“No,” I say, the word low and rough in my throat. “I’m really not.”
She looks up again, full attention on me now, waiting. Not pushing.
And even though the room is warm, even though the sun is finally breaking through the gray outside, I feel cold all over again.
Because this isn’t just about Luna. It’s not just one missed livestream. Even though I feel physically ill that I did that to her. It’s all of it. Everything I’ve been holding inside for months, years maybe. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending it’s fine.
Cece sets her pencil down quietly. She doesn’t try to fill the silence with her usual chatter. Just watches me like she’s waiting for the moment I’m ready to stop standing there like a goddamn statue.
I finally move, dragging out the chair across from her. It scrapes against the tile, and the sound feels like sandpaper behind my eyes. I sit, elbows on the table, forehead in my palms. My breath comes out shaky.
“You want to talk about it?” she asks, voice soft but not coddling. Cece doesn’t do coddling. She does safe.
I nod, not lifting my head. “I messed up.”
There’s a pause, then the scrape of her chair as she shifts to face me more directly. Her attention is like a weight, anchoring me.
“I bailed on Luna,” I say, the words heavier than they should be. “She had this livestream thing set up. Something she’d been planning for weeks. For her followers. For the donor. For the whole damn program. And I was supposed to be there.”
Cece doesn’t interrupt, just waits.
“But I wasn’t,” I say, voice rough. “Dad called me in last minute. Said there was a client I needed to meet. Someone I’m supposed to be working with when I graduate.”
“And he gave you a choice,” Cece says quietly. Not a question. She knows the drill.
“Not really. It’s the same deal it’s always been. If I don’t follow through, somebody suffers.”
She flinches a little, but she doesn’t look surprised. “You should’ve told her.”
“I did,” I say. “I told her why I’m not declaring for the draft. Why I’m going to work for Dad after graduation. But that’s not an excuse for what I do now. To her.”
“You could’ve told her the real reason you’re not going pro,” Cece says.
I look up at her then, and it’s like something inside me cracks. “What do you mean?”
“Beau, you know you can’t bullshit me. I’ve got that whole twin mind reading thing going on.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“Maybe not, but I have been by your side for most of our lives. I remember what happened during that championship gameagainst the Wildcats. I know the real reason you rushed off the ice, and it wasn’t a sprained ankle.”
My fingers are numb and tingly, stomach churning. “What?”
She leans toward me, hands clasped in front of her. “I know you had a panic attack, Beau.”
“How did you… did anyone else know?”
“I doubt anyone else noticed, but I saw the signs. The way you were looking around. The unsteadiness. And I know that’s why you’re hiding behind your obligations to Dad. Why you’re afraid to pursue a professional career.”
My mind is scattered. I thought I had hidden it so well. Even from myself. But here my sister is calling me out. I blow a deep breath out, shutting my eyes because it’s easier to admit when I don’t have to meet hers. “Well, I’ve been having panic attacks again. Bad ones.”
She blinks. “Since when?”
“Since before the semester started. Maybe longer. I didn’t want to admit it was back. I thought if I just… kept skating, kept going, it would shut up. Go away.”
Her expression shifts, worry blooming behind her eyes. “Oh, Beau. You should have talked to me. Or someone. Dev.” She winces. Probably knows I’ve been keeping to myself more since they started dating. But I don’t want her to feel like it’s her fault. I’m not some obligation she has to look after.
“I thought I could push through,” I admit. “I’m the one who’s supposed to have it all together. Hockey, grades, money, a career neatly lined up for me. The guy who doesn’t quit. And then Luna happened, and for a while it got quiet again. Like… she helped me breathe.”
