Chapter 30 The Ice Cracks Beau
The Ice Cracks
Beau
There’s still condensation on my helmet when I toss it into my locker. I don’t even bother wiping it down like I usually do, just let it slide off the edge and puddle onto the tile.
JJ’s laughing about something two stalls over, chirping Dev for forgetting his lifting gloves again. I should be part of it. Usually, I would be. But today? The noise is too much.
I slip out, leaving my stick leaning against the rack.
I don’t even make up an excuse. They’re all too occupied goofing around.
No one stops me. They probably think I’m heading to the training room early or going to talk to coach.
It’s easier to disappear than I would have thought, given how nosy the guys usually are.
Outside, the cold hits my face with the sharp bite of late winter. It feels thinner somehow, stinging my cheeks. I shove my hands deeper into my jacket pockets and cut across the lot, stepping over a slush pile that soaks through my left shoe. Great.
The drive back to my house is short. Too short. I’m not ready to be alone with my thoughts, but the moment I sit still, everything from the last few days loops like a glitching video file. Luna’s voice reading her last text to me, “Don’t worry about it. JJ did amazing.”
Eventually, I drag myself out of the car. My shoulders are stiff, muscles still cooling in a way I’ll regret later. I’m supposed to stretch. Ice. Hydrate. Take care of my body like it’s a machine that needs oil and timing and care.
But I haven’t even been taking care of my mind, so what’s the point?
The rest of the guys headed to Wright’s after their workouts, but I couldn’t bring myself to go. To pretend everything is fine. At least it’s quiet, but maybe I’ll throw on a podcast or a mindless show, so I don’t start spiraling again.
But I’m not alone.
Cece’s curled up at the kitchen table, sketchpad in front of her and a steaming mug between her palms. She doesn’t look up right away, just chews on the end of her pencil and squints down at whatever she’s working on.
My first instinct is to turn around. Pretend I forgot something, but then she glances up and gives me this small, surprised smile. Like she didn’t expect me home this early, which… fair.
“Hey,” she says. Her voice is soft but not pitying. Just Cece. Always Cece. “Didn’t expect to see you. I thought you guys were staying for a workout today.”
“We usually do,” I mutter, tossing my keys in the bowl by the door. “Skipped it.”
Her brows lift slightly, but she doesn’t press.
“I was just waiting for Dev,” she adds, flipping the page on her sketchpad.
I nod, walking past her toward the fridge, even though I don’t know what I’m looking for.
Something to do with my hands, maybe. Something that makes me feel like a normal person instead of the guy who’s coming apart in his own skin.
Nothing appeals under the bright interior light, so I slam the door shut.
“Didn’t expect you back so soon,” Cece says gently. “You okay?”
I pause, fingers curling into the edge of the counter.
The question hangs in the air between us.
It’s not a polite throwaway question, but I know if I say yes, she’ll let it go.
She always lets me choose whether or not to talk, which is why she’s one of the few people who can get me to open up.
And I don’t want to lie today. I’m tired of lying, especially to myself.
“No,” I say, the word low and rough in my throat. “I’m really not.”
She looks up again, full attention on me now, waiting. Not pushing.
And even though the room is warm, even though the sun is finally breaking through the gray outside, I feel cold all over again.
Because this isn’t just about Luna. It’s not just one missed livestream. Even though I feel physically ill that I did that to her. It’s all of it. Everything I’ve been holding inside for months, years maybe. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending it’s fine.
Cece sets her pencil down quietly. She doesn’t try to fill the silence with her usual chatter. Just watches me like she’s waiting for the moment I’m ready to stop standing there like a goddamn statue.
I finally move, dragging out the chair across from her. It scrapes against the tile, and the sound feels like sandpaper behind my eyes. I sit, elbows on the table, forehead in my palms. My breath comes out shaky.
“You want to talk about it?” she asks, voice soft but not coddling. Cece doesn’t do coddling. She does safe.
I nod, not lifting my head. “I messed up.”
There’s a pause, then the scrape of her chair as she shifts to face me more directly. Her attention is like a weight, anchoring me.
“I bailed on Luna,” I say, the words heavier than they should be. “She had this livestream thing set up. Something she’d been planning for weeks. For her followers. For the donor. For the whole damn program. And I was supposed to be there.”
Cece doesn’t interrupt, just waits.
“But I wasn’t,” I say, voice rough. “Dad called me in last minute. Said there was a client I needed to meet. Someone I’m supposed to be working with when I graduate.”
“And he gave you a choice,” Cece says quietly. Not a question. She knows the drill.
“Not really. It’s the same deal it’s always been. If I don’t follow through, somebody suffers.”
She flinches a little, but she doesn’t look surprised. “You should’ve told her.”
“I did,” I say. “I told her why I’m not declaring for the draft. Why I’m going to work for Dad after graduation. But that’s not an excuse for what I do now. To her.”
“You could’ve told her the real reason you’re not going pro,” Cece says.
I look up at her then, and it’s like something inside me cracks. “What do you mean?”
“Beau, you know you can’t bullshit me. I’ve got that whole twin mind reading thing going on.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“Maybe not, but I have been by your side for most of our lives. I remember what happened during that championship game against the Wildcats. I know the real reason you rushed off the ice, and it wasn’t a sprained ankle.”
My fingers are numb and tingly, stomach churning. “What?”
She leans toward me, hands clasped in front of her. “I know you had a panic attack, Beau.”
“How did you… did anyone else know?”
“I doubt anyone else noticed, but I saw the signs. The way you were looking around. The unsteadiness. And I know that’s why you’re hiding behind your obligations to Dad. Why you’re afraid to pursue a professional career.”
My mind is scattered. I thought I had hidden it so well. Even from myself. But here my sister is calling me out. I blow a deep breath out, shutting my eyes because it’s easier to admit when I don’t have to meet hers. “Well, I’ve been having panic attacks again. Bad ones.”
She blinks. “Since when?”
“Since before the semester started. Maybe longer. I didn’t want to admit it was back. I thought if I just… kept skating, kept going, it would shut up. Go away.”
Her expression shifts, worry blooming behind her eyes. “Oh, Beau. You should have talked to me. Or someone. Dev.” She winces. Probably knows I’ve been keeping to myself more since they started dating. But I don’t want her to feel like it’s her fault. I’m not some obligation she has to look after.
“I thought I could push through,” I admit. “I’m the one who’s supposed to have it all together. Hockey, grades, money, a career neatly lined up for me. The guy who doesn’t quit. And then Luna happened, and for a while it got quiet again. Like… she helped me breathe.”
Cece’s voice is barely above a whisper. “And now?”
“Now it’s loud again. Worse than before.
I wake up feeling like I can’t move. Like if I mess up one more time, the whole thing collapses.
I keep hearing Dad’s voice, even when he’s not here.
It’s like the walls are closing in. But what right do I have to that feeling?
There are people out there with real problems. Real suffering. ”
Cece reaches across the table, placing her hand over mine. Her fingers are icy, but her grip is steady.
“Your feelings are valid, Beau,” she says firmly.
“I get where you’re coming from. I do. We have all this privilege.
” She waves her arms around her. “But money doesn’t make you happy.
And our parents certainly never did much to ensure our emotional well-being.
You’re allowed to recognize your privilege and still acknowledge your own issues.
It’s taken me time to figure that out, but it’s true. ”
I look down at our hands. Hers stained faintly with graphite and mine chapped red from the cold because I forgot to put my gloves on.
“I thought it was just me,” I murmur. “That I was broken somehow.”
“You’re not,” she says. “And I know you don’t want to hear this, but… I started seeing someone. A therapist.”
My eyes snap up. “You?”
She shrugs, sheepish. “I was struggling last year. Wrong friends, wrong priorities. Well, you know how that ended up? My assets all over the internet. So, I finally gave in and made an appointment. Turns out it helps.”
Something in me loosens. A knot I didn’t know was there.
“I don’t know where to start,” I say.
“You don’t have to know. Just show up. Let someone else hold the map for a while.”
I press my thumb to the edge of the table, grounding myself. The silence between us is thick, but not heavy.
“Funny, I was just telling Luna she needs to accept help from other people, and she flipped it back into my zone.”
Cece squeezes my hand. “Smart girl. Go talk to her. Get on your hands and knees. Grovel. Whatever it takes. She’s a freaking amazing individual, and she understands family obligations. You can get through to her.”
I want to believe that. I really do.
But something still coils in my chest, anxious and waiting. Like it knows this isn’t over yet.
I stay at the table even after Cece’s gone quiet again, her pencil already moving in long, careful strokes across the page. She doesn’t look up, but I can tell she’s still with me, listening, aware.