Page 129 of Breaking Ryan Baylor

Ryan cocked his head. “What the fuck do you think happened to me?”

“So, when you say you’re in deep shit, what do you mean?” Amara asked him, pulling a chair in from the hallway and sliding it over next to Ryan.

“I'm gonna have to go to hearing. I'll probably get suspended and fined. I might...what’s it, March? They hit me with a 10 or 15-game, I’m done for the season.”

“You sure you even got any hits in? Looks like you got your fuckin’ ass handed to you like a little bitch.”

“There’s the Ty we all know and love,” Amara teased.

“I chopped him with my stick, right in the kidneys. Dropped him.”

“Yep, you’re done for the season. Dude that hit me at least get tossed?”

“Nope. Double-minor. Cross-checking.”

Ty shook his head. “Un-fuckin’-real. It’s ‘cause it’s me. If it was anyone else, dude woulda been kicked outta the league and sent to a Russian gulag.”

“So, FYI: if anyone asks? I’m your mother and Ry’s your brother. That’s the only way they’d let him back here.”

“Wow. OK. Little West Virginia action goin’ on, eh?”

“This is one fucked-up family right here,” Ryan added.

Amara reached over, resting her hand on top of both of theirs. “It sure is.” She noticed Ty was beginning to dip out, so she nudged Ryan. “Wake him up.”

Ryan shook his arm gently.

“Fuck, Rook,” Ty bitched. “I’m so tired.”

“No sleeping until you see the doctor,” Ryan added, leaning toward his face and kissing him lightly. “Need me to keep you awake?”

“Not until you shower, you fuckin’ animal. I could smell you from the hallway.”

Ryan laughed. “Well, you kinda taste like barf, so let’s call it even. Also, um, I don’t know if this is the best time to tell you this, but I smacked a median with your truck. Pretty sure I bent the rim.”

“Of course you did. You finally learned to skate, now it's time to learn how to fuckin' drive!"

“You love me,” he said softly, leaning in for another kiss just as the doctor came in. Amara cleared her throat loudly as Ryan pulled away.

“Hello, Hayes family. I’m Dr. Ramara...”

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” Ty yelled, laughing. “Ramara?”

Ryan shrugged. “I guess Ramara is happening after all.”

“I’m sorry?” he asked, confused.

“Forget it, “Ty said. “So, am I fuckin’ dyin’ or what?”

“No, you’re not dying. I understand you were hit during your hockey game. I’ve spoken to your athletic trainer, but do you remember anything?”

“Not a fuckin’ thing. Was playin’ hockey one minute and woke up in an ambulance the next.”

“So, we’re going to run a series of tests on you. In a moment, I’m going to ask your family to leave so I can perform a neurological examination and a series of cognitive tests, at which point we’re going to send you for a CT scan, just to assess the brain, make sure there’s no swelling or bleeding. You’re not really exhibiting signs of a severe injury, but since you’re an athlete and you vomited, we’re going to err on the side of caution. More than likely, we’re gonna keep you overnight for observation, and if there are no complications, you’ll be released tomorrow.”

“I’ve always heard vomiting is a bad sign after a concussion,” Amara chimed in.

“Repeat vomiting is. It’s possible this was caused by stress from an adrenaline dump. Since it was only once, I’m not too concerned about it.”

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