Chapter 19 – Beau #2
“You didn’t. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. It’s like you’re the only thing in the room that matters. It’s been like that for years. I’m surprised you didn’t notice before now.”
Did I not notice before last week, when she saw me at my worst, or did I choose to keep my head in the sand?
The fear of losing my safe place, my anchor, clouding my vision.
I swallow hard, trying to find the answer to all these questions, but I come up empty.
The only thing I find is more questions.
“Then why the silence?” My voice cracks on the last word.
He doesn’t have an answer to that, and neither do I.
I just keep staring out at the ice where Cole stood twenty minutes ago.
I can still see his shape out there, how easily he moved, like his body still belonged to him.
Acting like someone hadn’t stolen the game from his hands and he isn’t fighting tooth and nail to get it back.
He’s fighting with every fiber of his being, but where does that leave me?
I’m in limbo, waiting to find out if they’ll give me the chance to fight.
My chest pulses with an ache no one can see, but I’d trade anything to feel my blades cut into that ice again.
For a chance to fight for whatever this is between Alise and me.
Neither of which is something in my control.
All I can do is sit here and wait for someone else to decide my fate.
The bench creaks, and I brace myself for Cole’s goodbye, some last nugget of well-meaning wisdom before he skates off like this was just another brotherly check-in, but another voice cuts through the air.
“Cole.”
Cooper stops in front of us, voice clipped and all business, already in coach mode.
He stands a few feet away, whistle swinging from his fingers like it belongs there, like it’s always been a part of him.
And that’s what gets me. He’s still technically a player, but you wouldn’t know it from the way he’s running drills, barking orders, and pulling the guys into line like this is already his team.
He slips into the role too damn easily, but maybe that’s the point.
It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s already working on a way to push Mercer out of the picture sooner rather than later.
Hell, after the coach’s meltdown on the bench last game, management’s got to be having conversations.
They’d be stupid not to, and Cooper has always been good at stepping in when things fall apart.
“What?”
“You’re not done skating.” Cooper nods toward the rink. “Ten more laps.”
Cole hesitates, glancing at me like he’s trying to read the spiderweb of cracks across my face. “Beau—”
“I’ve got Beau,” Cooper says, voice low but firm.
I keep my eyes on the ice. Cooper’s always been good at reading me, but right now, I can’t handle his stare.
Not when the CAM feels like it’s burning a hole through my chest. I shift again, adjusting my hoodie, willing myself to stay still.
If either of them notices, they don’t say anything.
And just like that, Cole pushes to his feet and heads for the gate.
No more words, just the clean slice of blades on ice, the sound of someone who still gets to move.
Cooper doesn’t speak right away. He just lowers himself beside me, like he’s done a hundred times before—legs braced wide, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them.
The same familiar, grounded stillness I expect from my older brother.
He sits close enough to steady me if I break apart, but not close enough to force it.
Just like after every brutal loss we never talked about but always survived.
Every inch of me is on high alert. The weight of his shoulder just a foot from mine makes me itch to fold my arms across my chest, to shield the monitor like it’s a secret.
I can’t afford for anyone else to know. I stay still, fighting the urge, praying the damn thing doesn’t shift under the fabric.
The quiet stretches until I think it might swallow me whole. Then his voice cuts through it, low and steady, like it’s been waiting for me to catch up.
“You love her.”
It’s not a question, but a statement. I nod, the sharp motion feeling too small for everything swelling in my chest.
“She won’t even look at me, Coop.”
“Doesn’t matter. You need to do whatever you can to show her how you feel, even when she’s pushing you away. Actually, especially when she is trying to push you away.” His gaze stays forward, but his voice doesn’t waver.
I let the silence fall again, this time on purpose. I need a second to breathe around the pressure building behind my ribs, and without meaning to, the words come out raw and low.
“How do you know that’s what’s wrong with me?” My voice cracks like I’ve already broken. “How do you know it’s not just hockey—that I’m not just pissed I can’t be out there with you? That I’m not spiraling because I’ve lost the only thing I’ve ever been good at?”
Cooper turns his head, finally meeting my eyes.
“I’ve seen you after losses. I’ve seen you injured, benched, and scratched from the starting lineup. Yeah, it fucked with your head, but it never gutted you like this.”
I shake my head, jaw tight, but he keeps going.
“You’re angry. You’re scared and adrift, probably already fucking mourning the game, but this?
” He gestures toward me, all slumped shoulders and hollowed-out breath.
“This isn’t just the look of a guy who’s lost his footing on the ice, but someone who has lost a piece of his soul.
And I’ve only ever seen that kind of look once. ”
“When?” My throat tightens, already knowing where he’s going with this.
“When Dad died, it’s what Momma looked like when I told her what happened. She looked like the last light in the world had gone out and she didn’t know how to keep moving.”
I turn my face away, blinking fast.
“That’s how you’re looking now, like someone blew out the only candle you had left.”
“You don’t get to drop this bomb on her and then disappear, giving up just because she didn’t give you the answer you wanted,” he adds, voice tightening. “You don’t vanish when it’s inconvenient and you have other shit. That’s not love. That’s fear.”
My voice comes out rough. “But she’s shutting me out.”
“She’s scared, and you know why. So, remind her—over and over if you have to—that you’re not going anywhere. That you’re not just here for the soft days and the sunshine.”
“What if she doesn’t believe me?”
“Then you keep showing up until she does. You show up tired. You show up scared. You show up in the fucking rain if you have to, but no matter what, you show up.” Cooper looks me dead in the eye, like he’s willing me to stop running.
His words crack something open in me because I know why Alise is pulling away.
My phone buzzes in my pocket while I’m halfway through a slice of cold leftover pizza, and when I pull it out, I see Aunt Peggy’s name come across the screen. I know it’s not her, because Aunt Peggy never calls me, but Alise does.
“Hello?”
“Beau?” Her voice is small, like she’s already halfway to crying but trying not to let it crack.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I say, standing up so fast my chair screeches across the kitchen floor. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m at the community center. It’s a birthday party. I-I didn’t want to come, but Momma said I had to, and it’s so loud, and I-I can’t breathe—”
Shit.
“Okay, it’s all right. I’m coming.”
“Please.” Her voice breaks on the word, and it guts me. “Please come get me. I don’t—I don’t know where to go.”
I’m already grabbing my hoodie and shouting something to Momma about taking my bike. I don’t even hear her response because it doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting to Alise as quickly as possible.
I don’t remember pedaling, just the wind clawing at my face and the pounding in my chest like a drumbeat. By the time I reach the community center, I’m out of breath, sweaty, and ready to rip the world apart if I have to.
My eyes scan the room for Alise. I take longer than I’d like, but I spot her tucked behind the equipment cart in the corner, like she’s trying to fold herself into the floor.
She’s drawn her knees up to her chest, locked her arms tightly around them, and plastered her hands over her ears.
Her whole body vibrates as if someone plugged her into an electrical outlet.
I don’t think; I just move on instinct, knowing the noise in the gym is unbearable to her.
Where are her headphones? An array of noises fills the room: the other kids screech, music blares, and balloons pop like gunfire.
One explodes just a few feet from Alise, and she jolts so hard she bangs her elbow on the metal cart, moments before a kid sprays whipped cream across the air and it splatters on her sleeve.
She freezes, and suddenly she’s not Alise anymore; she’s a statue. Her skin is pale, and her eyes are wide with a blank look in them. She’s gone somewhere deep inside herself, and no one even sees it, except me.
Aunt Peggy is hovering nearby, flustered, glancing between the mess of fallen cupcakes and the other parents pretending not to stare.
“Where are her headphones?” I ask, marching right up to her.
“What?”
“Her headphones. Where are they?”
“Someone took them. I stepped away for a second to get them, but I must have taken too long because she panicked.”
Jesus. I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache. I don’t say what I want to. I don’t ask who the hell took them and beat them to a bloody pulp.
Aunt Peggy kneels down beside her. “Alise, honey, just breathe. Come on, baby, just breathe.”
She’s not okay, and Aunt Peggy knows it, but she’s doing everything she can to help Alise calm down. Alise flinches back so violently she knocks over a tray of cupcakes, and frosting smears across the gym floor. As the noise gets louder, heads turn, and the whispers start.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s always like this.”
“She’s so weird.”
I want to throw something at them. Scream in their faces and tell everyone to shut the hell up, but I don’t. It won’t help anything, so I wait until the whispers fade and the crowd moves on, distracted by the next shiny thing. Wait until no one’s looking at her like she’s broken.
Then I move, dropping to my knees beside her, letting the chill of the floor seep into my jeans like a penance.
Alise is still curled into herself, shoulders shaking.
Her hands are over her ears, but they’re not doing enough.
I can feel the panic radiating off her skin, so I reach out, moving slowly before gently laying my hands over hers, helping to cover her ears.
My palms cup the sides of her head, warm and steady, and I lean in until she knows it’s me.
Until she feels that she’s not alone, and then, like a whisper in the middle of a storm, I hear her voice.
“I know I’m weird.”
My heart clenches as something sharp and heavy lodges behind my ribs.
“I know I’m no fun. Or easy. Or normal.” Her voice cracks, but she keeps going. “But weird people should still get to have friends, right?”
Tears sting the back of my eyes, but I swallow them down. I shift a little closer, arms still cradling hers, keeping my hands firm against her ears like I can shut out the world for her.
“You’re not weird, not even a little.”
“You don’t have to lie.”
“I’m not lying.” My voice wobbles, but I don’t care. “But even if you were, I’d still be your friend.”
She doesn’t answer, but her hands relax slightly beneath mine.
“I’ll always be your friend, Alise, even if everyone else is too stupid to see how incredible you are.”
Then she finally looks at me, and it’s like the entire room falls away.
Her eyes are huge and wet like she’s trying so hard to believe me, but she’s never let herself before.
I can’t explain it, but a part of me knows this isn’t just about being her friend.
It’s about so much more because in this moment, Alise Moore has become the center of my entire universe.
“I’m not going anywhere, I swear. You never have to go through this alone.”
And then I say it, the only other thing I know might bring even the tiniest flicker of light back into her eyes.
“I brought gummy bears. The red ones are still your favorite, right?”
Her brow furrows like she’s not sure she heard me right, like the idea of someone remembering something so small and soft feels too far away from the chaos inside her. But I see the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth.
I felt it the second she called me. Of everyone in the world, she knew I’d come. And I’ll keep coming, every time from now until forever.
I blink hard, jaw tight, throat like sandpaper.
I’ve been saying the same thing to her for fifteen years in a thousand different ways.
But maybe this time, I need to say it louder.
I need to show Alise, even if she doesn’t want to hear it yet.
Because if anyone deserves to be loved loudly, it’s her, and I’m done waiting in silence.