Each stride digs deeper until my chest burns with a fire that demands attention. The pain feels cleaner than the one sitting behind my sternum, so I keep going, pushing until the edges of my vision blur and there’s nothing left but the breath dragging out of me in ragged pulls.
The ghosts don’t leave me; if anything, they skate in circles right beside me, sharper than the cold and harder to outrun. I still carry the unspoken expectations as if they're stitched to my jersey. I’m the one who’s supposed to be fine. The one who jokes first, forgives first, absorbs the hits before anyone notices something’s wrong.
The one who doesn’t break, because Beau was sick, and Cooper was angry, and someone had to hold the pieces while they figured their lives out. Cole is handling his own demons, demons that none of us can see but him. It was easier to stay in that role than admit I needed anything for myself. Easier to be the steady one instead of the brother who made things harder for everyone. But I couldn’t do that tonight when the hurt felt too sharp to swallow, and pretending felt like lying to my own skin.
Alycia’s voice threads through it all. Every version of her shows up in my mind at once. The soft way she said my name when she finally let me in. The careful tone she used when she didn’t want me to see that she trusted me. And the one that wrecks me the most, thevoice she used when she lied and said it couldn’t be real. When she put distance between us like it was for professionalism instead of fear.
I know why she did it, but knowing doesn’t soften the hit. It only makes the ache sharper because for one impossible moment, I felt like I could want her. Now she’s pulled away from me, and I don’t know how to hold the version of me that reached for something real. So, I skate.
I skate because stopping means feeling all of it at once, and I’m not sure I’m built for that kind of collapse. Not tonight, in an empty rink where everything echoes louder than I can handle. I circle the rink again and again, trying to breathe past the tightness clawing up my throat, but keep pace, knowing exactly how fast I can go.
When my legs finally give out, my skates slow into a rough glide before stuttering to a stop near the boards. Sweat clings to my neck despite the cold, but underneath it, a different heat builds, like I’ve been trying too hard for too long, and suddenly, there’s no strength left to pretend. I press my forehead to the chilled plexiglass and let the cold bite through my skin. It’s grounding in a way I’m almost ashamed to need.
I’ve played through concussions, bruised ribs, and fractures, but heartbreak is the first thing that’s ever made me want to fold in on myself. This isn’t about losing her but realizing I never really had her in the way she had me. The thought lands so clean and sharp it physically hurts. My fingers curl at mysides like they’re the only thing keeping me upright, and for a moment, all I can hear is my uneven pulse thudding against the hollowest parts of me.
I don’t know how long I stand there before I hear the familiar crunch of blades carving across the ice. Beau doesn’t announce himself, just the steady sound of him skating up behind me. The same way he always did when we were kids and I pushed myself too far. The same way he does now, years later, without needing to be asked.
“You’re going to crack the glass if you keep leaning on it like that,” he says, his voice settling in beside the hurt.
I exhale, a rough, shaky thing that barely counts as a laugh. “Wouldn’t be the first thing I’ve broken tonight.”
He stops at my side, close enough for warmth to exist between us, even in the cold, and waits. Beau’s always been good at giving me space without letting me drift too far.
“How long have you been out here?”
I don’t answer because I’m not sure. Time stopped being measured in minutes and started being measured in how many times I thought about turning around and walking to Alycia’s apartment instead. He studies me for a long moment, then nudges the toe of his skate against mine, not enough to move me, just enough to make sure I feel it.
“You don’t have to do that stoic shit with me.”
The words land with a quiet accuracy only Beauever seems to have, hitting the exact spot I’ve been trying to numb. He doesn’t push or crowd me, just stays there beside the boards. His presence is steady in a way that loosens something I’ve been holding in a white-knuckled grip. The rink is all echo and dim light, making it impossible to hide. Maybe that’s what finally cracks me open, because the words that have been clawing at the back of my throat since the moment Alycia ran away from me earlier outside the locker room push up all at once.
“I didn’t think it would hit me like this,” I admit, my voice low, raw. “I thought if I kept moving, kept skating, kept pretending?—”
Beau doesn’t rush to fill the space I leave hanging. He just exhales softly, a breath that sounds like understanding rather than pity. It makes something in my chest pull tight, because this is my big brother. The one who notices the things I don’t say, the one who can read the tension in my shoulders like it’s printed text.
“You thought if you stayed in motion, the ache wouldn’t catch up to you.”
I look down at my hands, still shaking faintly from the hours I spent trying to outrun myself on the ice. “Yeah.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Ky.”
“I’m starting to figure that out.”
He steps closer, not enough to crowd me, but enough that I can feel the gravity of him. “You’ve been carrying this alone for months, haven’t you? Too proudto say anything and too scared to sit still long enough to feel it.”
“It’s not pride,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I just… didn’t want to make it someone else’s problem.”
Beau takes that in without rushing to answer, the way only he does. It's like he knows the edges of this aren’t sharp because of anger, but because of everything I’ve been trying to carry alone. He shifts just slightly, enough to make me look at him, and when I meet his eyes, there’s no judgment waiting for me there, only understanding earned from his own battles.
“You’re not a problem,” he says, the words landing with a calm that feels like it’s settling into places inside me I haven’t touched in days. “You’re a man who fell for someone who doesn’t know what to do with something real.”
I swallow hard, the truth of that scraping against the hollow ache in my chest.
“I’m not guessing, Kyle.” Beau holds my gaze, and there’s a softness there that wasn’t always part of who he was. “I’ve loved someone who thought backing away was the only safe move she had. Someone who believed she had to give every bit of herself to everyone. Someone who pulled back from good things because all she ever learned was that good things disappear.”
He doesn’t say Alise’s name because he doesn’t have to. I’ve known for as long as I can remember that he was in love with her. It wasn’t something he talked about, but you could see it in the way he watched herwhen he thought no one noticed. I wasn’t there when it all cracked open between them, but I know enough to understand the shape of what he went through. And I can see it now, the quiet recognition of someone who knows exactly what it costs to love a woman who doesn’t trust the good things in front of her. Beau isn’t speaking in hypotheticals, but about an ache you don’t forget, even after it finally becomes something beautiful.
“I know what it looks like when someone wants something so much it terrifies them. And I know what it feels like to be the one left standing there, wondering what you did wrong, when the truth is… you did nothing wrong at all. You just felt something too deep, for someone who’s still learning how to trust anything that isn’t theirs to control.”
