Page 152 of Lighting the Lamp
“For winning,” she says, the word a warm brush along my mouth. “Payment to be discussed later, but I promise it includes kisses.”
“We have HR, you know.”
“Do they… disallow celebratory make-out sessions with your partner?”
“Pretty sure they encourage them,” I say, and her laugh slides through my bones.
She kisses the corner of my mouth quickly, hidden by a spare equipment rack. It’s barely there, just a brush of her lips against mine. Except there’s nothing innocent about the way her thumb lingers along my jaw, tracing stubble like she’s testing grit.
“Alise!” Ramona sings from outside the doorway. “Do not steal my future husband’s staff, please! I need them to win me jewelry.”
“I’m returning him better.” Alise grins against my lips.
“You better.” Ramona pops her head in, slips a garter into Cooper’s pocket with regal menace, and vanishes again.
Their wedding is in a month, but you’d never know it from the way she storms in like she already owns his last name. Ramona has been juggling dress fittings, vendor calls, and the team’s playoff run like she’s running both an event and a dynasty. Alise is right there with her, darting between fittings and florist meetings, making sure every detail is perfect. If she’sexhausted, she hides it well, though I’ve caught her more than once kicking off her Jordans the second she thinks no one’s looking.
“What the—” A bewildered look crosses Cooper’s face as he pats the pocket.
“Don’t ask,” I tell him.
“Wasn’t going to,” he says, before turning toward the rest of the room. “Helmets on.”
He looks like a conductor at the head of an orchestra, where the instruments can break each other’s faces. The room surges toward the tunnel, and sticks bang the doorframe as everyone heads toward the ice.
“Hey.” Alise curls her fingers into my quarter-zip, halting my movements before the current takes me. “You okay?”
She was there the night my body betrayed me and every day since. She’s felt the tremors and the quiet days when the couch becomes an island that feels like a trap. She isn’t asking me about the game or my nerves; Alise is checking in on me like she has since we were kids.
“I’m good, happy, even,” I say, letting the words feel true in my mouth. “Didn’t think I’d get to be here like this with you.”
“You earned this,” she says, her eyes a little watery. “Not just this job. You earned the right to stand in this moment. You fought for it. Now, go remind them why you were the best I’ve ever watched.”
“Best you’ve ever watched?” I ask, eyebrows up.
“In goal,” she says, prim as anything, but there’s a flicker in her smile that says she’s thinking about other arenas entirely. “We can debate theothercategories later.”
“Later’s a long time to wait…. Care to give me a preview?” I lean into her a fraction, turning the surrounding noise into an audience for a show that’s only for two.
Her eyes darken as she grabs my shirt and pulls me down, her lips crashing into mine. The kiss steals my breath and hands me back every reason I’ve fought to be here. My hand slides to the small of her back, anchoring her to me, and everything else fades away until there’s only her and the way she presses closer to me, daring me to stop.
“Beau! Quit making out with the Tiny Terror and come tell me I’m starting.” Cole’s voice, all swagger and zero patience, barrels through the haze.
“I fucking hate when he calls me that,” she murmurs, still close enough for me to feel her smile ghost against my mouth. “Guess that’s your cue.”
“You’re not starting,” I shout as Alise pulls back just enough to breathe, her lips flushed and her eyes bright with mischief. “And even if you were, I wouldn’t tell you in front of your fragile ego.”
Cole flips me off with the hand not currently testing his shoulder. Good, he’s looser now; that’s one less thing to worry about.
“Go,” Alise says, smoothing my quarter-zip likeI’mthe one going to battle. “Make them look good.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I steal one more quick kiss to carry me through the game, then fall into step beside Cooper. Cole slides in on my other side, spinning his stick like he’s about to audition for a circus instead of stepping into the Stanley Cup Final.
“You know,” Cooper says, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry past us, “I think we’re going to do this.”
“We are,” I say, like it’s already carved in stone.
Not a hope, just a fact. Maybe that’s why manifesting works so well for people. You say it enough, and it stops being a wish, turning into a place you can stand.
