Page 8 of Lighting the Lamp
Not only that, but we also have Cole’s absence from the ice weighing heavily on all of us. As far as the world knows, Cole’s shoulder is taking longer to rehab than originally planned, which is the truth, but only a portion of it. Cole has his own demons to face, and hopefully, Michele can help him the way none of us has been able to. Beau shrugged it off and did damage control, trying to stop Cooper from blaming himself for what happened and for wanting to help Cole so he could get back on the ice where he belongs. But who is Beau’s shoulder to lean on when things get too heavy to deal with alone? At one point, I thought that was me. That he’d see me as more than just his little sister, but I was so fucking wrong.
The house was still full of people, with music and laughter spilling from every room and the scent of pine and cinnamon wrapping around everything like a hug. The annual Hendrix holiday party isthewinter event in Redwood Falls. Auntie Mel always goes all out with decorating, but none of that matters because all I can see is him.
Beau just walked in the door from helping one of Auntie Mel’s friends to their car, stomping snow from his boots on the front mat. Melting flakes cling to his dark coat, and his hair is damp, pushed back like he ran his fingers through it on the walk up the drive. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, his smile lazy and lopsided as he shakes the snow off his shoulders.Beau looks like winter itself, rugged and too gorgeous for his own good, like he stepped off the cover of one of the romance novels I keep hidden under my bed… or straight out of a Hallmark movie I wish I were the star of. But I know deep down I’d never have the guts to say the words and tell Beau exactly how I feel about him.
“You’re staring again.” I whip around and find Cole Hendrix, the current bane of my existence, standing way too close. “You know I could put in a good word for you. I have it on good authority?—”
I slap a hand over his mouth before he can finish, my cheeks already burning as I glance around the room to make sure no one hears his nonsense. “Will you shut the fuck up for once in your life?”
He mumbles something against my palm and rolls his eyes dramatically. I drop my hand and take a step back, arms folded across my chest, bracing for whatever he says next.
“As I was saying…” He draws the words out with the smugness only a younger sibling can perfect. “You need to tell him.”
“I think you need to mind your own business,” I mutter, eyes involuntarily flicking back to Beau.
He’s across the room now, handing his mom a bottle of wine she hid on the top shelf above the fridge. She calls it her “mommy juice,” even though we all know about it.Make it make sense, Auntie.But I digress.
“I’m sick of watching you moon over my big brother. You just need a little nudge in the right direction. I promise you’ll thank me for this later.”
“What am I going to thank you for?” I ask, dreading the answer and secretly hoping that whatever Cole’s scheming will work out in my favor.
But I don’t catch a word Cole says because Beau looks right at me and smiles. His whole face lights up, eyes bright with something that makes my heart stumble in my chest. Everything else blurs. I barely register the room around us as he walks toward me, crossing the distance in three long, easy strides.
“Hey, Lisey,” he says, voice low and a little rough, probably from the cold.
I hate it when anyone calls me anything but my name, but with him, it’s different. The nickname on his lips always sounds different, like it belongs to me more when he says it. Right now, it seems like I’m hyperaware of everything: the way the lights from the tree reflect in his eyes, the distant clink of ice in a glass, the static of the holiday music crackling faintly from the speaker behind us. Who am I kidding? This is how it always is when I’m near him, but this time is slightly different. There’s a charge in the air that wasn’t there before, like I can feel him moving through the space. The way he subtly shifts his weight from one foot to the other, the brush of his coat sleeve against mine as he leans in a little closer, goose bumps erupting along my skin. And then, like a badly timed line in a rom-com, Cole’s voice cuts through from behind me.
“Well, would you look at that? Someone better pucker up.”
My heart lurches into my throat, and heat floods my face as Beau glances up, then back down at me, his grin tugging wider. That little shit. Cole knew I was standing under the mistletoe. This was his plan all along. Get Beau to walk over here, make it all look casual, and trap us in the most cliché setup imaginable.
But… this could be it. My chance. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. A perfect magical kiss under the mistletoe, giving me the perfect opportunity to tell him how I feel after years of waiting.
I look up at Beau’s face, memorizing everything. With the snow still clinging to his lashes, the pink in his cheeks, and the way his lips curve when he looks at me. I feel the words rising in my throat, bright and terrifying. I could say it. I could finally let him know I love him—not as his honorary little sister or a friend, but with my entire soul.
My pulse roars in my ears as our eyes lock, and Beau slowly leans forward. Fuck. He’s going to kiss me. Every part of me goes still. I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t think. My brain is screaming:This is what you wanted. This is Beau. This is the perfect first kiss you’ve always dreamed of. Kiss him. Just fucking kiss him.
But beneath all the heat and hope, something colder whispers:What if it changes everything? What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if this ruins it all? I’ll lose him. Not just him, but the whole messy, wonderful family Momma and I have built with the Hendrixes, and I couldn’t survive that.
Just as the panic reaches its peak, Beau’s gaze shifts at the last second. The angle of his head changes slightly as he presses a warm, steady kiss to my cheek before pulling back with that same crooked grin and says almost tenderly, “I couldn’t have asked for a better little sister, Lisey.”
Just like that, everything inside me shatters. A tiny, broken sound bubbles up my throat like a million shards of glass, and I playfully swat at his arm like the moment didn’t just crush something delicate and secret inside me. I feel the bottom drop out of my stomach but force a smile because what else can I do? I pretend like I’m not breaking into a million pieces right here in the hallway.
He pulls me in for a warm and solid hug, and I let him. I allow him to hold me like family, like everything I’ve ever wanted… except not quite. I know right then and there that I’ll never tell him. Loving Beau from a distance is one thing, butlosing him completely would be so much worse. So, I swallow down the words, and I’ve been swallowing them ever since.
I stare at the soft white lights on the Christmas tree, the silence in the house pressing heavier than usual. I’ve loved Beau in ways he’s never seen for so long, never asked for, and never given me space to confess. But tonight, I don’t care about mistletoe, birthdays, or everything that’s been left unspoken. I just want him to be okay.
I should text Cooper. Or Ramona. Or maybe Parker. I don’t want to set off alarm bells if it’s just me overthinking. But it’s hard not to when someone you love starts shrinking in slow, invisible ways. Like he’s fading, inch by inch, and no one else has noticed yet. However, if it is nothing, Beau would hate me for butting in. He’s private, guarded in that quiet, stubborn way of his. And if something’s wrong… he’ll only tell someone if he thinks it’s on his terms.
Still, he should’ve seen a doctor like I begged him to do months ago, even if it was just to rule things out, but he refused. Beau plays through bruised ribs, skates through migraines, and hides pain like it’s a game to win because that’s who he is as a person. The protector. The impenetrable wall surrounding everyone he cares about, protecting them from harm. The guy who runs towards the fight so no one else has to. But tonight was different in a way I can’t really explain, even if only for a second.
I tuck my knees tighter to my chest and stare at the message for another full minute. Still no response. No read receipt. No typing bubbles. Nothing.
My chest tightens, ribs squeezing around something sharp and invisible. I try to take a deep breath, but it catches halfway, like there’s not enough space inside me to hold it all. Not tonight. I can feel it in my gut; something is off.
I close my eyes, breathing slow and steady, trying to ease the weight pressing behind my ribs. What if he’s sick? What if he’snot telling anyone because he’s scared? That thought terrifies me more than anything else because if Beau’s scared, he won’t lean on anyone. He’ll go silent and try to carry it alone until something gives out.
“Nope. Not today, Satan,” I whisper into the empty room and shove the blanket off my lap.
