Page 67 of Lighting the Lamp
This sucks.
My thumb hovers over the button, and I want to delete it, but I hit send instead. I probably should have said something more eloquent or heartwarming as my first message, but that wouldn’t be me. It wouldn’t be us. Besides, this does suck, and I’m done pretending like I’m fine with this space between us.
I stare at the phone, willing her to respond, when, after a few seconds, the customary three dots appear. My heart lurches in my chest, hope slamming into me so fast I almost choke on it. But as quickly as they appear, they’re gone. Moments pass, then minutes, then potentially hours, but my screen stays black. No reply. No words. Just more suffocating silence that settles around me like thick smoke, crawling into my lungs until it’s hard to breathe.
I stare at the porch light still glowing like it’s trying to offer something I don’t deserve. She hasn’t turned it off, but she hasn’t opened the door either. Some part of me feels that the light is for me, so I let go of the steering wheel and lean back, sink down into the seat, and continue to stare at the light.
I’m not going anywhere. Not because I don’t have anywhere else to go, but because leaving would feel like giving up on her. On us. I’m not sure how much time passes, but the cold seeps through my jeans, and my back aches from sitting still too long, but none of that matters because the porch light is still on.
That stupid little warm glow, still lit like maybe she’ll come out. Maybe she’ll change her mind and open the door, then run after me like in a fucking movie. But this isn’t a movie, and I’m not the guy who gets the girl in the last five minutes.
I press my forehead to the steering wheel and try to breathe around the knot in my chest, but it doesn’t move. I’m not angry, and that’s probably the worst part of all of this. I’m not mad at her for closing the door. I’m mad at myself for hoping that a simple bag of gummy bears and a smile would be enough. That she’d wrap her arms around me and we’d live happily ever after.A part of me knows that her silence is more than just coming to terms with the potential changes in our relationship. I saw it in her eyes, the way the world had gotten too loud, and she locked herself inside herself like it was the only place she could be.
She’s not pushing me away to hurt me. She’s doing it because she thinks I’d be better off. And the worst part is that I almost agree with her. Only almost, because yeah, I’ve got enough shit to deal with. My body’s falling apart, my career’s hanging by a thread, and our little found family could implode if this goes badly, but she’s the one thing that has ever felt like mine. The one thing that made all the noise go quiet. I would carry her and everything else if she’d just let me.
I reach for my phone in the cup holder, screen dimmed, fingers hovering like maybe I’ll try again. I’m still searching for the right words when the screen lights up with Cole’s name. For a second, I consider ignoring it. I don’t have the bandwidth for anyone right now, but I answer against my better judgment.
“Yeah?”
Too much silence and not enough sleep has made my voice raw. It scrapes out of me like gravel, low and hoarse and a little lost. There’s a pause on the other end, like he wasn’t expecting me to pick up, just soft, even breathing that speaks volumes.
“Damn, you sound like shit.”
“Thanks.” I huff out something that might be a laugh, but it dies halfway up my throat.
“Seriously. You good?”
I let the question sit there as I stare out the windshield like the answer is hiding in the porch light still burning against the morning light. I press the heel of my palm into my eye until I see stars, anything to push back the burn before answering.
“Define good.”
There’s another pause, longer this time, like he’s waiting for me to elaborate. Cole and I have been talking to each otherabout everything since he came home to Redwood Falls, and even more so since he started counseling. I’ve missed my baby brother and his calming presence that doesn’t feel the need to do something or fix what’s wrong through actions like Cooper. Cole will just sit next to you in silence until you’re ready to tell him what’s eating away at you.
“You still with the pint-size terror?”
“You know she fucking hates you calling her that, right?”
“Yes, I do. Hence, the reason I keep doing it. If she didn’t completely lose it every time I said it, it would cease to amuse me. Then I’d have to find something else to call her to push her buttons.” Cole chuckles softly. “Nice attempt to change the subject, by the way. Are you there or not?”
“Why do you think I’m at Alise’s house?” My whole body goes still, hand tightening around the phone.
“A little birdie may have hinted at it.”
“Ramona or Cooper?” I exhale sharply through my nose.
The line goes quiet again, and I can practically hear the gears grinding in his head, trying to assemble a halfway decent lie out of duct tape and hope. Then, finally, with a sigh that saysDon’t make me say it, he mutters, “Does it matter?”
“Cole.”
“You know how it goes, man. One person saw your truck, and someone else saw you at practice, looking like you haven’t slept in a week and got ghosted by your own soul. Michele asked Cooper what was going on after practice. Ramona put all the pieces together. I might’ve… gotten a group text.”
My eyes close as bitter amusement curls in my chest like smoke. Growing up, the Hendrix household ran on sarcasm, shoulder punches, and unspoken loyalty you don’t question yet bleed for. We could keep secrets locked down tighter than Fort Knox from the outside—steel-trap mouths and don’t-ask-don’t-tell energy. We could go months pretending we were fine,brushing pain under the rug with grunts and game stats, but the second one of us cracked? It was a full broadcast. No filter. No delay. One person hears, and then suddenly it’s a group chat, complete with emotional damage updates, unsolicited advice, and a barrage of emojis.
“A group text,” I echo flatly.
“With emojis,” Cole deadpans in confirmation. “Broken heart, ghost, dumpster fire, cowboy hat. The cowboy was Cooper, I think.”
Of course, there were emojis. I let out a ragged exhale, and the side of my head presses against the cold glass of the window. I huff a sound that might’ve once been a laugh but barely makes it past my lips before dissolving.
