Page 106 of Facing the Line

I huff, put in my place, and keep silent for the rest of the exam. Doc checks my reflexes, my pulse, and probes my head, feeling around with his fingers.

“Ow.” I wince and jerk away when he hits a sore spot on my temple.

He raises a brow. “You’re lucky it didn’t bleed. Head wounds are gushers.”

“I know.”

Dr. Patel stands back and surveys me, hands on his hips. “If you know it already, what would you advise a patient in your condition, then?”

I sigh. “To watch for signs of a concussion. Change in pupil size, dizziness, nausea, headache, and double vision. And to take some Ibuprofen as needed.”

“Really?” He steps forward, clearly still in lecture mode. “You wouldn’t want to figure out what the root cause was?”

“There was no other cause. I tripped.”

“Agile hockey player like you?” he presses, and I squirm. Yeah, I had been a little dizzy before I went down. Probably pushed it a little too hard. But I’ve learned my lesson, I won’t?—

There’s a knock on the door, and Hunter pops his head in. “Doc, I think Evan and I can take it from here.”

My mouth drops open. “What are you doing here? You need to be in Chicago, with the Wolves. Your season starts soon, and?—”

“I heard a teammate needed me.” He shrugs and shares a glance with Evan. “Plus, it’s only an hour away. You’d drive farther if a teammate needed you.”

Dr. Patel’s face lights up as he claps Hunter on the shoulder. “Good to see you, Thompson. How’s the leg?”

Hunter wiggles his leg, demonstrating his range of movement. “Like nothing ever happened.”

“The Blackhawks made a great decision.” The doctor’s smile fades as he stares back at me. “Speaking of. Jonas, you need to take care of yourself. Don’t be foolish.”

With that, he stalks out of the small space and leaves me staring between Evan and Hunter.

My gaze lands on my roommate. “You called him?”

Evan raises his shoulders. “I needed reinforcements.”

“For what?” I ask.

“You’ll find out.” Hunter slings my arm around his shoulders and hauls me upright.

“I can walk on my own just fine, I don’t need help,” I protest, only slightly off-balance as he drags me through the doorway and down the hall, Evan following.

“Where are we going?”

“Just gonna have a chat.”

With those ominous words, he bundles me in the passenger seat of his BMW. Evan slides in the backseat, and we drive off.

We end up at O’Bryan’s, the local Irish pub. It’s a great bar to hang out in on the weekends, with a fun music and dance scene. And it’s the perfect place for a quiet drink on a weeknight.

“Ah, I’ve missed this.” Hunter sips his Harp with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

I shake my head. “You live in Chicago. There’s practically an Irish bar on every corner. You can get Harp anytime you want.”

“Yeah, but there’s something about having it here, with you guys.” He gestures between me and Evan with his pint glass, and I get it. Though they ambushed me, it’s great to share a drink with my friends at our favorite spot. Or it would be, if they had let me order anything besides a Coke. I’m positive I don’t have a concussion, but they won’t listen to me about it.

We talked Evan out of a Boilermaker—he loves those things—and he nurses a Smithwick’s on my other side. Sitting at the bar, we stare at the rugby game on the TV until I clear my throat.

“So. Wanna tell me why you felt the need to drive to Lafayette tonight and take us out for a drink?”

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