Page 75 of The Love Comeback
“The team?” I ask.
“They finished the game. Won 3-1.” Nate smiles. “Cam scored two after you went down. Said they were for you.”
I try to nod, but the motion sends another spike of pain through my head. Before I can ask anything else, the door opens and a doctor walks in, followed by what appears to be a resident. The doctor is older, with salt-and-pepper hair and glasses that magnify his alert eyes.
“Mr. Santos, good to see you back with us. I’m Dr. Fitzpatrick.” He approaches the bed, pulling a penlight from his pocket. “I’m going to check a few things, okay? Just try to relax.”
I brace myself as he shines the light directly into my eyes. The pain is immediate and intense, like someone hammering nails into my brain. I can’t help but flinch away.
“Sorry about that,” Dr. Fitzpatrick says, noting my reaction. “Photosensitivity is common with concussions. Can you follow my finger without moving your head?”
I try to track his finger as he moves it from side to side, up and down. My vision blurs at the edges, and nausea rises in my throat again.
“Doing good,” he encourages, though I don’t feel like I’m doing anything well at the moment. “Can you tell me your full name?”
“Kade Antonio Santos,” I reply automatically.
“And what day is it?”
I have to think about this one. “Thursday. No—Friday now, I guess, since it’s after midnight.”
He nods approvingly. “Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital.”
“That’s right. And do you remember why you’re here?”
“Hockey game. Player collision.” The words come out clipped as I try to manage the growing discomfort.
“Good.” He makes some notes on his tablet. “You’ve sustained a moderate concussion, Mr. Santos. The CT scan didn’t show any bleeding or fractures, which is excellent news. But we’ll need to keep you for observation at least until tomorrow.”
I close my eyes, absorbing this information. A concussion. I’ve had them before, but this one feels different. More intense.
“How long until I can play again?” The question feels automatic, programmed into me after years of living and breathing hockey.
His expression turns serious. “That’s not something we can determine right now. Concussion recovery isn’t linear, and in your profession, returning too soon can be dangerous. We’re talking weeks, not days.”
Weeks. The word settles heavily in my chest. We’re heading into the most critical part of the season, and now I’ll be watching from the sidelines. A year ago, that news would’ve devastated me. Now, though, my first thought is of Colton’s games—will I be well enough to see them?
The doctor continues his examination, checking my reflexes, asking more questions about my symptoms. I answer mechanically, but my mind keeps drifting back to Ella. To the words I think I heard her say. To the fact that she’s not here now.
“The dizziness and nausea should improve over the next few days,” Dr. Fitzpatrick says. “But the headaches might persist longer. You’ll need to avoid screens, bright lights, and, of course, any physical activity that could risk another impact.”
I nod slightly, careful not to move too quickly. “When can I have visitors? Non-family visitors?”
He glances at his watch. “Regular visiting hours start at 9 AM. Once we move you to a regular room, you can have visitors during those hours.”
Relief washes through me. Nine hours. I just need to make it nine more hours, and then maybe Ella will come. Maybe I can see for myself if what I think I heard was real.
As the doctor and resident leave, Nate settles back into the chair beside my bed.
“You really care about Ella, don’t you?” he asks.
“I do.”
For a minute, Nate doesn’t respond—he just stares at the floor.
“Kade,” he starts, then stops. “I’m sorry.” He says it like an apology he’s owed me for years.
