“He’s going to be okay, you know,” he said quietly. “This happens a lot. Everyone’s always fine.”
She arched a brow. “Have you read the recent studies on football players, concussions, and long-term repercussions?”
He grimaced. “A few, yeah. I know. Those things paint a bleak picture, but that’s part of the reason we’re here. They’re extra cautious now. If you get a hard hit to the head, even if you don’t black out, they usually send you for a CT. Carter got hit pretty hard, and he was out for a few minutes, but he came to pretty quickly. Odds are the CT will be clear, he’ll be out for a week or two, and then be cleared to play for the last few games before the season ends. He’s going to be fine.”
He said the last sentence with conviction. Was he trying to convince her or himself?
But she didn’t feel like arguing, so she nodded. “What happened out there? Do you know? From where I was sitting I just saw him go over the back of that one guy, then a big pile of bodies, and when they got up, he didn’t. Did he land on his head or something?”
Lips compressed into a thin line, Coop nodded. “Yeah. Kind of on the side of his head. But I think when number thirty-six on the other team tripped and fell on Carter’s head, that was what did it. I saw him go down, and even though falling on your head sucks, the way he went down shouldn’t have knocked him out on its own.”
“Oh.” He’d hit his head, then someone tripped and fell on it? That was worse than she’d thought. “Thanks for filling me in.”
“Sure. Of course.” He opened his door, so she did the same, and they climbed out, following the signs to the Emergency Room entrance.
Coop lifted the old-school phone next to the door they’d been directed to at the front desk and told whoever answered they were there to see Daniel Carter. With a buzz, the door opened, and Coop ushered her through. “They said he’s in room eight.”
Following the numbers on the doors, they found his room, slipping around the curtain to see him lying on a hospital bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, a blanket pulled up to his chest, his red Marycliff jersey peeking out of the top, looking oddly deflated without his shoulder pads underneath it. One of the trainers sat in a chair off to one side reading a magazine. The trainer looked up as she and Coop walked in. Daniel lifted his arm, blinking at them, then a smile broke out on his face.
“Hey! You guys came to keep me company, huh?”
Elena hung back at the foot of the bed while Coop moved to the side, clasping Daniel’s extended hand for a second before letting go. “Of course, man. Everyone knows hospitals are boring as hell, so your girl and I are here to entertain you. Plus, you’ll need a ride home once they clear you to leave.”
Daniel chuckled softly. “Yeah, man. I got back from the CT a few minutes ago, so you have good timing. We’ll be here for a while waiting for the results. I heard them announce a trauma on its way, so that’ll take priority over me.” He turned his attention to Elena. “What’re you doing way down there? Come over here.”
She stepped around to the side of the bed, following his beckoning hand. Coop moved out of the way, giving her room to stand next to Daniel. The rail was down on that side of the bed, and he looped his arm around her, pulling her close.
He let out a sigh, closing his eyes. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to text you, but they wouldn’t let me have my phone.”
“It’s fine,” she murmured. “If you have a concussion, you shouldn’t use your phone anyway.”
“He has a concussion.” Elena turned at the sound of the trainer’s voice. She’d barely paid attention to the pale woman sitting off to the side of the room with her brown hair pulled back in a bun and wearing khaki pants and a Marycliff Football polo.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Elena wasn’t used to being called ma’am. It felt weird. “He lost consciousness after a hit to the head. His balance is off, and he shows other signs of minor cognitive impairment consistent with a concussion. We just want to make sure there’s no bleeding.”
“Of course.” Her voice came out weak, and she had to swallow down the bile rising up in her throat at the mention of bleeding being a possibility.
Elena sagged against the bed, grateful for its support and the warm weight of Daniel’s arm around her waist. Its presence grounded her, reminded her that he was conscious and aware, and staved off the flashes of memory that ignited every time she closed her eyes—memories of a different hospital bed holding her unconscious father, him blinking at her when she came to visit after he finally woke up like he couldn’t figure out why she would be there, him yelling and throwing dishes at the nurses, overturning his table when he got angry or irritated, which seemed to be most of the time.
No. Daniel wasn’t like that. He was conscious, and while he seemed a little sleepier and dopier than normal, he was himself and glad to see her and Coop. She clung to that thought while they waited, Coop filling in Daniel on how the game ended. She stayed with him, half her weight on the bed next to Daniel, one foot still on the floor, his arm wrapped around her. He kept his eyes closed a lot of the time, and that was good. He needed to rest so his brain could heal.
After what felt like an eternity, the doctor swept the curtain aside and strode into the room. He glanced at Elena and Coop and introduced himself to them as Dr. Reed. “Well, Daniel, your CT is clear—no skull fractures and no bleeding—which means you can go home. You took a pretty hard hit, though, so be sure to rest as much as you can so you can recuperate with as little stimulation as possible. If you feel dizzy, you can take some dramamine, but it’ll make you sleepy, so keep that in mind. Any questions?”
Daniel had opened his eyes and sat up as the doctor spoke. “Yeah, uh, could I get a note for my professors? I think I might miss a couple days of class.”
Dr. Reed chuckled. “Of course. The nurse will be in with your discharge papers in a few minutes. She’ll have the note, too.” He shook Daniel’s hand and gave the trainer a nod before striding out of the room.
Coop sat up in his chair. “Oh, man. I forgot to bring your street clothes in. They’re in the car. Hang on, and I’ll get ‘em.”
He stood, but Daniel waved him back down. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, man. I’ll change at home.”
The trainer stood, placing her magazine back into the rack on the wall. “Since your friends are here, I’ll go ahead and go. Coach Hanson and I will be in touch to monitor your recovery and get you approved for play again.”
“How long do you think I’ll be out?”
“A week or two, probably. We’ll see how it goes.” She shook his hand too and slipped past the privacy curtain, leaving Daniel to Elena and Coop.
Daniel gave her a sleepy smile. “Sounds like I’ll have lots of time to hang out.”
“Yeah.” She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. Relief didn’t begin to describe how she felt that he seemed okay. Everyone, including the doctor, seemed to expect him to be just fine in a week or two. Though she knew from bitter experience that doctors tended to tell you the hoped-for scenario as the likely possibility even if it wasn’t. Her dad was the perfect example of that. They’d assured her mom again and again that cases like his often made a full recovery. But he hadn’t.
Daniel wasn’t her dad. She had to remind herself of that. He would be fine. But the toll of waiting and wondering was too much. She couldn’t do this again and again. And she knew that every game he played she would feel this anxiety that he’d get hurt again, that this would be the day he got hit so hard or so many times that he had long-lasting problems.
Too bad he wasn’t a boxer or MMA fighter. She never would’ve gotten involved with him then. Now she was in too deep to extract herself painlessly. It would kill her to end things with him, but she didn’t see any other choice.
And he would be so hurt. Especially on top of getting injured in the game. Should she wait to break it off? Maybe. At least wait until after tonight. She’d help Coop get him home, and
then she’d have Hannah come pick her up and figure it out from there. No need to make any decisions right now.
The nurse’s arrival stopped her thoughts and made her realize she’d been unconsciously chewing on her thumbnail again. This had to stop. Or her nails would be reduced to rough nubs again in no time.
Elena walked beside the nurse as she wheeled Daniel out to the entrance where Coop would meet them with the car, entertaining them with a story about a man who’d come into the ER a few weeks ago and climbed into the drop ceiling.
And Elena did her best to only worry about what was happening right then, pushing away all thoughts of the painful conversation she knew loomed ahead of her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Daniel felt sleepy, and the worried looks he kept getting from Elena wrapped him in warmth. If she worried about him, that meant she cared about him. He kept his eyes closed and the seat partly reclined the whole way home. He’d tried to get Elena to take the front, but she’d insisted that his longer legs would be more comfortable there and that she’d take the back. When he’d suggested that he lie down in the back, she’d vetoed that idea, insisting that he had to be in a seat with a seatbelt. She’d grumbled about him reclining the seat, but had let it go when he brought it up partway.
A smile played over his lips at her concern. What he really wanted was to get home and get to bed. He needed a shower first, and then he wanted to turn off all the bright lights that kept stabbing at his eyes, making the throbbing in his head worse, and sleep forever with Elena snuggled against him. That sounded like his own personal version of heaven right now.
Daniel cracked his eyes open when he felt them bump over the familiar entrance to their apartment complex.
Coop slid into his assigned spot and killed the engine. “You gonna be able to make it upstairs on your own, or do you need help?”
Rubbing a hand over his head, Daniel thought about it. “I think I can manage. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”
Coop flashed a grin and climbed out of the car. Elena’s door opened and closed before his fingers found the door handle and pulled it open. Even though they’d assured him at the hospital that he had no bleeding or swelling, his head felt like it floated somewhere about six inches above his body, and his brain felt too big for his skull. It made his movements as sluggish as his thoughts.
When he pushed the door open and put his feet on the asphalt, his cleats less steady on the smooth surface than they were on turf, Elena stood in front of him, her mouth a tight line, her brows drawn together forming a wrinkle in her forehead.
He reached a hand out to her. “Hey. I’m fine.”
That made her lips compress more, but she nodded, holding out a hand. He took it, because she offered. If it had been Coop he would’ve ignored him. But he couldn’t turn down Elena’s help. Each time she looked worried or stayed close to him, he smiled. He couldn’t help it, and didn’t want to. His smiles only made her look more worried, though, so he tried not to keep grinning like a wacko. No need to make her think he’d lost his mind when he got kicked in the head.
Damn. You’d think a football helmet would do a better job of protecting against that.
“The helmet only helps with the exterior trauma. Without the helmet you’d probably have cleat marks in your forehead or something. But it doesn’t stop concussions.”
He slowly turned his head to look down at Elena, who’d answered his thought. “Did I say that out loud?”
Her face lightened for a split second, a brief smile crossing her lips. “Yeah. You did.”
“How do you know so much about helmets and concussions?”
Her lips pressed together again, and she wrapped her arm through his, tugging him toward the stairs leading to his apartment. “After my dad’s accident this summer, I started reading a lot about traumatic brain injuries. I follow a few different organizations that provide support and research for TBI survivors and their families.”
He nodded, but regretted it as soon as he did so, the floaty feeling now combining with a sickening spinning sensation. He had to stop walking for a second and wait for that to pass before continuing. “Okay. That makes sense. But what does that have to do with concussions?”
A dry, humorless chuckle escaped her lips. “Sweetie, concussions are traumatic brain injuries. Milder than what happened to my dad, sure, but still TBIs. My brother likes to play baseball, and then you and I started spending time together, so I read about sports injuries. I can’t help it. It’s my own form of self-torture, indulging my psychologically masochistic streak by reading about all the ways the people I love can get their heads bashed in and permanently damaged.”
This time when he stopped, halfway up the stairs, it was to get her to look at him and clarify some points. He knew he wasn’t operating at full abilities, but it sounded like she might’ve said she loved him. “Wait, what?”
Tugging on his arm, she shook her head. “Let’s get inside. You need to rest. We’ll talk about all this later when you’re not dopey and concussed.”
He allowed her to get him moving again, but didn’t ignore the fact that she avoided meeting his eyes. At the very least he’d wait to push it until they got inside. Having the I love you conversation on the stairs to his apartment didn’t seem like the best place for it now that his slow brain had time to think about it.
Once inside, Coop closed the door behind them, turning the deadbolt and heading to his room. Elena stopped and looked at the door, which seemed strange to Daniel, but then she led him to his room, and he didn’t care about why she might stare at their front door. Pushing him down on the bed, she bent to untie his shoes. He might be out of it, but not enough that that didn’t seem wrong to him.
“S’okay. I can do it.” They were only tied normally, not double-knotted like they were when he played, since he’d had to take them off at the hospital. Toeing them off once they were untied, he stood, stripping off his jersey and dropping his hands to the lace-up fly on his pants.
“Um, I think I’ll just go.”
Daniel’s eyes focused on Elena, who was backing toward his bedroom door. “What? Why?”
Her eyes ran over his body before settling on his face again. “You’re hurt and you need to rest. You obviously don’t need any help from me. So, I’ll just have Hannah come get me so you can go to bed.”
“Stay.”
Her eyes dropped to his open fly, and tracked him as he pushed his football pants down, revealing the padded compression shorts he wore underneath. But her expression gave nothing away. “I really should go.”
“I need to take a shower. At least stay until I’m out. You can tuck me in.” He tried for a charming smile, but worried it came out goofier than he wanted.
Whatever the case, it seemed to work. The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly, and she nodded. “Okay. Go take your shower. I’ll stay until you’re done.”
“You could come help. I might need someone to keep an eye on me. Traumatic brain injury and all.”
He regretted the words when he saw her wince. She shook her head. “They wouldn’t have let you leave the hospital if you were so bad off that you needed supervision in the shower. Go. I promise I’ll be here when you get back.”
The fact that she felt the need to promise worried him a little. He hadn’t expected her to want to leave, and had assumed her protests that she should go were more for show than from an actual desire to leave. But the promise made it sound like she really did want to leave. So it was with a frown on his face that he slid past her to get to the bathroom.
Once he was in the shower, his worries washed away along with the dried sweat and leftover grime from the game. The trainers had hustled him to the hospital once they’d determined that he had a concussion, not letting him change out of his uniform, barely letting him get his shoulder pads off in the locker room before he left. Plus, he’d heard enough stories of people getting nasty infections in the hospital that taking a shower after spendin
g time there sounded like a great idea.
But he didn’t take too long, giving himself a quick scrub down from head to toe, regretting bending over as soon as he did it, and more when he stood back up. The floaty, dizzy feeling hadn’t gotten any better, and the altitude change only made it worse. He held onto the wall of the shower while he waited for the worst of the dizziness to pass, then turned off the water and toweled off quickly. His bed was calling. In high school when he’d gotten a concussion, they’d made him stay up all night. That had been awful. Thankfully, this doctor had said he should sleep as much as he wanted to and avoid stimulation for a few days to give himself time to feel better.
With the towel wrapped around his hips, he crossed the small bit of space that served as a hallway to get to his bedroom. Elena sat on his bed, hunched in on herself, staring at her phone.
When he walked in, she straightened, then stood. “How are you feeling?”
He tilted his hand back and forth in a so-so gesture, avoiding moving his head more than absolutely necessary. “Better with a shower. But more tired. I smell better at least.”
Her gaze lingered where his hand gripped the towel around his hips, but she looked sad this time. That was not a look he’d ever seen on her when he was all but naked. Unconcerned about her seeing him all the way naked, he let go of one end of the towel, draping it over his desk chair and rummaging in his drawer for a clean pair of shorts. Pulling them on provoked the room into spinning again, and he sat down heavily on the bed once the elastic hit his hips, his head in his hands.
Elena made a little sound of distress, her hand landing on his shoulder. “Come on. Get into bed. You need to rest.”
He started to nod without thinking about it and groaned when that made the dizziness worse again. Tipping onto his side on the bed, he lifted up enough that she could pull the blankets out from under him and cover him up. He opened his eyes to watch her smooth the blanket over his chest, her dark hair falling like a curtain and blocking his view of her face.
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