Page 80 of Lighting the Lamp
At my cardiology follow-up a few days ago, they finally peeled off the damn CAM. Thirty days of sticky edges and constant reminders that I wasn’t invincible were gone in thirty seconds. The results aren’t going to be back for at least a few days, which feels like the cruelest part. I might finally be free of the monitor, but not the weight of what it might say.
The only win was Dr. Conway signing off on my release for full play again. No obvious showed up during my appointment, so for now, I’m cleared. Cleared to practice. Cleared to suit up for games. Cleared to pretend I’m still the guy I was before all this.
But “cleared” doesn’t mean safe, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean cured. My fingers twitch toward my chest like they’re reaching for the monitor that isn’t there anymore, only to curl into a fist halfway down. Even without the wires and adhesive,the ghost of it lingers, a reminder that I’m still waiting for results that could change everything.
My body thrums with energy. No hesitation, fog, or pain. Just me, the ice, and the rhythm I’ve been chasing since the day I could walk. My blades slice clean across the surface like they’re an extension of me. My gear clings to my body, heavy and familiar, like armor I was born to wear. Every muscle lights up with that fire I thought I’d lost. That deep, electric knowing that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
From the far blue line, Jace’s voice carries across the rink like a cannon shot. “Look what the Zamboni dragged in! Didn’t know we were running a Make-A-Wish program now.”
“Careful, rookie. They cleared me for contact, and you are first on my list.”
“You wish, Grandpa.”
“I will humble you so fast you’ll forget how to spell your own name.”
Jace barks a laugh and flips me off as I skate past him, tapping my stick against his. The entire interaction is juvenile and exactly what I need.
“Someone get the defibrillator!” Crosby yells. “Pretty sure I just saw Beau Hendrix smile.”
“Hey, shut up,” I say, but my grin stretches wide beneath my mask. I’m usually the serious one on the ice, much like Cooper, but today, I can’t help it. This is everything.
“Glad you’re back, little bro,” Cooper says as he cruises by me, giving me a soft tap on the back of my helmet.
“Me, too.” I nod, throat tight.
And I am. God, I am so glad to be back. Being here on the ice, surrounded by the chaos of my team, is like someone flipped the lights back on in my chest. For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not thinking about test results or afraid I mightexperience flare-ups. I’m thinking about hockey, and for right now, that feels like enough.
Assistant Coach Cassidy blows his whistle, and we scatter into position. I skate into the crease and take a deep breath, letting the cold bite into my lungs. It doesn’t hurt. Not even a little, but then I see him.
Mercer leans against the boards like he still belongs here. His arms are crossed, jaw tight with the same smug, hollow look in his eyes that’s haunted every practice for most of the season. He just stands there, eyes locking with mine, like he didn’t spend the last few months tearing me down every chance he got. As if he didn’t call me a liability and berate the entire team in the middle of a game a few weeks ago. The man has made me question every single part of my game, my instincts, my worth, and my place on this team ever since I collapsed at practice.
My gut twists, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle with tension, like my body remembers every word he ever spat at me. Every doubt. Every time he made me feel like I wasn’t enough, even on my best damn days. Rage flickers through me, hot and sharp, as I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache.
All those hours I spent second-guessing myself, all the nights I went home and stared at my ceiling, wondering if maybe he was right. If maybe I wasn’t enough. Maybe I’d already peaked and didn’t even know it. He made me hate myself and question my place on this team, a member of this family. And now he’s just standing there, his eyes cool and calculating, probably searching for another way to make a Hendrix pay for a problem of his own making.
“What the hell ishedoing here?” I snap, my voice rough, my pulse hammering.
“Management made him bring his ass back for now,” Cooper responds, not missing a beat as he skates by. “His suspension is still active after he walked out mid-game, but they haven’tdecided what to do with him yet. He’s a loose cannon, and everyone knows it.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Later.” He grins, sharp and secretive, like he’s been waiting for this moment for weeks.
“Coop.” I reach out, grabbing his elbow, my fingers digging in through the padding. “You can’t just say that and skate off.”
“Practice first.” He jerks his chin toward center ice, already moving.
“Fine.” I narrow my eyes, but my brain’s already spinning. “But I’m calling Cole. He’ll want to be in on anything to bring that asshole pain. Meet at my place tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
I turn back to the crease, but the fire doesn’t leave my chest. It churns there, raw and restless. Mercer’s still watching me like nothing’s changed, but it has. If I have anything to say about it, I won’t go down so easily this time.
Coach Cassidy blows the next whistle, and just like that, the world narrows.
Practice kicks off with simple zone drills. Nothing intense, just enough to shake off the rust, but from the first shot, I’m locked in. Every time I move, it’s nothing but pure instinct. My reads are razor-sharp. My legs move like they’ve never missed a beat, and they remember who I am.
Declan fires one low, glove-side, but I snag it without blinking. Crosby crashes the net on a two-on-one, and I track him all the way through, stuffing him at the post like I never left.
