Page 83 of Lighting the Lamp
I huff out a short laugh. “That’s a hell of a pivot. One second you’re playing life coach, the next you’re Dr. Phil.”
It’s a simple question, but it lands like a gut punch. Because no, I’m not, not since the diagnosis. Not with Mercer circling like a vulture or with the way my chest feels tighter every damn morning and the weight of the secret pressing harder than any goalie gear ever could.
But I can’t say that. I can’t answer him truthfully, but I can make a joke and hope he forgets what he was asking.
“Define okay. If we’re talking about how my legs feel like they got steamrolled by a Zamboni after practice this morning, then I’m fucking thriving.”
“So it was that bad?” Cole lets out a low chuckle, but I can hear the worry under it.
“Oh, you know,” I say, pushing my voice lighter, smoothing the edges with fake ease. “Just thirty minutes of sprint drills followed by a light homicide via conditioning test. Ten out of ten would not recommend.”
“You’re a sicko.”
“And you’re just jealous because your cardio maxes out walking to the kitchen.”
It buys me a laugh, a real one this time, and maybe that’s enough for now.
“Good,” he says. “But I’m still worried, though.”
“You and me both,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. “Now finish your geriatric-ass TV show. You owe me for emotionally surviving that sentence.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” Cole grumbles.
I smirk, thumb hovering over the end call button, but his voice stops me.
“Hey… things good with you and Alise?” His voice is quieter, landing deep, right where it hurts.
The question lodges in my chest like a puck to the ribs. I drag in a breath through my teeth and stare out the windshield as I try to explain what’s going on like I actually know myself.
“She asked for space,” I say after a beat, my voice raw with emotion. “Not because she doesn’t care, but because she does. She told me she doesn’t want to be someone I lean on when I’m breaking. She wants more—no, deserves more than that. She wants to be chosen.Needed.Not because she’s safe or steady, but because I can’t imagine doing this life without her.”
The words feel like they’ve been sitting under my ribs for days, waiting for someone to pull them out.
“She didn’t shut the door, not completely. She texts and checks in. She lets me in just enough to make me feel like maybe she still sees me. Maybe she still cares.”
“Then you need to tell her,” Cole says gently. “She deserves to know what she’s standing next to.”
“I know,” I murmur, my chest going tight. “I will. I just…”
I trail off because I don’t have the language for what scares me most. The way fear creeps in, slow and sharp, when I imagineher looking at me differently. Not with love, but pity or worse, worry she doesn’t know how to carry.
“I’m scared, Cole,” I admit, barely above a whisper. “I don’t want her to look at me and see someone fragile and broken.”
“Then don’t give her the chance to make up a story. Give her yours.” Cole exhales, steady and sure. The sound of a brother who’s fought his own ghosts.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” I nod even though he can’t see me, swallowing the knot sitting heavy in my throat.
“And you do, right?” Cole asks quietly. “Want her like that? Not just when it’s hard. When it’s good, too?”
“God, yeah. I do, mind, body, and soul—all of it. I just don’t know how to show her that. Not when I’m still trying to keep my shit together. Not when I feel like I’m holding everything with two frayed strings.”
I close my eyes as the answer blooms in my chest so full it aches. “I want to tell her everything.”
“You mean?—”
“I haven’t said itto her.Not yet, but I want to. She deserves more than a half-formed confession I can’t back up yet.”
Cole doesn’t push, just lets the silence stretch before breaking it the way he always does.
