Chapter 29 – Beau
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Beau
The locker room smells like sweat, tape glue, and whatever Jace spilled in his gym bag three days ago.
Someone’s blasting emo from a beat-up Bluetooth speaker in the corner—Dashboard Confessional and wailing heartbreak—and instead of rolling my eyes like usual, I hum along under my breath.
Because today, everything feels good. No, better than good.
Everything feels like possibility, and nothing can dampen my mood, except the second I step inside, a half-eaten protein bar hits me in the shoulder, and the chirping starts.
“Look who has graced us with his presence!” Crosby crows, standing at his stall like he’s announcing a miracle.
“Is that Beau Hendrix,” Cooper calls out without even looking up from where he’s taping his stick, “or the ghost of a man who got kissed so hard he left his body?”
“You’re all so invested. Am I supposed to feel flattered, or should I file restraining orders?” I drop my gear bag with a thud and shake my head, a grin already tugging at the corners of my mouth.
“It just seems unnatural.” Jace groans, flopping onto the bench like someone canceled his birthday. “It’s been, what, five weeks? People don’t stay this happy. It’s abnormal. It’s—wait, are you glowing?”
“New skincare routine,” I deadpan. “Witch hazel and the love of a good woman.”
“Gross,” Mackenzie mutters, grabbing his stick like he might need to use it defensively. “I liked you better when you were broody and borderline feral.”
“Yeah,” Jace says. “At least that guy didn’t hum his way into the locker room.”
“I caught him humming twice on the way in,” Crosby says. “I’m talking full verses. This guy’s got the whole emo soundtrack going like it’s 2005 and he’s in love for the first time.”
I laugh because they’re right. I haven’t stopped smiling since Alise kissed me back like she meant it.
Like maybe, just maybe, she won’t push me away this time.
I should care that my brother has no problem spreading my business around the entire locker room, but I don’t.
At least not about this. I want the entire world to know that Alise Moore is mine, or at least is on her way to being mine.
It’ll be nice not to have to threaten to knock someone’s teeth out the minute they look at her like she is a prize to be won.
Alise is a prize for sure, but the only person who is winning her is me.
“You make out with one girl and suddenly you’re Buddha with a blocker?” Cole strolls in like he owns the place, and smugness oozes from him with every step. He must be here for a check-in with Parker.
“One girl who is smarter than all of us and still somehow likes me,” I reply, pulling on my pads. “I’m allowed to be smug.”
“Did you sleep last night?” Parker follows him in, clipboard in hand, expression already tight with concern. “And are you still doing your hydration checks?”
“Let him be,” someone says. “He’s in his simp era. Let the man enjoy it.”
“Simp? My guy is one sappy playlist away from getting down on one knee.”
“I’d love nothing more than to let you continue to spend your time rewriting your entire love life as a Taylor Swift album in your Notes app, but if you want to get on the ice today, answer the question.” Parker levels me with a no-nonsense glare, and I sigh.
“Yes, Dad.”
“Oh, so Parker is your daddy now. What does that make Cooper?” Cole slaps my back with a smirk.
“You’re not helping.” I groan.
“That’s what little brothers are for.” He grins before disappearing around the corner.
“I’m still waiting for that answer.”
“Uh. I drank a smoothie?”
“That’s not hydration. It’s a dessert with protein powder. Water, Beau. Have you had actual water?”
I reach for the bottle on the bench like I’ve been drinking it all morning. “Absolutely.”
“When did you wake up?”
“Reasonably early.”
“Define ‘reasonably.’”
“Before noon,” I offer, proud of myself.
Parker rubs his temple. “Okay, great. Sleep quality?”
“Fine.”
“Not helpful. You snore? Wake up tired? Dreams? Restlessness? Are you still waking up stiff?”
“I’m always stiff.” Jace throws in with a wink, earning a chorus of groans.
“Get out,” Parker mutters, tossing a rolled Ace wrap at Jace’s head, then he turns back to me with a narrowed gaze. “Knee pain?”
“Manageable. Nothing more than the usual.”
He squints. “Scale of one to ten.”
I lift a shoulder. “Two. Maybe three after long skates.”
“And you’re icing after?”
“When I remember.”
“So, never.”
I grin. “Not never. Just… not always.”
He huffs and scribbles something on the clipboard. “Okay, but if I see you limping or favoring that leg again, we’re doing stability testing every damn day until it’s playoff season.”
“Understood.”
“Good.” He eyes me like he can tell there’s something I’m not saying. “Are you sure you’re good?”
“Yeah, Parker. I’m good.” I nod, heart thudding harder than it should. “Save the mother hen routine for someone who needs it.”
Parker doesn’t reply right away. He just watches me the same way he did the day he first asked me if my knees were locking again. The day I told him the constant fatigue was just a rough week. The day he knew I was lying.
“Okay. But if anything feels off—”
“I’ll say something.”
That’s another lie, but not completely. I feel physically better than I have in over a year.
I’ve been good for weeks. Five full weeks of practices and games where my legs didn’t turn to lead halfway through drills.
Five weeks of sharp vision, steady hands, no tremors, and no crushing fatigue.
I want to believe it’ll stay that way, even if I know better now.
Even if there’s a word sitting heavy on my chest every morning when I wake up.
Lupus.
It’s there in the quiet, the ache that moves even when my knees don’t. But right now, I don’t let it touch this moment. I feel great, and Alise has been opening her world to me, piece by piece.
She smiles when she sees me, like she’s not second-guessing it anymore.
Alise lets me see past the careful shields and structured day, sharing the soft underbelly of her fears.
The way her thoughts are too loud, the way she carries everyone else’s weight before her own, and the fact that she is finally trusting me.
Alise has always trusted me, there’s no doubt about that, but she hasn’t trusted me with the most important part of herself, her heart.
She told me she felt safe with me, and that means everything.
Cooper is already chirping again from across the room, bringing me back to the present. “You’ve got that dumb post-kiss glow again. It’s like watching a golden retriever discover love.”
My teammates are loud, obnoxious, and probably right. And I don’t care because I’m happy.
Not just in passing or in a “this is nice” kind of way.
It’s the happiness that settles in your bones and makes the world feel softer around the edges.
The kind I didn’t think I’d get again, not with my body fighting me and the what-ifs hanging over my head like storm clouds.
But right now? The air smells of fresh ice and sweat.
My legs feel steady, and the girl I haven’t stopped thinking about is slowly opening up to me like she wants me to be hers.
So yeah, let them chirp, I really don’t give a fuck.
“I’m sorry I experience emotions like a functioning adult.” I tug my jersey over my pads and grin into the fabric like an idiot.
“Functioning,” Cole echoes. “You brought Alise coffee three mornings in a row to Darius’s practice. I watched you wait in your car just so you could walk her in like some damn emotional support golden retriever.”
“She likes the oat milk one,” I say with a shrug. “And she always forgets to eat breakfast.”
“Christ,” Cooper mutters. “You’re whipped.”
“You’re all just mad no one kissed you and then wanted to do it again.”
The chirping doesn’t stop, but I quit listening.
I tug the rest of my gear into place, letting their voices blur into the background.
I lace up my skates slower than usual, fingers steady but my mind somewhere else.
The locker room is the same. The guys are the same.
But I’m not because lately, things feel good.
Alise is softening. The team’s riding me like always.
And for once, my body isn’t fighting me at every turn.
I don’t feel broken for the first time in months, and that scares the hell out of me.
If my body slips and things spiral again, I won’t just be letting myself down; I’ll be letting her down, too.
And I don’t know if I can come back from that.
We head out to the rink as practice starts.
I glide out onto the ice with that glow still burning somewhere behind my ribs.
The air in the arena is crisp, cutting in the best way.
The scrape of blades, the echo of a puck hitting the boards, the rhythm of drills—all of it slots into place like a song I know by heart.
It feels good. It feels right. Until it doesn’t.
It starts small with a pull in my shoulders.
Nothing major, just a subtle tightness like someone’s cinched my chest protector one notch too tight.
I roll my neck, stretch my arms, and shrug it off.
It’s probably nothing. I just slept wrong or pushed too hard in the gym earlier this week. It’s not a big deal.
But then I move into position for the next drill. My body’s a little slower than usual, and my legs don’t push as fast. My reflexes are lagging. It’s not enough for anyone else to notice, but I feel it. In my thighs and the way my breath catches deeper in my lungs than it should.
“You spacing out, old man?” Jace chirps, tapping my pad with his stick. “Or just picturing Alise in your hoodie again?”
“You’re one more chirp away from catching a puck to the face.” I huff a laugh and tap his shin with my blocker.
“That’s not a no.”