Page 116 of Lighting the Lamp
I look up and realize that everyone around me has gone quiet. Ramona watches me over the rim of her cup. Darius is still mid-sip, but even he’s paused. Kyle’s frown is unusually serious, brows pinched like he knows he missed something important while he was busy being everyone’s favorite golden retriever.
“I’m fine,” I lie again, because it’s easier. “Just spaced out.”
Michele gives me a knowing look. “Go.”
“What?”
“Go see him,” she says, softer now. “You’ve been watching that tunnel like it’s going to open up and swallow you.”
“I don’t want to interrupt anything.” I try for the lie, but even I don’t sound convincing.
“Interrupt away. He’s probably sitting there overthinking everything like a weirdo.” Kyle shrugs.
“And if heisbusy, just flash your jersey and act like you’re team staff. That’s what I do.” Ramona gives me a playful wink.
Cole stands, brushing imaginary lint off his chest like he’s making a formal announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, the bench is losing its best distraction.”
“Oh, shut up,” I say, rolling my eyes, but warmth pools in my chest.
Michele gives me a smile that meansyou’ve got this. Ramona toasts me silently with her Sprite. Darius just nods like this is a tactical move in a much larger game.
“Tell my emotionally constipated brother he better play his ass off.” Kyle grins wide, all teeth and sincerity. “Or I’m stealing his Spotify login and deleting every sad playlist he’s ever made.”
I laugh, and this time, it sticks. I don’t say anything else, just back up from the group, the echo of it still buzzing behind me, and start toward the tunnel.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Alise
The deeper I get into the tunnel, the worse this feels. It’s like I’m not walking, but being pulled forward by something I’m not strong enough to fight, even though every part of me is screaming to turn around and head back the way I came.
My shoes squeak against the polished concrete, the sound echoing back at me like footsteps that don’t belong. Too loud. Too sharp. The echoes bounce off the walls, and the air is thick with the smell of sweat and adrenaline.
God, I shouldn’t be here. What the hell am I doing?
My lungs refuse to expand all the way, my ribs caging them in and shrinking by the second. Each step feels like walking through cement, making my legs feel more like jelly as I get closer to the locker room. I should’ve waited or just sent a text. I should’ve done anything except let Cole convince me to head down the tunnel.
In what universe did I think this would be a good idea?
Forget the fact that I have no idea where our relationship stands or if we even have a relationship anymore, but tonight is potentially one of the most emotionally charged nights of Beau Hendrix’s career. This is his brother’s last game. Everyone ishere to see Cooper one last time, but they are also here to see how Beau is going to react. Each person is waiting to see if he is going to fall apart because his big brother will no longer be with him. And I’m strolling down the tunnel with no plan. No invitation. No backup or hype person. Just a tight chest, shaky hands, and a head full of questions.
Fucking Cole.
My heart pounds like it’s trying to outrun me. Each thud rattles my ribcage, echoing in my ears like thunder I can’t get away from. The fluorescent lights above buzz faintly, flickering just enough to raise every hair on my arms. They cast long, distorted shadows on the walls, and suddenly, the tunnel feels too narrow. The air presses down on my shoulders, thick and heavy, as every step feels heavier than the last. My thighs are stiff, knees locking, and my body resists what my heart won’t stop chasing.
I shouldn’t have come.
I shouldn’t be thinking the things I’m thinking.
Hope is a dangerous emotion. It’s wild and stupid and claws its way up my throat like it still belongs. I want to shut it out of my mind, but I can’t. I know I should, but I won’t because I haven’t learned from mistakes. I’m strong enough to take it, but I know it will crush me if I even see one ounce of regret in his eyes.
I shouldn’t hope for something that could already be broken.
I close my eyes, but that’s worse because all I see is him. The look on his face that night, the quiet between us since, and the soul-deep ache that won’t go away.
My breath catches somewhere between my chest and throat, shallow and jagged as glass. I wring my clammy hands in front of me, palms slick and fingers trembling, trying to rub the nerves away, but it only spreads deeper. The closer I get to the locker room door, the more I feel like I’m walking toward something Iwon’t come back from. Like I’m about to open a door that won’t close again..
What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if I already ruined everything just by showing up?
