Page 203 of The Fine Line
“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, launching forward so fast the chair screeches on the tile. She leans over me, her hand reaching behind my head to press a button on the wall. “Nurse!” she calls.
I blink, groggy. “Cub?”
“Yes,” she says instantly, grabbing my hand in both of hers. “I’m here. You’re okay.”
I try to sit up, but my head swims, the ceiling tilting sideways. “What… what happened?”
Her eyes search mine, her voice soft. “You got hit in the head. With a puck.”
I close my eyes, a vague memory flickering through. “Oh yeah,” I murmur. “I remember…”
“You remember?”
I swallow, wincing as I shift my head. “I remember you told me to.”
Her eyes flutter closed for a second. She exhales hard. When she opens them again, they shine, glassy and wet. I half expect a sharp comeback, but instead she just squeezes my hand tighter.
“What else?” I manage, my voice barely audible.
She draws in a breath. “You doubled over. You weren’t steady. You… ran into Holt. He didn’t see you. He thought you were checking him, so he shoved you.”
I close my eyes. Christ.
“You weren’t ready,” she says quietly. “Your upper half twisted but your leg—your right leg—caught. Your knee…”
My eyes drift downward, and for the first time I see it—the bulky brace running from my thigh to my calf. Bandages wrapped tight underneath.
She swallows visibly. “You hit the ice. Your head… you were out cold.” Her voice cracks at the end. “You didn’t wake up.”
I let out a shaky breath. “What’s the damage?”
“Concussion,” she says softly. “And a grade two MCL tear. You’re out for eight weeks.”
My eyes flick back to hers. “And what about you?” I ask. “What’s your damage?”
Her mouth opens, but before she can answer, the nurse appears.
“Welcome back,” the woman says warmly. “How are you feeling, Mr. Sutton? Any pain?”
I shake my head slightly. “Not really.” The truth is, I’m too foggy to feel anything at all.
“That’s good,” she says, checking the monitors. “Would you like anything for pain? We have oral or IV options.”
I go still. For the first time, I notice the IV in my arm, and panic flashes through me.
The nurse sees the shift and lifts her hands. “We haven’t administered anything yet. Just fluids.”
I shake my head sharply. “No pain meds. No oxy. No hydrocodone. Nothing.”
Her brows lift slightly, but she nods. “Okay. I’ll make a note—no narcotics.”
“Not even Tylenol,” I add, my voice hoarse but firm.
“Of course,” she says gently. “I’ll let the attending know.” She gives Caroline a kind smile, then slips out.
The door clicks softly behind her. The quiet is immediate.
When I look back at Caroline, she’s watching me with something unreadable on her face. She glances away when I meet her eyes.
