Chapter 31 – Alise #2
“Language!” Ramona shrieks and fumbles the RSVP cards she was sorting. “Darius, what the actual—?”
“TV! Turn it up. Turn it up!” He dives for the remote like a linebacker, jabbing the buttons like they wronged him until the volume blasts.
“A shocking mid-season decision from the Portland Timberwolves today, as the organization confirms the immediate termination of head coach Graham Mercer. Taking his place? None other than veteran center Cooper Hendrix, who will retire from play following this weekend’s home game and officially step into the head coach role. ”
My brain can’t process the words fast enough.
“What!” Ramona’s jaw goes slack, her hands hovering mid-air like she’s still holding something.
Michele turns her head slowly, too slowly, like she’s afraid of what she’ll see. Her expression is blank at first, but then it buckles slightly. “No way.”
“My timbers have been shivered.” Darius gasps like someone revealed a secret twin on a soap opera.
He clutches his chest like he’s about to laugh, but the sound never comes. None of ours do either.
“Cooper didn’t tell me.” Ramona’s voice is brittle and thin. “He—he mentioned coaching when Mercer stepped down, but I thought he meant next year. After—” She shakes her head. “Not now. Not… like this.”
Her eyes glaze over, like she’s looking through the TV, searching for the version of him who might’ve told her the truth.
I can’t think straight because Beau had to know.
There’s no way he didn’t. He’s probably known for a while.
The thought sits like lead in my stomach because this has to be why he’s been avoiding me.
The thing behind every clipped message and forced smile.
The reason he’s been slipping through my fingers like fog every time I reach for him.
Michele’s phone vibrates across the table, rattling against a coaster. She glances down—and freezes.
“Who is it?” Ramona asks gently.
Michele doesn’t answer right away. She just stares at the screen; her throat bobs as she swallows hard. Her fingers twitch as if they might reach for the phone, but don’t. “It’s my dad.”
Ramona doesn’t speak. Neither do I. We don’t need to. We already know.
“I didn’t know.” Michele’s voice cracks as she blinks hard, her lashes fluttering like maybe she’s holding back tears. “I didn’t know, but then again, why would I? I haven’t talked to him since he made me choose.”
Her voice trembles, but her hand doesn’t as she flips the phone over, silencing the call. The sound cuts off mid-buzz, and just like that, something in me breaks.
It’s not a loud shatter, dramatic with sharp edges and noise, but something quieter.
It’s like a thread snapping inside a favorite sweater.
A soft unraveling and something delicate giving way.
And suddenly, I can’t sit still. The need to move rises so fast it leaves me breathless.
I shove my chair back, and it screeches against the floor like a scream.
“I have to go.”
“Wait—what?” Ramona jerks her gaze up.
“I need to talk to him.” My pulse pounds like a war drum. “Beau knew. He’s known this whole time and hasn’t said a damn word. And I’ve been up here obsessing over centerpieces while he’s been pretending I don’t exist.”
Michele’s eyes widen, her voice almost pleading. “You’re going now?”
“Yes,” I say, already reaching for my phone. “He lives four floors down. I’ve spent two weeks talking myself off the ledge while he’s been living in emotional solitary confinement.”
Ramona rises halfway out of her seat, her concern etched into every line of her face. “Do you want one of us to come with—?”
“No. This is between him and me.”
Darius pops up, still holding a pizza slice. “Do you want me to burst through the door in ten minutes with an air horn and a boom box playing sad Taylor Swift?”
Despite everything, I laugh—a frayed, ragged sound that tastes like panic.
“Not unless he slams the door in my face.”
“I’ll be on standby.” He nods solemnly, raising his pizza in salute. “And if he doesn’t answer, I’ll show up in a onesie and dramatically read my poetry about abandonment until he begs for mercy.”
“Darius, no—”
“Dramatic times call for dramatic rhymes.”
“I’ll text you,” I say, hand already on the doorknob.
“Wait!” Ramona calls after me. “Don’t forget your—”
Too late. I’m out the door before she finishes the sentence. My body is moving faster than my thoughts, my feet practically flying down the hallway, my heart trying to outrun itself. The air feels colder out here, like the world’s changed and no one warned me.
I take the stairs. Not because the elevator’s slow, but because I need the burn in my legs. I need something to focus on besides the hurricane unraveling in my chest.
Four floors down. Four flights of stairs between me and the truth I’m terrified to hear. Every step echoes in the stairwell, loud and jarring, like my heart is slamming against bone.
He knew about Cooper taking over, and he didn’t say anything, but why?
This can’t be something to deal with easily.
He’s been sick, just came off of IR, and now his overprotective big brother has all the control over his future.
I told him I wanted him to love me whole so I would know he meant it, but I didn’t expect him to hide things from me.
Does he think he’s protecting me by pulling away?
Did he really think I’d find out and not see the truth and know exactly how hard this is for him to deal with, especially now?
He’s leaving. There’s no way he is going to stay here and play for Cooper.
Maybe when he was at 100 percent, but after everything that has happened over the last few months, there’s no way Cooper is going to give him a fair shot.
He is going to want to protect Beau from himself, protect him from further injury, as he should, being his head coach and big brother.
But that will kill Beau. It’s only been a few months since he’s gotten back on the ice and gotten his life back.
If Cooper is going to bench him now… he has to leave.
My vision blurs, and I blink hard. Don’t cry now. You need to see him. You need to ask.
You need to know if the thing he’s building is a future that still has room for you. By the time I reach his floor, my throat is raw from holding back tears. My hands are shaking so hard I have to clench them into fists.
His door is just a few steps away, and suddenly, those last few feet feel like crossing a canyon. What if he doesn’t answer? What if he does, and I see it in his eyes? That he’s already halfway gone. I stop in front of his door, and the silence presses in around me.
My heart pounds so loudly it sounds like footsteps behind me. Like someone sprinting to catch up. But there is no one behind me. It’s just me, terrified of what awaits me on the other side of that door. But I need to know, so I press my knuckles to the door and knock.
Once. Twice. Three times. And then I wait.
Each second stretches impossibly long. The air in the hallway feels still and thick, but it’s the quiet that gets to me first. And for a terrible moment, I wonder if this was a mistake.
If showing up means confirming the one thing I’m afraid to hear: that things are different between us.
There is no us because he is leaving. I can’t go with him, but god, I want to.
Beau knows that, so he’d never ask, effectively closing the door on any chance we had to see where whatever this is between us could go.
I press my palm to the wood, not sure if I want to push it open or pound on it again. “Beau, please be home.”
Please let this mean something.
Please don’t let this be the part where I get left behind.
I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the door and wait.