Chapter 40
CARMEN
Idash senselessly around the halls of the hockey arena. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know where anything is back here. I don’t know if there are protocols or rules or whatever about who gets to see him at a time like this.
All I know is, when I saw Jamie take that hit, saw his head crash against the barricade as he went down, saw the game stop for medical staff to carry him off the ice, I needed to see him.
I need to see him. Right now. I need to make sure he’s okay.
I need him to know that someone who cares about him is close by while he’s hurt.
Who the hell designed this place? How do you find anything?
Where are the big signs with arrows marked This way to see the injured hockey player whom you’ve foolishly let your feelings get out of control for?
Clearly someone skipped the lesson that went over the need for that in architecture school.
“Carmen Laureiro?”
My heart crashes against my ribcage when I hear my name spoken behind me. I turn around to see a member of the security staff.
“Yes?” I ask, my voice harried and hoarse.
“We’ve been asked to find you. Please, this way.”
My nerves knot through me as I follow the burly man in a tight black polo shirt through the bowels of the arena, past checkpoints and closed doors I never would have gotten through alone.
The growing rumble in the concrete around us tells me that the game’s started back up.
That must be a good sign, right? If Jamie were really seriously hurt, they wouldn’t start playing again. Right?
The security guy waves a keycard in front of a scanner, and a door opens to a medical room. Jamie lies on a table, and my heart jumps into my mouth.
His eyes are open. He’s nodding to questions that a doctor—that’s what I assume the woman attending to him is—asks him. She shines a light in his eyes.
Okay. He’s talking. He’s awake. He’s responsive. I try to take a deep, steady breath, but my chest is still shaky when it expands.
The doctor glances at me over her shoulder. “Carmen?”
Nervously, I nod.
She smiles. It’s a reassuring look. “He was asking for you. He wouldn’t even let me start examining him until we promised to send someone to find you.”
A feeling like warm honey expands through me. But it still doesn’t calm my erratic heart.
Jamie’s eyes find mine. They’re glazed over and lack their usual spark, but they brighten when our gazes catch.
“Carmen.” He tries to sit up, but the doctor gently places her hands on his shoulders to keep him lying.
“No, no, don’t get up,” she says calmly.
She turns to me. “You can talk to him. But he’s disoriented.
Talk slowly and quietly, and don’t worry if he starts to ramble or says some things that don’t make sense.
Don’t talk about anything stressful or worrying.
I have to go get some things for a couple more tests to assess if he has a concussion. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Aftershocks of panic still rattle through me while the doctor stands, letting me take her place on the seat next to Jamie.
His sandy hair is ruffled and slicked with sweat, matted in places from his helmet. I really want to kiss him, but I’m sure that’s against protocol.
Can I at least rest my hand over his? Instinctively, I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around him and kiss him senseless, giving expression to my relief at seeing him okay.
But I know I can’t. It’s so counterintuitive to think of Jamie as fragile.
But right now, I’m afraid to do anything that might be bad for him in his condition, so I keep my lips and hands to myself, as difficult as it is.
“Hey.” I keep my voice low and soft, like the doctor instructed. “How are you feeling?”
Was that a bad question to ask? He can’t feel good. Does that break the doctor’s instruction not to talk about anything worrying? Ugh, I was pre-med for years, I shouldn’t feel so unprepared for a moment like this!
Jamie’s lips curve. “Better now.”
I roll my eyes. “You should be too hurt to be that cheesy.”
“Too hurt to be cheesy about how much I like you? I’d have to be down at least three limbs.” There’s an adrift look in his eyes, his words are a little slurred, and he’s clearly working with no filter.
“You’ve got all your limbs, so don’t worry about that. And I’m pretty sure you guys are still winning out there.” Hopefully both pieces of news are reassuring.
Jamie’s brow furrows. “What happened out there, anyway? Last thing I can remember, I was catching the puck.” He frowns. “Catching? Is that the right word for it? I’m a hockey player. I should know the terminology. This doesn’t seem like a good sign.”
I can’t disagree with that. He probably does have a concussion. But the doctor didn’t seem terribly concerned, so I try not to freak out.
“Puck. Chuck. What do you think of the name Chuck?” Okay, now Jamie’s really rambling.
I bite back a smile. Poor injured Jamie doesn’t need me laughing at his concussion symptoms.
“It’s … okay,” I answer, stifling a laugh. I can’t say it’s my favorite name, but I’m trying to be positive here.
“Right. Not a good name for one of our kids.”
My stomach drops. I can feel my face take on a deer-in-the-headlights look. “Our …” my voice withers away in my dry throat before I can repeat his words.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately.
I love Emily as a girl’s name. And you know what?
I love Sebastian as a boy’s name, too. Would Sebastian find it weird if I named our son after him, though?
Or would he be honored? It’s not like we’d even be naming him after him, really, I just like the name.
I like the name James, too, but would it be weird to have a dad named Jamie and a kid named James? What do you think?”
Jamie’s rambling, but I can barely summon a word to my lips.
“You’ve been thinking about it … a lot lately?” I ask.
“Yeah, all the time. I mean, I guess it’s dumb to think about it so much, right?
Because whatever name you like, I know I’ll like, too.
But, still, I can’t stop thinking about it.
How many kids do you think we should have?
Three? I keep coming back to three as a good number in my daydreams. About our future together.
But I wouldn’t mind more if you wanted. Or less. ”
My tongue is a heavy roll of sandpaper in my mouth. He’s been thinking this much about … our future together?
He’s really in that deep?
Maybe I shouldn’t be so foolish as to be surprised. I knew Jamie. I knew what kind of heart he has. Did I even believe myself when I imagined that the terms of our arrangement could keep us from getting emotionally tangled?
The doctor comes back, saving me from having to respond. I step back, letting her resume her assessment.
I finally can’t play dumb anymore. I can’t pretend that things between Jamie and me aren’t changing; I can’t pretend that his heart isn’t getting more involved by the day.
I can’t pretend that the same isn’t happening to me—and I can’t pretend that it’s not going to get even worse if we let things continue down this path.
I have a lot of thinking to do, and I’d better do it fast.