Chapter 7 – Beau #2
I blink rapidly, but my vision goes grainy around the edges, like someone dimmed the lights without warning.
My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest, nothing like the adrenaline rush I get before the start of a game or during a sprint drill.
It’s erratic, like it doesn’t know how to beat anymore, only slam.
My fingers go numb, and my throat feels like someone is tightening a noose around my neck, slowly cutting off my ability to breathe.
My skin’s gone cold, but I’m sweating under the hospital gown, and every breath feels like a war I’m losing.
My hands fly to my neck, shaking furiously as I claw at the skin.
I just need to loosen it, not completely, just enough so I can breathe.
What the hell is happening?
This isn’t pain. It’s not the flu, low blood sugar, or fatigue. This is something else. Something worse. And then I remember that I’ve seen this before. Not in me, but Alise. I try to exhale, to reset like I’ve told her a hundred times to do when she spirals, but it doesn’t work.
My hands are trembling, not that I know when it started, and I drop back onto the bed. I press my hands flat into the mattress, trying to feel something solid, but my fingertips are numb and my palms are clammy.
Something is wrong.
My vision wobbles at the edges like I’m watching the room through a narrow tunnel.
My stomach’s flipping over, squeezing in on itself like I’m about to puke or pass out.
Maybe both. I’ve held Alise through this.
I’ve talked her down, whispered her through the storm raging in her mind, and rubbed her back while she gasped for air on the floor.
But I’ve never felt it, and living through it is like drowning in open air.
I curl forward, elbows on my knees, trying to count like I taught her—In.
Two. Three. Out. Two. Three.—but the numbers don’t stick.
The rhythm won’t come. My brain is too loud, my chest too tight, and the worst part is, I’m scared.
I’m fucking terrified because I don’t know who I am without hockey.
And now I’m not sure I even know how to breathe.
I turn my head and desperately search for Alise, needing her to say something, but she’s crying silent tears she’s not even trying to hide. But when our eyes meet, she just shakes her head, lips pressed together like it’s taking everything in her not to speak.
No, that’s what her eyes say. No, she won’t argue with Coach. No, she won’t fix this for me this time. And fuck, that breaks something in me because if she—the one who always shows up, always softens the fall—won’t fight for me, then maybe I am the problem. Maybe I am broken beyond repair.
My ears ring as I grip the blanket, digging my fingers into the thin cotton. I try desperately to stop my body from trembling, my vision from blurring as I will my fucking lungs to expand, but I can’t do anything.
“Beau?” Alise’s voice cuts through the ringing, low and gentle, but I can’t answer.
“Hey, you okay? You look—” Parker steps forward, brows knitting as he reaches for me, but stops at the last minute.
“Out,” Alise says sharply, rising to her feet. “Both of you, out now.”
“What?” Parker and Cooper respond in unison.
“He’s having a panic attack. Get out.”
Cooper opens his mouth to argue, but she doesn’t give him the chance.
“I love you both, but right now, you’re in the way. He doesn’t need more voices. He needs quiet.” She points toward the door, voice hard but not unkind. “Give us ten minutes.”
Parker hesitates before grabbing Cooper by the arm and tugging him toward the door. “You’ll call if—”
“I’ve got him,” Alise says, already turning back to me.
The second the door closes, her voice softens like a flipped switch.
“Beau.” She kneels in front of me, her hands reaching for mine, but she doesn’t touch me. “Can I hold your hands?”
I lift my chin slightly, just enough to let her know I heard her, and then she threads her fingers through mine. The feel of her skin pressed against mine, warm and steady, sends a small wave of calm through my entire system.
“You’re okay. I promise,” she whispers, pressing our joined hands to her chest so I can feel her breathing. “Right now, your brain thinks something bad is happening. But it’s not. You’re just scared, but you’re safe here with me.”
“I-I can’t—” My voice shatters mid-word.
“I know. I’ve been there. Just breathe with me, okay? Match me.”
She inhales slowly, exaggerating it for me to follow. Her chest rises under my hands, and I force my own lungs to mirror the movement. Every inhale hurts and feels like pulling glass through my throat, but I do it anyway.
“Good, that’s it. One more.”
I breathe again. It’s a little easier this time. The shaking in my hands doesn’t stop completely, but it lessens. The tunnel vision widens, and I can feel her warmth, her voice, and her presence anchoring me to something real.
“You’re not alone,” she says, brushing the hair off my forehead. “Even when it feels like you are.”
I press my forehead to her shoulder; the edge of her hoodie feels soft against my heated skin. Alise wraps her arms around my shoulders without hesitation, tucks me in close like she knows exactly how small I feel right now.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice raw.
“Don’t be.” Her fingers stroke the back of my neck, tangling in the short hairs. “You’ve been carrying too much for too long. Your body finally called a timeout on you. That’s not a weakness, Beau. That’s what it means to be human.”
I don’t respond; instead, I just let her hold me because I don’t know what comes next. Although it is easier for me to breathe, the fear hasn’t faded completely. I’m still not sure who I am without the net, but right now—just for a minute—Alise makes the freefall feel less terrifying.
And for right now, that’s enough.