Chapter 25 – Beau #2
So what if I’m still keeping secrets? I’m playing, and it feels fucking fantastic. And if that’s not enough—for them, for me—then maybe nothing ever will be.
The second I slide behind the wheel, my body hums with that perfect, bone-deep ache that only comes after you leave everything on the ice. My limbs are heavy, lungs still dragging in air like I haven’t exhaled in weeks, and for a split second, I let myself lean back and just feel it.
But the moment passes quickly as I watch Mercer storm past my truck, climb into his overpriced SUV, and peel out of the parking lot, headed lord knows fucking where.
I don’t even know why he was at practice today.
Sure, management told him he had to show up, but for what reason?
Thankfully, Coach Cassidy and Cooper were there to run things.
Mercer only stood there like he hadn’t spent the last few years building this team to bring home championships.
Who am I kidding? Things haven’t been the same in the locker room since Cole and Michele got together.
Mercer has been cold, distant, and has made it his life’s mission to tear anyone and everyone down, one cutting comment at a time.
Not to mention how he has constantly gaslit me at every turn, pretending he had my back, whispering that he only wanted what was best for me, while working overtime to isolate me from the team during this whole health scare.
He made me doubt my instincts, my place in the net—hell, even my sanity.
Every bruise, mental or physical, he twisted into proof that I didn’t belong here anymore.
And now, after walking out mid-game and getting himself suspended, he suddenly reappears at practice.
Management no doubt forced him back to practice, even though the suspension still stands.
I can’t figure out if they’re biding their time or if Cooper’s already cooking up his own endgame.
Either way, Mercer slithering back in the day I’m finally off the injured reserve and cleared to skate isn’t a coincidence.
That’s a strategy. I can feel it like a shift in the air before a storm.
It’s time to circle the wagons and get a plan together.
I jab my thumb into the call button on the steering wheel. “Call Cole.”
“What’s up, old man?” Cole answers, voice still hoarse from sleep or laziness, but knowing him, it’s probably both.
“You busy?”
“Just inhaling a breakfast burrito the size of my forearm and watching reruns of House Hunters. Why?”
“Cole, it’s one in the afternoon,” I respond after a quick glance at the clock on my dash.
“And? Not all of us are up doing wind sprints before sunrise. Some of us wake up when our bodies let us.”
There’s a bite to his words, something brittle beneath the sarcasm. A bitterness he’s not bothering to hide today.
“You’re just jealous.”
It slips out before I can stop it—instinctive and familiar. Teasing used to mean we were okay, but this time, the silence hits differently.
“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I am.” Cole scoffs, his tone flat and void of all emotion. “It must be nice to still be out there. To still be someone.”
“Cole,” I say, voice low, the sudden guilt punching through my chest, “I didn’t mean it like that—”
“I know.” He exhales hard, like the weight of it all just cracked a rib. “That wasn’t fair to say.”
I swallow, throat suddenly tight. I want to reach through the phone and shake the grief off him. I want to fix it. I want a version of us that doesn’t carry this damn ache under every word.
“Sorry, had a rough therapy session this morning. One of the digging days. All guts, no answers.”
“I get it,” I say, nodding even though he can’t see me. “Those are the worst.”
A beat stretches between us, and for a second, I wonder if I should go back to therapy.
Momma made all of us go after Dad died, and I lied through my teeth the entire time.
Anything to get me out of that tiny office with the woman who forced me to think about one of the worst days of my entire life.
But now that I’m older, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to talk to someone who doesn’t wear my jersey.
Cooper and Cole both go and seem to be better for it, but do I need it?
I mean, where would I find the time between doctor’s appointments and pretending everything’s fine?
Besides, everything’s perfect, remember?
The thought disappears before it can form fully, and I go back to what I always do when things get too close to the bone… I crack a joke.
“House Hunters, though?” I scoff, dragging us both out of the deep end. “Jesus, you’re one early bird special away from a senior discount.”
“It’s educational,” Cole says defensively. “Also, the couple picked the cookie-cutter ranch without the open concept, and honestly? Bold move.”
“God help me. I need you to meet me at my place in thirty. I need to shower first.”
“Coop has news about Mercer?”
“Yup, but he didn’t want to elaborate. The only thing he said was management didn’t know what to do with him yet.”
“Beau, I’m sorry, man. If I hadn’t been using… hadn’t dragged Michele into all this… he wouldn’t be… whatever this is. He used to be a good man and coach, and I ruined all that.” Cole sighs, and guilt drips through the line like oil in water.
“Stop.” My voice slices through the quiet like a slap. It’s sharper than I meant it to be, but maybe that’s the only way he’ll hear it. “Don’t do that. Don’t take all that on.”
“But it’s true.”
“No,” I say again, firmer now, my chest tightening with every word. “It was always gonna happen. Mercer couldn’t control her, and that scared the hell out of him. You’re just the bastard who fell in love with her.”
“Lucky bastard,” Cole murmurs.
“Yeah, lucky.” I blink, jaw clenched, throat thick. “And she’s lucky, too. You didn’t make her choose, Cole. He did, and that’s on him.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
I huff out a short laugh. “That’s a hell of a pivot. One second you’re playing life coach, the next you’re Dr. Phil.”
It’s a simple question, but it lands like a gut punch. Because no, I’m not, not since the diagnosis. Not with Mercer circling like a vulture or with the way my chest feels tighter every damn morning and the weight of the secret pressing harder than any goalie gear ever could.
But I can’t say that. I can’t answer him truthfully, but I can make a joke and hope he forgets what he was asking.
“Define okay. If we’re talking about how my legs feel like they got steamrolled by a Zamboni after practice this morning, then I’m fucking thriving.”
“So it was that bad?” Cole lets out a low chuckle, but I can hear the worry under it.
“Oh, you know,” I say, pushing my voice lighter, smoothing the edges with fake ease. “Just thirty minutes of sprint drills followed by a light homicide via conditioning test. Ten out of ten would not recommend.”
“You’re a sicko.”
“And you’re just jealous because your cardio maxes out walking to the kitchen.”
It buys me a laugh, a real one this time, and maybe that’s enough for now.
“Good,” he says. “But I’m still worried, though.”
“You and me both,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. “Now finish your geriatric-ass TV show. You owe me for emotionally surviving that sentence.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” Cole grumbles.
I smirk, thumb hovering over the end call button, but his voice stops me.
“Hey… things good with you and Alise?” His voice is quieter, landing deep, right where it hurts.
The question lodges in my chest like a puck to the ribs. I drag in a breath through my teeth and stare out the windshield as I try to explain what’s going on like I actually know myself.
“She asked for space,” I say after a beat, my voice raw with emotion.
“Not because she doesn’t care, but because she does.
She told me she doesn’t want to be someone I lean on when I’m breaking.
She wants more—no, deserves more than that.
She wants to be chosen. Needed. Not because she’s safe or steady, but because I can’t imagine doing this life without her. ”
The words feel like they’ve been sitting under my ribs for days, waiting for someone to pull them out.
“She didn’t shut the door, not completely. She texts and checks in. She lets me in just enough to make me feel like maybe she still sees me. Maybe she still cares.”
“Then you need to tell her,” Cole says gently. “She deserves to know what she’s standing next to.”
“I know,” I murmur, my chest going tight. “I will. I just…”
I trail off because I don’t have the language for what scares me most. The way fear creeps in, slow and sharp, when I imagine her looking at me differently. Not with love, but pity or worse, worry she doesn’t know how to carry.
“I’m scared, Cole,” I admit, barely above a whisper. “I don’t want her to look at me and see someone fragile and broken.”
“Then don’t give her the chance to make up a story. Give her yours.” Cole exhales, steady and sure. The sound of a brother who’s fought his own ghosts.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” I nod even though he can’t see me, swallowing the knot sitting heavy in my throat.
“And you do, right?” Cole asks quietly. “Want her like that? Not just when it’s hard. When it’s good, too?”
“God, yeah. I do, mind, body, and soul—all of it. I just don’t know how to show her that. Not when I’m still trying to keep my shit together. Not when I feel like I’m holding everything with two frayed strings.”
I close my eyes as the answer blooms in my chest so full it aches. “I want to tell her everything.”
“You mean—”
“I haven’t said it to her. Not yet, but I want to. She deserves more than a half-formed confession I can’t back up yet.”
Cole doesn’t push, just lets the silence stretch before breaking it the way he always does.
“Well, that’s surprisingly mature of you. Look at you. Mr. Emotional Growth.”
“Don’t ruin it,” I mutter.
“Just trying to say that I’m proud of you.”
I huff out something close to a laugh, but it dies quickly.
“She’s one of the good ones,” he says. “She knows what she wants. Don’t leave her guessing whether you do.”
“I’m trying to show her without pushing,” I say, and I mean it. “I don’t want to push her. I don’t want her to think I’m only showing up because I’m falling apart. I want her to feel it every day. Even when I don’t have the words. Let’s just hope I don’t screw it up.”
“You won’t. Not if you keep showing up.”
I sit with that, the phone warm against my ear, my chest bruised with everything I haven’t said. “Thirty minutes, and bring the good beer. If you show up with that yellow piss water brand you try to pass off as a microbrew again, I swear to God—”
“I’ll bring the good stuff,” he promises. “You sound like you need it.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it sounds like shit’s about to blow up.”
I shift into park and rest my hands on the wheel, staring at the wall in front of me like it might blink first. “You’re not wrong.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Cole adds, “You’ll handle it like you always do.”
I don’t answer right away because he’s right.
I’ll figure it out like I always do, but for the first time, I don’t want to handle it alone.
I want someone to know the entire story.
To see the parts of me I’ve kept hidden and stay anyway.
I want her, and I’m finally realizing that wanting her means letting her in.
“Love you, man,” Cole says.
“Love you, too.”
The call ends. The cab goes quiet as I sit there for a second, the engine ticking softly as it cools, my hands still wrapped around the wheel like they don’t know how to let go. She might be upstairs, hanging out with Ramona and working on wedding plans, or maybe she’s at home thinking about me.
Maybe she’s still waiting for me to see her the way she asked to be seen.
I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes.
Soon, I tell myself. Soon, I’ll give her everything.
If she’s still there when I do… I swear to God, I won’t let her go.