8. Bridget
brIDGET
Work was terrible today. Not one person who walked into my fitting room had a butt worth shouting about.
I’m in my kitchen, having a glass of iced tea, about to redownload a stupid motherfucking dating app onto my phone when I get a call from Penny and decide it’s a sign that I don’t have to start dating yet. “Thank God” is how I answer.
“Hi. You heard about Craig?” She sounds hesitant and a little distressed.
My body instantly tenses up. “What? What about him? Shit. Did he make it home okay last night? Fuck. Is he seeing someone else already? I don’t want to know.” I feel slightly nauseated all of a sudden.
“No, he is definitely only seeing you when he closes his eyes, honey.”
“What? No, he isn’t.” That concept should not delight me as much as it does.
“Okay, you’re obviously clueless about what happened, so lock in. Are you listening?”
Panic is setting in, but I don’t know what I’m panicking about. “Yes.”
“I’m at the hospital. You should know that Craig is here.” Penny’s voice is coming through clearly, but her words arrive in my brain slightly delayed.
“What? What do you mean at the hospital? Is he visiting patients?”
“No, he is a patient. He has a grade-one concussion.”
“What?” The glass of iced tea suddenly feels very heavy, but my hands, as always, are steady.
“Can you not hear me? I’ll move.”
I place the glass down and lean against the counter. “No, I hear you. I just don’t understand.”
“Coach Barrett brought him in. He said Craig seemed distracted all day, but he stayed after the session at goalie camp to work with one of the kids. Craig took off his mask to explain something, the kid fired a slapper that deflected off the post and caught Craig without his mask on. Apparently Craig said he forgot to talk to the goalposts today, so it’s definitely not your fault he was distracted. ”
“Shit, Pen. Is he going to be okay?”
“Yeah, he has a headache, there’s some sensitivity to light and sound, some dizziness, brief confusion up until an hour ago.”
I instinctively grab a pen and notepaper, ready to take notes. “Grade one. So that’s the best or the worst?”
I can hear her stifling a laugh. “It’s the best kind of concussion you could hope for. There’s no skull damage, no internal bleeding. He’s been cleared for release, but he can’t be alone for the next forty-eight hours. Coach said the family he used to billet with—”
“The Bradshaws.” I’ve scribbled the words best, no skull, no bleed, cleared, Bradshaws.
“Yeah, they’re traveling, so they can’t look after him. I asked him if I should call his family, and he said no.”
That makes me sad in a way that I’m not capable of dealing with right now.
“Anyway, Coach said Craig can spend the night at his house, but he has to be at the arena during the day for hockey camp. I wouldn’t trust any of the Icebreakers to take care of a goldfish, much less Kenton’s hometown hero…
” The pause is meaningful, expected, and terrifying.
I say nothing because I can hardly breathe.
I have to remind myself how. “I know you’re trying to stay away from him… ”
I blow out a sarcastic laugh.
“Okay, I know I’m the one who told you to stay away from him. But he keeps murmuring your name.”
“Murmuring? Murmuring, you said?”
“Yeah. He’s not muttering. Or grumbling. He’s murmuring. Bridget… Bridget… He is straight-up pining for you.”
“Oh God. He probably thinks he got a concussion because I broke up—I mean, because I ended our arrangement. He’s not pining, he’s cursing me.”
“Excuse me—I am an ER nurse. I deal with patients who’ve been stabbed in the chest by their exes with forks and ballpoint pens. I know cursing when I hear it, and that man was filled with longing and regret. He was full-on pining.”
“Okay.” I am terrified. And maybe relieved? And hopeful? And so, so worried about Craig, and I feel so guilty. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”
“Come and get him. Discreetly. Coach Barrett called the Griffins medical team, and they’ve been conferenced in.
Coach made us all swear we wouldn’t post anything about it, which—duh—but he doesn’t want the press to be all over him.
You’ll have to be with him for twenty-four, preferably forty-eight hours, to make sure his symptoms don’t get any worse. ”
“So there’s a chance they might get worse?” I ask.
“Well, there’s always a chance,” she says.
“But these are precautionary measures. Pack an overnight bag because you should stay at his place. He and the Griffins medical staff are going to want to do regular check-ins. I can give coach your contact info to give to them; that way if they need to get in touch with Craig and he’s asleep, they can call you. ”
“Okay, do I have to keep him awake?”
“That’s actually an adorable myth perpetuated by TV and movies.
Like DNA test results that come back within minutes and gorgeous vampires.
Sleep is good. You’re going to make sure he rests.
You’re going to reduce cognitive stimulation.
Obviously don’t let him drive even if he thinks he can.
You’re going to bring him back to the ER if he repeatedly vomits, if he has a seizure, if there’s slurred speech, one pupil larger than the other, increased confusion, or if he displays extreme drowsiness that you can’t rouse him from. ”
And now my brain has frozen. My pen is poised to take notes, but I’ve written nothing.
“This will all be on the discharge paperwork, and I’ll remind you when you’re here,” she says reassuringly. You good?”
“Okay. Yes. Is he on painkillers?”
“No. He can’t have NSAIDs for forty-eight hours, only acetaminophen.
But he’s used to pain. He’s toughing it out.
He’s a real stoic motherfucker, God bless him, but it’s very important that he rests.
You’ll have to ask someone to bring your work to his place.
But come and get him as soon as you can, all right?
Make sure you find me so I can give you the discharge paperwork, okay?
Can I let him know you’re coming for him? ”
“Yes.” I head to my bedroom to start packing an overnight bag.
“Okay. This is real shit, honey—you being his caretaker for the next couple of days. I’m just saying, you’re going to be on record. Can you handle that?”
“I…just want to make sure he’s taken care of. I think Craig’s the one who might have an issue with—”
“He won’t. Trust me. But here’s the thing…”
I inhale a deep, shaky breath. “There’s more?”
“I was there when he was on the video call with the team physician and the general manager and his agent… They have a specific concussion protocol, even for grade one, especially for their star goalie. They want him back in New York in a week as long as he’s good to travel.
They want to be able to keep an eye on him all summer. ”
And there it is.
The real, real shit.
The real, shitty ticking clock.
“You there?” Penny asks.
“Yup.”
“But Bridget?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s very important that you don’t have sex with him for forty-eight hours. No strenuous activity. He cannot be overstimulated in any way.”
“Pah! As if.” I guffaw…as I remove the sexy lingerie I had just carefully placed in my weekender bag.
“I’m serious. I need his heart rate to stay normal.”
I hang up. Because my heart rate is not normal. What if I really was his good luck charm? What if his symptoms do get worse? Why didn’t I tell him what I really want? Even if it’s not what he wants, at least he’d know. At least we’d have more time together.
Craig.
He’s my favorite person and he doesn’t even know it, and I was afraid I couldn’t have him and then I broke him.
And how the hell am I supposed to spend forty-eight hours alone with him without overstimulating him when that’s all we seem to do to each other even when we’re being chill?