Chapter 5 – Beau
Chapter Five
Beau
Something tugs at me from the dark, like a hand has reached down and grabbed hold of me.
A part of me wants to stay in the darkness without a care in the world, but there’s a stronger part of me pushing me toward the light.
A pull low in my gut, dragging me slowly toward the surface one inch at a time, but I can’t move or breathe right.
My chest is tight, like someone strapped a weight to it.
Each breath rasps in slow and ragged, shallow and impossibly hard to continue, but I do.
My ears are useless at first, but then sound bleeds through in patches. Distant at first. A dull beep. A machine humming. The scratch of Velcro as it’s adjusted. The subtle squeak of shoes against tile. And then muffled voices, like someone turned the volume way down and pressed fast-forward.
“You should’ve said something sooner—”
“Don’t yell in here.”
My eyelids feel fused shut, sealed with heat and grit.
Everything burns behind them. My head throbs, not in pulses, but in constant pressure, like it’s trapped in a vise and someone’s still tightening it.
A scent curls around me—disinfectant, bleach, and latex—and my stomach lurches, causing me to gag.
Where the hell am I?
I try to move my fingers on my left hand, and then my right, but nothing happens.
It’s like commanding someone else’s body to move as the numbness slowly recedes.
My thumb twitches, and a dull aching pain that reverberates through my entire arm is the answer I receive.
The loud rhythmic beeping of a machine fills the room as a shadow shifts near me.
The pressure in my chest grows as I force my eyes open, needing to see what’s going on, where I am, and who is watching over me.
Light punches through my skull like a sledgehammer, and I flinch, my body barely responding to the movement.
Everything is buzzing around me as the ceiling above me sways, or maybe it’s me.
There’s something pressed across the cheekbones, my cheeks itching in the same place.
My nostrils flare against the sting of oxygen and plastic. Tubing. It must be tubing.
A harsh breath claws at my throat as I try to speak, wanting to ask where I am and why I’m having such a hard time moving.
Nothing comes out on my first attempt, but I try again.
I just need to say one word, a name, anything, but my mouth feels like sandpaper.
Every muscle in my body trembles under my skin, as if it’s still fighting an invisible battle even though it’s clear I’ve already lost.
I blink hard, willing my eyes to focus on what’s around me. My vision sharpens further, the dark shadows sharpening around me, and then I hear it.
“He always downplays this stuff, Coop. I can’t turn a blind eye to what’s going on, not after he collapsed on the goddamn ice. We can’t—”
That voice, steady but filled with so much controlled rage, must be Parker.
Another voice slices through, louder and rawer with emotion.
“He lied to me. Beau told me the doc cleared him. You think I wouldn’t have dragged him to the hospital myself if I’d known? Don’t put this on me, Parker—”
“I’m not blaming you, Coop. The doctor did clear him; he just omitted a few key details about what else he said.”
Something sharp lodges in my chest at the sound of my big brother’s voice.
I don’t have to see him to know Cooper is pacing the room like a caged animal, his anger coiled tight enough to snap.
Parker’s trying to keep his voice down, but the tension in his words is like static.
It buzzes through the air, thick enough to choke on.
I blink again, the edges of the world coming a little more into focus. Fluorescent lights. A hospital curtain. Wires taped to my skin. Relentless beeping. Cooper and Parker fighting over what to do next because I screwed up.
Cooper spins around to face Parker, his eyes wild as his fists flex at his sides. “You think this is about lying? You think this is just a bad judgment call? He scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m right here,” I rasp, needing him to know that I’m awake and fine. Well, not exactly fine. I am in a hospital bed, but that’s a step up from being passed out in a hospital bed.
Both men freeze for half a second, Cooper ready to rush to my bedside, but Parker grips his arm. “Don’t crowd him.”
“I’m not crowding him. I just…” His voice cracks, full of something I don’t want to name.
“I’m o—” I begin, but Cooper cuts me off.
“If you fucking say you are fine, or any variations of that phrase, while you are lying in a hospital bed, I will punch you.”
“Then how do you expect me to get out of here if you plan on continuing to injure me?” I ask, chuckling softly before groaning.
“This isn’t funny, Beau. You had a premature atrial contraction, or PAC for short, right on the ice. We managed to get you stable at the rink before transporting you to the hospital.”
“A what?” I ask, pushing myself up too fast, causing the room to tilt sideways.
“Sit still,” Cooper growls, coming to my bedside and slowly raising the top of the bed so I’m completely upright. “Better?”
“I said I was fine.”
“I think we’ve already discussed the fact+ that you aren’t fine,” Parker says, crossing his arms over his chest. “To answer your earlier question, in layman’s terms, your heart skipped a beat and you passed out.”
Before I can even process what he said, the curtain snaps back with a violent swish.
“Where is he?”
Alise’s voice barrels through the room like a storm front, ragged, desperate, and already on the edge of breaking.
Every syllable vibrates with urgency and desperation to see me with her own two eyes.
She doesn’t even stop to wait for them to answer.
Her boots hammer against the tile in a panicked staccato as she charges in, shouldering past Cooper and Parker like they don’t exist.
Her eyes lock on me, and she stops cold. It’s like someone sucked the air out of her lungs. “Jesus, Beau.”
She’s beside my bed in seconds. Her hands flutter frantically across my arms, chest, face—checking for blood, bruises, or broken bones.
Her fingers tremble hard against my skin as I take in her appearance.
Her coat hangs off one arm, her bag sliding down to her elbow.
She’s looped her favorite noise-canceling headphones haphazardly around her neck, and they bounce with every frantic move.
Her afro looks untamed, curls pointing in every direction, and mascara is smudged beneath her eyes like she hasn’t stopped crying since someone told her what happened.
And it’s my fault. The truth slams into me like a puck to the ribs. She’s unraveling because of me. I pushed too hard and ignored the signs. I didn’t tell her or anyone else that something had been wrong for a long time, but I was too stubborn to admit it.
“Are you hurt?” she demands, voice cracking at the edges. “Did you hit your head? Why didn’t someone call me?”
“Alise—” I try, but my voice comes out weak.
She doesn’t let me say anything else; her face is full of rage as she spins around and storms toward Cooper.
“You told me he was fine!” Her voice is sharper than I’ve ever heard it. It’s not just anger; it’s betrayal wrapped in terror. “You said he was fine, Cooper! If he was so goddamn fine, why the hell is he in a hospital bed?”
Cooper flinches, jaw tightening. “He said that they cleared him. Excuse me for taking him at his word.”
“That’s bullshit!” she spits, pointing a shaking finger at him.
“You Hendrix boys always push yourselves to the limit. Pushing harder and harder until you break, but you knew something was wrong. Deep down, you knew something was wrong because you always know. And then you let me leave the rink thinking it was nothing! I-I walked away.”
Her words fracture into silence as I watch the panic slowly consume her.
She doubles over slightly, one hand pressed to her chest like she’s trying to stop her heart from breaking through her ribs.
Her breathing turns quick and shallow, her other hand reaching blindly for the wall.
I’ve seen this spiral before. I know the signs, but never because of me.
“Hey.” I push myself up, ignoring the sharp twist in my side. “Alise.”
She’s staring past me, blinking fast, her pupils blown wide.
I can see she’s not here anymore. She’s lost in noise, panic, and every memory that’s ever haunted her.
The fear of being abandoned, of the people she cares about disappearing before her eyes.
Just like her dad. One day he was there, and the next he wasn’t.
No goodbye, just disappearing into the darkness.
This is our secret, the one piece of her that belongs only to me, and now I’m the one bringing back all those memories.
The cause of all her pain, but I won’t disappear.
“Alise,” I say again, stronger this time, patting the bed beside me. “Come here and lie down.”
She shakes her head, stumbling back half a step as her fingers curl against the wall. The headphones around her neck jostle again, like even they’re reminding me she’s trying to fight through the sensory overload.
“Lisey. Look at me.” My voice breaks, but hearing her nickname works.
Her gaze finally snaps to mine, her eyes wild and glassy, like a caged animal needing to find an escape.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, reaching out. “Come here. Please.”
After a breathless pause, she climbs awkwardly into the bed beside me like her limbs don’t belong to her.
I open my arm, and she curls against my side without hesitation, hiding her face in my shoulder.
I feel the quakes in her chest, the ragged pull of every breath she’s fighting for.
Then, without thinking, I gently pull the headphones up from her neck and over her ears.
She doesn’t resist, pressing her cheek to my shoulder and letting me do it. She exhales, shaky but grateful.
The moment they settle, I feel her body give a little, like the weight of the world has been turned down a few decibels. She burrows into my side, curling in on herself, her face hidden in the curve of my neck. I feel every tremor in her chest, every hitch in her breath.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, stroking her hair. “In for four. Hold. Out for six.”
She tries to follow my instructions but doesn’t quite get it. I count with her again. And again. And again. Soon, her breathing falls into rhythm with mine. The wild shaking fades, and her fist relaxes where it had twisted into my hospital gown.
“I’m here,” I whisper into her hair. “I’ve got you.”
The words slip out before I can stop them because they’re true.
She shouldn’t have had to come rushing in here like this, begging her body to calm down because I couldn’t be honest about what was happening.
I caused this spiral. I left her text on read for four days without responding.
She deserved to know what was going on more than anyone, but I was afraid of what it might mean.
What would’ve happened if I admitted something wasn’t right with my body?
The only thing that fear got me was stuck in a hospital bed after my heart apparently skipped a beat like a damn teenager in love, and the person I care about most in the world is curled into me, doing everything she can to keep from falling apart.
The room is quiet. I don’t know if Parker and Cooper left or just faded into the background, but I can’t hear them anymore. It’s just the two of us, how it’s always been. Her weight pressed against me, heartbeat slowly syncing with mine, and her endless trust in me to take care of her, even now.
“You okay?” I ask softly, my lips against her forehead, and she nods against my chest.
I try to smile, to push back the guilt squeezing my chest like a vise. “You know, if you wanted to get into bed with me that bad, you could’ve just asked.”
The second I say it, I want to shove the words back down my throat. Her head lifts, just enough for me to see the flicker of pain in her face that cuts deeper than anything else tonight.
Her lip twitches, just a slight pull at the corner of her mouth that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and then she turns back into my chest, resting her cheek just below my collarbone.
The headphones still cover her ears, muffling the surrounding chaos.
But I know she heard every word. I wish I could take it back.
I wish I could take all of it back. Instead, I hold her tighter, let my hand drift up and down her back, and try not to hate myself for putting her here.
I want to tell her I didn’t mean it like that. I was just trying to lighten the mood, but the damage is already done. It’s written all over her face. Once again, I’ve managed to break the girl who always tries so damn hard to keep me whole.