tight my knuckles ache as the words scrape out of me, raw and brittle.
“It feels like maybe I made the whole damn thing up. That I mistook the way she looked at me and imagined it all.”
“You didn’t. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. It’s like you’re the only thing in the room that matters. It’s been like that for years. I’m surprised you didn’t notice before now.”
Did I not notice before last week, when she saw me at my worst, or did I choose to keep my head in the sand? The fear of losing my safe place, my anchor, clouding my vision. I swallow hard, trying to find the answer to all these questions, but I come up empty. The only thing I find is more questions.
“Then why the silence?” My voice cracks on the last word.
He doesn’t have an answer to that, and neither do I. I just keep staring out at the ice where Cole stood twenty minutes ago. I can still see his shape out there, how easily he moved, like his body still belonged to him. Acting like someone hadn’t stolen the game from his hands and he isn’t fighting tooth and nail to get it back. He’s fighting with every fiber of his being, but where does that leave me? I’m in limbo, waiting to find out if they’ll give methe chance to fight. My chest pulses with an ache no one can see, but I’d trade anything to feel my blades cut into that ice again. For a chance to fight for whatever this is between Alise and me. Neither of which is something in my control. All I can do is sit here and wait for someone else to decide my fate.
The bench creaks, and I brace myself for Cole’s goodbye, some last nugget of well-meaning wisdom before he skates off like this was just another brotherly check-in, but another voice cuts through the air.
“Cole.”
Cooper stops in front of us, voice clipped and all business, already in coach mode. He stands a few feet away, whistle swinging from his fingers like it belongs there, like it’s always been a part of him. And that’s what gets me. He’s still technically a player, but you wouldn’t know it from the way he’s running drills, barking orders, and pulling the guys into line like this is already his team.
He slips into the role too damn easily, but maybe that’s the point. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s already working on a way to push Mercer out of the picture sooner rather than later. Hell, after the coach’s meltdown on the bench last game, management’s got to be having conversations. They’d be stupid not to, and Cooper has always been good at stepping in when things fall apart.
“What?”
“You’re not done skating.” Cooper nods toward the rink. “Ten more laps.”
Cole hesitates, glancing at me like he’s trying to read the spiderweb of cracks across my face. “Beau?—”
“I’ve got Beau,” Cooper says, voice low but firm.
I keep my eyes on the ice. Cooper’s always been good at reading me, but right now, I can’t handle his stare. Not when the CAM feels like it’s burning a hole through my chest. I shiftagain, adjusting my hoodie, willing myself to stay still. If either of them notices, they don’t say anything. And just like that, Cole pushes to his feet and heads for the gate. No more words, just the clean slice of blades on ice, the sound of someone who still gets to move.
Cooper doesn’t speak right away. He just lowers himself beside me, like he’s done a hundred times before—legs braced wide, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them. The same familiar, grounded stillness I expect from my older brother. He sits close enough to steady me if I break apart, but not close enough to force it. Just like after every brutal loss we never talked about but always survived.
Every inch of me is on high alert. The weight of his shoulder just a foot from mine makes me itch to fold my arms across my chest, to shield the monitor like it’s a secret. I can’t afford for anyone else to know. I stay still, fighting the urge, praying the damn thing doesn’t shift under the fabric.
The quiet stretches until I think it might swallow me whole. Then his voice cuts through it, low and steady, like it’s been waiting for me to catch up.
“You love her.”
It’s not a question, but a statement. I nod, the sharp motion feeling too small for everything swelling in my chest.
“She won’t even look at me, Coop.”
“Doesn’t matter. You need to do whatever you can to show her how you feel, even when she’s pushing you away. Actually,especiallywhen she is trying to push you away.” His gaze stays forward, but his voice doesn’t waver.
I let the silence fall again, this time on purpose. I need a second to breathe around the pressure building behind my ribs, and without meaning to, the words come out raw and low.
“How do you know that’s what’s wrong with me?” My voice cracks like I’ve already broken. “How do you know it’s not justhockey—that I’m not just pissed I can’t be out there with you? That I’m not spiraling because I’ve lost the only thing I’ve ever been good at?”
Cooper turns his head, finally meeting my eyes.
“I’ve seen you after losses. I’ve seen you injured, benched, and scratched from the starting lineup. Yeah, it fucked with your head, but it never gutted you like this.”
I shake my head, jaw tight, but he keeps going.
“You’re angry. You’re scared and adrift, probably already fucking mourning the game, but this?” He gestures toward me, all slumped shoulders and hollowed-out breath. “This isn’t just the look of a guy who’s lost his footing on the ice, but someone who has lost a piece of his soul. And I’ve only ever seen that kind of look once.”
