Chapter 3 – Alise #2
I should text Cooper. Or Ramona. Or maybe Parker.
I don’t want to set off alarm bells if it’s just me overthinking.
But it’s hard not to when someone you love starts shrinking in slow, invisible ways.
Like he’s fading, inch by inch, and no one else has noticed yet.
However, if it is nothing, Beau would hate me for butting in.
He’s private, guarded in that quiet, stubborn way of his.
And if something’s wrong… he’ll only tell someone if he thinks it’s on his terms.
Still, he should’ve seen a doctor like I begged him to do months ago, even if it was just to rule things out, but he refused.
Beau plays through bruised ribs, skates through migraines, and hides pain like it’s a game to win because that’s who he is as a person.
The protector. The impenetrable wall surrounding everyone he cares about, protecting them from harm.
The guy who runs towards the fight so no one else has to.
But tonight was different in a way I can’t really explain, even if only for a second.
I tuck my knees tighter to my chest and stare at the message for another full minute. Still no response. No read receipt. No typing bubbles. Nothing.
My chest tightens, ribs squeezing around something sharp and invisible. I try to take a deep breath, but it catches halfway, like there’s not enough space inside me to hold it all. Not tonight. I can feel it in my gut; something is off.
I close my eyes, breathing slow and steady, trying to ease the weight pressing behind my ribs.
What if he’s sick? What if he’s not telling anyone because he’s scared?
That thought terrifies me more than anything else because if Beau’s scared, he won’t lean on anyone.
He’ll go silent and try to carry it alone until something gives out.
“Nope. Not today, Satan,” I whisper into the empty room and shove the blanket off my lap.
Sleep isn’t happening until he either texts me back or I get some notification he isn’t lying dead on a tarmac somewhere.
Panic wells in my chest again, but I squash it down.
He is fine. Cooper is fine. They are all fucking fine, and my brain needs to fuck right off because I don’t have time to spiral.
I pace in tight circles through the living room, willing my racing heart to take a chill pill. The Christmas lights glow softly in the corner; the house is quiet and still. Momma went to bed hours ago after falling asleep during one of her murder shows again.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, inhaling deeply before walking into the kitchen and flicking on the light. The brightness buzzes against my eyes, but I welcome the distraction.
Keep moving. Don’t sit still. If you sit still, you’ll start thinking. And if you think too long, you’ll unravel.
So, I go to the cabinet and pull down the pill organizer, setting it on the table like it’s sacred.
One for each day of the week, plus the spares.
I know Momma’s dosages by heart. Morning and night.
Her high blood pressure pills, the ones for her thyroid, and the newer ones that help manage her neuropathy are all in their place.
Left hand: Open the compartments.
Right hand: Open the pill bottle, grab a pill, and then drop it into the correct slot.
Breathe. Count. Repeat.
Usually, neatly filling each compartment calms me.
It should calm me now, but not tonight. Because while I’m doing everything right—taking care of Momma, making sure Cooper and Ramona’s wedding isn’t a total disaster, helping with favors and RSVP spreadsheets and playlist drafts—he’s out there somewhere, not answering my text.
Although it takes me longer than usual, I finish sorting the pills and close the organizer, snapping the lids shut harder than necessary.
I grab my laptop and sit at the dining table, pulling up the wedding planning spreadsheet.
The one I made without being asked. The one Ramona keeps telling me not to stress over but secretly depends on.
The one I meticulously keep up to date because it makes things easier for her. Because it’s what she needs.
I scroll down the vendor list and start formatting cells.
Recoloring rows. Rechecking deposits I’ve already checked five times before.
It’s completely unnecessary, but at least it keeps my hands busy, even though I glance at my phone that sits a few inches away every few minutes, just in case he texts me back.
Even if it’s just a thumbs-up emoji, I’d take anything at this point.
But nothing comes.
The silence claws at my sanity as I close my laptop and push back from the table. My skin itches as I press a palm to my chest like that’ll help keep my heart from vibrating out of my body. I wish I could say this was new, but I’ve lived with this kind of panic my whole life.
Loud noises. Crowds. Silence that lasts too long. People I love drifting too far away. It all sends the same message to my brain: You’re not safe. Fix it. Do something. Now.
I pace a few more slow laps through the living room, the pill organizer now sitting closed and perfect on the kitchen counter.
But the longer my phone stays silent, the louder the panic gets.
He should’ve at least read it by now. Maybe he didn’t see it.
Maybe he’s asleep. Maybe something’s wrong.
No matter what the reason is for his lack of response, I don’t know what else I can do but sit here and wait.
I try to push the thought down, but it doesn’t stay buried.
Finally, I snatch my phone off the table and scroll to Ramona’s contact, hitting the call before I can change my mind.
It rings twice before she picks up, her voice groggy but warm. “Alise?”
“Hey, I’m sorry—were you asleep?”
“No,” she lies gently, followed by the unmistakable sound of her rolling out of bed. “I was just dozing. Everything okay?”
I walk back to the kitchen and press my palm to the counter, grounding myself. “Yeah. I just… I was watching the game. Beau didn’t look great tonight.”
There’s a pause on the other end. “Yeah, Cooper said something about him being off all game. I thought maybe he was getting sick or something.”
If Cooper is worried, then this must be an even bigger deal than I thought.
But the bigger question is, why isn’t someone doing something about it?
Cooper should have made him sit his ass down and rest or whatever they do when they aren’t on the ice.
Something to make sure he will be okay, at least for tonight, and that he can make it home safe and sound, but they let him play an entire game like that, just to make sure they put another W in the win column.
I want to rage at the world right now, but none of this is Mona’s fault. Instead, I inhale deeply and ask the first thing that pops into my mind. “Did they land okay?”
“As far as I know. Coop texted me when they boarded, but I haven’t heard anything since.” I hear her move through her place, probably grabbing a glass of water like she always does when she’s trying to wake up enough to talk through something. “Why? Did something else happen?”
“No. I just—” I bite my lip hard, wondering if I should even say anything at all, but if anyone understands the panic I’m feeling right now, it’s her. “Beau hasn’t responded to my happy birthday text. I know it’s late, and he’s probably exhausted, but…”
“But it’s Beau, and he always texts back.”
I let out a breath of relief, just hearing someone else say it. “Exactly.”
Ramona’s voice drops into that soothing, practical cadence that always feels like a hand on my back. “You’re worried.”
“I’ve been worried for months.” I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing around the lump rising in my throat.
“He’s tired all the time. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.
He doesn’t talk about anything real anymore, just hockey and surface stuff.
And tonight, on the ice, it was like watching someone wind down in real time. ”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“I’ve tried for weeks. We all have, but he brushes it off, makes a joke, or changes the subject. I know he doesn’t want to add any stress with everything going on with Cole, but…” My voice cracks slightly.
“But you’re worried about him.”
“Yes. I just want him to prioritize himself for once in his life. But I also don’t want to push him. You know how he is when he feels cornered.”
“Yeah.” A soft sigh filters through the speaker. “I know.”
I slide down onto one of the kitchen stools, resting my forehead in my hand.
“I feel like I’m holding this house together, my mom’s meds and appointments, your wedding stuff, and I’m doing it all.
I’m fine, but Ramona, I’m not fine. I’m so tired.
And I can’t stop thinking that something’s really wrong with him. ”
There’s a long silence. Not awkward, just full of everything she wants to say and everything I don’t want to hear out loud.
“You’re not alone in this,” she says quietly.
“I know it feels like it, and I know you’re carrying too much, like always.
But I’ll talk to Cooper in the morning, okay?
I’m sure he has already talked to Beau about going to see the team doctor.
If he hasn’t, I’ll get him to feel Beau out.
If he won’t talk to you, maybe he’ll talk to his brother. ”
I nod, even though she can’t see it. “Okay. Thanks.”
“You want to stay on the line a little while?” she asks. “Or do you want me to come over?”
“No. No, I’m okay. I’m gonna try to sleep.”
“Promise me you’ll try.”
“I promise.”
“Love you.”
“I know.” I hang up and set the phone down gently.
The silence feels less sharp now, but the ache in my chest is still there. Beau’s still not responding, but at least now I’m not the only one who has noticed.
Feeling marginally better, I shut off all the lights and check on Momma before heading back to my room.
She’s fast asleep, curled on her side. I stand there for a few moments longer than necessary, watching the soft rise and fall of her breathing, which is just barely visible under the comforter, before gently closing the door behind me.
But I don’t go back to my room. I stand alone in the hallway, staring down the dark corridor like it might give me an answer. I don’t cry. I never do. Not unless I’m alone, with the water running.
I’m a good daughter. The responsible one.
The one who says it’s fine even when it’s not, because someone has to.
But tonight, for some reason, the weight is heavier than usual, and the one person I want to talk to about it—the only person who’s ever really seen me—is the same one I’m most afraid of losing.
Please be okay, Beau. Just… please.