Still, there were parties and get-togethers, and I even had a little dinner party. I kept up with the Kings online, reading all the box scores so I could see what kind of game Jake had. I didn’t watch his games since we didn’t get Kings games on our cable package, and I found it too frustrating to watch tiny games on my laptop. But Bianca kept up with all the NHL news. One Monday night, she came into my room and told me that Jake was injured.
“Really? Is he badly injured?”
“Hockey teams are so vague. They’re just saying an upper body injury. But he left the game, and they don’t usually leave unless it’s really serious.”
I knew that already: hockey players prided themselves on being tough and playing through the pain. Missing teeth and stitches were not enough to keep you out of the game. I sighed. “Oh no! I really hope he’s okay.”
“You really like him, don’t you, Frankie?” Bianca sat down on my bed.
I nodded. “It’s the dumbest thing. All summer long, I truly wasn’t interested, but once I really got to know him….”
“Okay, I’ll see if I can find out what’s wrong with him.”
Both Bianca and I checked online but even in the morning, there wasn’t any additional information. I didn’t know exactly what to do; I had texted Jake and called him, and not gotten any answer back. So I did what I always do when I’m stressed: I started baking.
“Frankie! I’m not going to fit into my jeans if you keep this up,” moaned Lauren, as I took a batch of banana chocolate chip muffins out of the over. It was three days later, Jake hadn’t been back on the ice and I still hadn’t heard from him.
“Maybe you can channel these calories for good instead of evil,” declared Bianca. “Why don’t you bake a get-well care package for him?”
That was a good idea. I had a recipe for rich brownies with almost no flour in them, so with time they got more chocolaty instead of stale, which were perfect for mailing. I made a batch and sent them with a get-well card. Then I tried not to think about him anymore. I had tried to get in touch and failed. Unfortunately I was already way ahead on all my readings. I seemed to have too much time on my hands to worry and wonder.
Jake
My mom flew out to L.A. as soon as she heard I had a serious injury, even though I told her we didn’t have any definite test results yet. It was good to have her there because the team left on a road trip the day after I got hurt, so I was home alone and totally bored. I had headaches, I was tired, and I wasn’t supposed to do anything. No exercise, no video games, no television, no texting. Nothing.
I spent most of the day lying down in my darkened room, and she went out grocery shopping and then started cooking up my favourite meals. That was nice, but her decision that our house could use a major cleaning wasn’t as nice. The vacuuming was too noisy and hurt my head, and I told her so. Then she resorted to quietly dusting and sweeping, that noise bugged me too but I felt guilty complaining. I was totally frustrated, I told everyone I felt okay, but they insisted on treating me like some lame patient.
Friday I was sprawled on the living room couch, having lunch. My mom was sitting across from me, and suddenly she tilted her head.
“There’s a lot of stuff under your couch!” She got down on the floor and started pulling things out. Diet Coke cans, socks, a pizza box (luckily empty) and a magazine.
“Are you and Luke reading Vogue magazine these days?” my mother asked, holding it up like a dead fish.
“No, that’s Frankie’s,” I responded automatically. I figured it must have gotten swept under there when we were fooling around in the living room, and that made me smile a little.
“Frankie, the girl from the summer? She was here?” My mom’s voice rose an octave. Not only did that hurt my head, but shit, I wasn’t in any shape to deal with this issue.
“Uh yeah. No big deal.” I paused, but by the look on my mom’s face this was a big deal. “Look, I have a headache, and I’m going to lie down now.” Then I escaped.
My cell rang and I took a look. Jake! Finally.
“Hi Jake! Are you okay?”
A woman’s voice answered me, “Sorry, Frankie, it’s not Jake. It’s Sandy, his mom.”
“Oh, hi Sandy, how are you?” This was a little weird.
“Fine, thank you. I’m here visiting Jake. Well, looking after him really.”
“And how is he?”
“Well, he keeps saying that he’s okay, but he’s not. And he’s not supposed to drive or do any physical activity, just rest. The team has doctors keeping an eye on him. They haven’t confirmed it publicly yet, but it’s a concussion.”
I knew that was bad. Concussions were so unpredictable. The Canucks had a player who was out with a concussion for seven months. “Oh dear. I hope it’s not a bad one.”
“It’s difficult to know. He didn’t lose consciousness, so that’s good. But he’s certainly not himself.”
I sighed. Poor Jake, it sounded quite serious.
“Look Frankie, I know it’s very odd for me to be calling you, but I have to go back to work on Monday, so I’m leaving here on Sunday night. The team is away on a road trip, and Jake is all alone here….”
“Um….” I stammered. I was a little hesitant to jump right in and offer to help. If he needed me, of course I wanted to help. However, I did have school, and I had hardly heard from Jake even before the concussion. But obviously he was badly hurt; after all, what was his mom doing with his phone, which was usually attached to him?
“Frankie dear, Jake doesn’t tell me anything about his personal life, maybe that’s better, even if I’d like to know. Anyway, I know that you two are friends. Perhaps it’s asking a lot, but is there any chance you could come down and stay with him for a few days and look after him? I know you can cook, and you can drive, right?”
“Yessss.” I could drive, but in Los Angeles? Yikes.
“Oh, that’s so nice of you! You’re such a sweet girl, and I would feel so much better knowing that Jake wasn’t here all by himself. He’s a people person and he gets lonely. Luke will be back Thursday night. Plus he needs to go to the doctor, and I know he’ll try to drive himself if there’s no one here.”
Wait, what? I had said yes to the driving question, not to coming to L.A.! I had a paper due next week and a ton of other things! But I could work there, and I really wanted to see Jake again. Before I knew it, Sandy had made flight arrangements. By Sunday, I was back in Jake’s townhouse. I knocked lightly on his bedroom door and walked in with a sunny smile, only to be greeted by a horrible scowl.
“You know, you didn’t have to come and look after me, I’m fine!”
Jake was pretty indignant for someone who was still in bed at one o’clock on a Sunday afternoon. I guess I had assumed that he would be happy to see me, but clearly his concussion had turned him into Oscar the Grouch.
“Why don’t you try telling your mom that?” I hissed back at him. Sandy was in the kitchen making a late lunch. She had picked me up at the airport, and was getting ready to hand over the nursing duties before her flight that evening. She had been so happy to see me that the contrast with Jake’s pissed-off greeting was startling. “It’s not like I volunteered for this gig, she made me come. But actually, you do look fine.”
I guess it wasn’t like a broken leg; if your brain gets injured, it’s not like you’re suddenly all forehead or your eyes are lopsided. Or more lopsided. He looked normal, but tired. Although apparently he hadn’t shaved since the injury, so he looked a little street person-y. And his appearance wasn’t improved by the fact that he was scowling at me. I left and went to the bedroom where Sandy had diplomatically put my suitcase. It used to be Ryan’s room, but now it was a neutral guest room, where Sandy’s small suitcase sat next to my large one. I brushed my hair and took a deep breath. Yes, he was being a jerk, but he was sick, so he got a pass.
Sandy was making soup and sandwiches. The sandwiches looked really good, with yummy fillings in them.
“Ja
ke’s not really that happy to see me,” I reported. I didn’t want Sandy to think that everything was okay when it wasn’t. If Jake threw me out after she left, I wasn’t fighting with him about it.
“Was he rude? I’m sorry, that’s so unlike him. It’s so hard, seeing him like this.” Sandy frowned and wrinkled up her forehead. “He was always my sweet baby, so good-natured. And now he’s all mean and grouchy; it’s like the concussion changed his personality.”
“It’s okay, I know that Jake’s a nice guy,” I reassured her because she looked really upset.
“I know, I know.” She smiled and looked at me. “I’ve just been so worried these past days, what if he’s permanently changed? I worry way too much. My husband and kids always laugh at me.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of Jake.” What? Did I just say that? Sandy was so worried that I felt I had to comfort her in some way.
“I’m sure you will.” Sandy pulled out a folder. “Here’s the information they gave me on concussions. And he’s not supposed to have any physical activity… at all.”
Was she suggesting what I thought she was suggesting? As I leafed through the pamphlets, I snuck a look at Sandy, but her face was all innocence.
“He is a sweetie, isn’t he?” Sandy continued, “You know, I always felt he left home too soon. Hockey is so demanding! He was only 15 years old, and I couldn’t stop crying the day we drove him to Ottawa. He had a lovely billet family, and we could still see some of his games. But a boy needs his parents! His sisters were out all the time, and he was the one who loved to hang around. My baby.”
Sandy seemed to be reminiscing more to herself, but it was pretty interesting. I didn’t disagree with her; I felt that Jake had issues that might be explained by everything he went through too young. She paused and smiled, obviously thinking of their many happy times together. “You know, Nicola and I were starting to get worried. Jake never seemed to have a real girlfriend and with this whole partying lifestyle in Los Angeles,” she shook her head. “Well, having you on the scene is so nice.”
“Look Sandy, I should probably explain that Jake and I are not….”
Just then he lurched into the kitchen in gym shorts and a wrinkled t-shirt.
“Were you talking about me?” Jake demanded.
“Um, hello dear,” Sandy stammered.
“Yes,” I told him, “You’re the reason we’re both here, what else would we talk about?”
“Well, stop it,” Jake snapped.
Sweet was not the word for him.
42. Nurse Taylor to the Rescue
In my experience with sick guys, they all wanted attention. My brothers were totally obvious about it, lying in bed like tyrannical Jabba the Huts, demanding food, drinks and entertainment. Matt, on the other hand, was more like a martyr, telling me not to worry about him but hinting that if I wanted to make some homemade chicken noodle soup and deliver his finance assignments, it would ease his impending death.
Jake was carving out his own category. He was grouchy and frustrated at not being able to do anything, but all he wanted was for me to leave him alone. Well, maybe shove delicious meals under his door and then leave him alone. Then just when I was ready to re-concuss him with the nearest heavy object, he would revert to being nice and normal for long enough for me to forget what a jerk he was. And it was certainly weird to go to sleep in the guest room all by myself on Sunday and get a good night’s sleep.
Since he couldn’t stand any noise, I couldn’t watch TV or do anything around the house. I didn’t want to leave Jake alone but since he didn’t want me bothering him either, I decided to get some homework done – L.A. style! As I sat in the huge hot tub, I decided my cultural theory readings had never felt more glamourous.
Later I went down to check on Jake. I thought he was sleeping, so I put some fresh water and orange slices on his bedside table and then turned to leave. Jake’s eyes opened, and he groused at me, “At least someone’s having a good time.”
I was wearing a white crocheted cover-up over my bathing suit, but it was pretty clear where I had been. “I know, it’s a national day of self-sacrifice since Jake Cookson can’t have any fun. Stop being like that.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to have a concussion,” he muttered.
“No, but if you want to talk about it, or anything else, I’m happy to stay,” I offered cheerfully.
“Typical Frankie, talking is the answer to everything.”
I was pretty fed up after a whole day of this. “Look Jake, nobody wants you to be better more than I do. Does acting like a complete douche make you feel better somehow? Because it certainly makes me feel worse!”
Jake pouted for a moment and then sighed. “Sorry, Frankie.”
“It’s okay,” I told him. “I know you’re not yourself.”
“Why don’t you stay,” he motioned to the chair beside the bed and I sat down on it. “I can’t really talk or stuff, but I wouldn’t mind you being here.”
It was weird, I sat there and he lay there, but we didn’t say anything for ages. I wasn’t even sure if his eyes were open since the room was so dark. Then I saw his teeth in the dim light as he smiled and said, “Frankie, it’s kind of hot in here. Wouldn’t you like to take that white thing off?”
“I think you’re getting better,” I laughed. I kissed him on the forehead and then got up to leave. Sandy had said no physical exertion. “I’ll go get your dinner ready.”
The next day, I had to drive Jake to a clinic where he had to undergo some tests. He was as grouchy as ever, and I was wondering why the list of concussion symptoms didn’t include “being an asshole.” I used the SUV’s GPS and ignored all his comments. Driving in L.A. was stressful enough without a cranky backseat driver.
I went up to the doctor’s office with him, and the friendly receptionist told me that he’d be at least an hour.
“There’s a mall a block over,” she suggested, looking me over and correctly guessing my hobbies. I went to the mall; it was kind of an odd one, with dollar stores, random boutiques, a T.J. Maxx, and a cheesy food court. I was walking by one store, which clearly catered to the kinky crowd, wondering if even I could manage stilettos that high, when I got an idea.
Jake
Frankie was late meeting me at the clinic, and she had a big pink shopping bag when she finally got there. I guess looking after me came second to shopping. We walked back to the car, and she still insisted on driving.
“I can drive now,” I told her. “They did a test and didn’t find anything.”
“They scanned your brain and found nothing?” Frankie asked and started chortling away. Man, she was a pain.
“Ha. I’m cleared for light exercise now,” I said proudly. I felt fine all along.
But she still wouldn’t give up the keys, even though she drove like an old lady. No, I take that back; even my granny drove faster than Frankie. People were laying on the horn and giving her the finger, but she just kept crawling along.
Once we got home, Frankie made lunch for us, and then I went to my room to lie down again. I was tired, but it was hard to sleep. And I missed the team, the guys, the structure, and playing. Watching games was so frustrating; the only good news was that the guys were doing well. But even that was tough since I wanted to be contributing too, win or lose.
I could hear Frankie taking a shower, and I fell into a light sleep.
A while later I woke up when Frankie came into my dark room. She opened the drapes a little and let some sunlight into the room.
“What are you doing?” I asked, shielding my eyes.
“Just checking on my patient,” she replied, walking over to the bed.
“I’m fine,” I told her, keeping my eyes shut. She was always telling me to rest, and now she was the one waking me up.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, in kind of a sexy, low voice.
I opened up my eyes and looked at her. Holy fuck! She was wearing this nurse’s outfit. A
tiny white dress so low cut that her tits were popping out and so short I could see that she was wearing white stockings underneath, along with a pair of shiny red high heels. She even had a little nurse’s cap on top of her long dark hair.
“Frankie, shit! You look … hot.”
“Please Mr. Cookson, call me Nurse Taylor.” She pulled out a toy stethoscope. “Now I’ll have to examine you. Raise the t-shirt please.”
“Sure!” I sat up and peeled off my t-shirt. I was already feeling better, and I was cleared for light exercise!
She used the stethoscope to listen to my back and then my chest, running her hands over me and pinching my nipples gently. She knew I liked that.
“Uh, what do you think, Nurse Taylor?”
“A fine physical specimen,” she said, trying not to laugh. “But your heart seems to be beating a little fast.”
“Really?” Oh c’mon Frankie, what guy’s heart wouldn’t be racing after seeing you in a sexy nurse’s uniform?
“Yes, here’s what a normal heart rate sounds like.” And she put the stethoscope earpieces on me, put the round thing in my hand and then guided my hand into her cleavage. “Can you tell the difference?”
“No… not yet.”
“Oh well, maybe you need to get closer.” She undid the top button of her uniform, and her great tits came popping out in a red lace bra. I pushed the end of the stethoscope deeper between her tits; it felt great to be trapped between them.
“I think I can hear something,” I squeezed her tit with one hand and unbuttoned her uniform with the other.
“Really? Because my heart is on the other side,” she said smiling.
“Oh.” I plunged the stethoscope deeper inside her bra, rubbing it up against her nipple.
How The Cookie Crumbles Page 26