Page 89 of Lighting the Lamp
There’s a shadow behind his grin. A tightness in his shoulders he can’t quite hide. A heaviness in his silences that means so much more than anyone thinks. I know that kind of hiding. I’ve lived it for most of my life. I grew up with a father who promised to love me and then vanished the second I needed too much or asked the wrong question. When I just existed in a way that made him uncomfortable. He was the first person I trusted, the one who should’ve stayed, and when he didn’t, it carved a lesson so deep I’ve never been able to unlearn it. Sincethen, I’ve been closed off, always afraid that if I let someone close enough to see me—really see me—they’ll decide I’m too much and walk away, too.
Sure, I had Auntie Naomi, Auntie Mel, and their whole beautiful, chaotic tribe, but outside of them? I learned early that people don’t always stay, especially when you’re the weird kid with too many feelings and a sensory system that short-circuits at the drop of a hat. I was too jumpy and sensitive. Too loud and too quiet all at once. I was basically too much all the time.
People say that my quirks don’t bother them. Theyalwayssay that in the beginning, but eventually, they all reach their limit. And when they do, they don’t walk away gently. They leave like I was a mistake they don’t want to own. So, I learned to expect it, built walls around my heart, and called it self-respect. I tell myself I’m fine being alone and solitude is safer than disappointment. But Beau makes me want to crack the door open again, and that might be the scariest thing of all, because what if what he’s hiding breaks me?
So no, I don’t run to Ramona’s because I want comfort. I go because I need to reset. I need to shove my heart back into its box and slap the mask back on before someone notices the cracks. Before someone sees that I’m already in love with a man I might not trust wants me for me and not as a safety net.
By the time I get to their floor, I’ve triple-checked my texts for any proof that Darius was a petty menace and alerted the entire Hendrix family about me and Beau “making out like hormonal teenagers.” No messages yet, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.
I shove open the stairwell door like I’ve just come back from a war and make a beeline for their apartment. The door’s open, because of course, it is, and I walk straight into the scent of cinnamon rolls and pure emotional danger.
Because if Ramona asks me one question with that knowing little smirk of hers, I might actually implode.
“If you’re here to confess your sins, I require the full details and a pastry.” Ramona’s voice slices through the kitchen like a guillotine, and I freeze mid-step, still clinging to the hope that I could sneak in unnoticed.
“You heard.”
“Oh, I didn’t have to,” she calls, far too gleefully. “Darius texted Cole,Don’t come over unless you want to see your brother’s bare behind on the couch.Which I assume isn’t an exaggeration.”
He swore he’d keep it quiet, and here he is, tossing me under the bus before I’ve even had caffeine.
“It is!” I drop my bag by the door and fling myself face-first onto her couch. “We had all our clothes on.”
“For now,” Ramona mutters, appearing over me with a mug in hand. “You want tea or tequila?”
“Surprise me.” I groan, rolling over onto my back so she can press it into my palms.
“Tea it is.” She snorts and takes a sip from her own mug. “So…you and Beau finally tested the structural integrity of his couch cushions?”
“Please stop. I’m just going to lie here and die peacefully.”
“Okay, okay.” She sinks beside me like she’s about to binge-watch a disaster unfold in real time. “But you’re glowing and twitching. Either you had the best make-out session of your life, or you’re seconds away from an emotional breakdown.”
“Can it be both?” I admit, the words muffled by the fabric.
“Go on.” She lifts a brow, motioning with her hand for me to continue speaking.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I mumble, staring into the mug like answers will rise from the steam. “In his apartment, he kissed me like I was something sacred. I can still feel it—his hands, his mouth, everything. And I want—God, I want to believe him.”
“But?”
“But it’s Beau. He’s being so perfect, and I want to trust it, I do, but something feels wrong.”
“Wrong how?” Ramona studies me with that look that always makes me want to hide under a blanket.
“He’s hiding something. I can feel it. There’s a weight behind his smile like he’s holding the door closed on something big, messy, and painful. And I get it. We’ve all got our shit, but he won’t let me see it. And I’m scared if I get too close, I’ll fall for someone who isn’t really there.”
She says nothing, just lays her hand on my knee and gives it a small squeeze. I keep talking, the words spilling from my lips like I can’t hold them in anymore.
“I know what it looks like when people say,I’m not going anywhereand still leave. I’ve lived it. I’ve watched people disappear because I was too much or too weird or too me. I know how to spot someone with one foot already out the door.”
“Alise…”
“And he’s been showing up,” I rush out. “Really showing up. Fixing the door at the rink, bringing snacks, leaving gummy bears when I’ve had a crap day, and it’s killing me. I want to let him in so badly it physically hurts, but I can’t stop thinking about all the what-ifs. What if this is just his version of a soft exit? What if he’s only giving me part of himself so it hurts less when he leaves?”
Ramona’s expression softens as she reaches over and flicks me right between the eyes.
“Bitch, that hurt!” I screech, rubbing the sore skin. “What was that for?”
