Page 124 of Melting the Ice

“He’s got a mild concussion,” the nurse said. “He’ll need to be watched, after release. But he’s fine otherwise.”

“I’ve been promised this won’t scar, but I’m holding out hope,” Ramsey said, touching the bandage. “I think it’ll give me a real devil-may-care, rakish look to have a scar.”

Brody did smack him now, on the arm. “You fucker, you freaked me out.”

“Sorry, I told them not to call you, but they wouldn’t release me to my own devices.” Ramsey rolled his eyes. “I’ve got a headache, but I’m fine. Really.”

“You have a concussion. You are not fine,” the nurse retorted, but she was smiling, like even in this short time, Ramsey had charmed her.

This was Ramsey so it was entirely possible that he had—andthat he’d grabbed her number, while he was at it.

“Here’s his care instructions,” the nurse said, turning to Brody. “He’ll need to be checked every few hours. There’s a list of sample questions in the paperwork, but mostly anything works. Anything you both know the answer to.”

“Am I the most handsome, intriguing man you’ve ever met?” Ramsey said, in a singsong voice.

“You’re the worst,” Dean said. “Andno.”

Ramsey slapped a hand over his heart. “I think you actually mean thebest.”Ramsey’s gaze dropped to where Brody was still clutching Dean’s hand. “Especially now.”

“This isn’tbecauseof you,” Brody retorted.

“Sure it’s not,” Ramsey said, grinning.

The nurse went over what he could take for the headache—ibuprofen, and if he needed something stronger, he could call in, but he’d need to come in for that, again—and how long he’d need to be observed.

“As for hockey,” the nurse said with a reluctant sigh. “He’ll need to pass whatever protocols you have for the team.”

“Damn,” Ramsey said, sounding upset for the first time since Brody showed up.

“Will you contact the team?” Brody asked. Realizing that he was going to need to speak up, make sure that Ramsey followed the doctor’s instructions.

“The doctor will, yes,”

“Could I talk to him?”

The nurse looked surprised at the question, but Ramsey said, hurriedly, before she could respond, “Why do you need to do that? They’re gonna talk to each other. I promise. I’m not gonna—”

“I know what you’re gonna do,” Brody retorted, shooting his friend a firm look. “And what I’m gonna do is talk to the doctor.”

“Let me just get her,” the nurse said.

“Why is this necessary?” Ramsey asked after she ducked out.

“I want to talk to him about specifics. Specifics that aren’t on this.” Brody shook the packet of paperwork. “And specifics that might not get communicated to Dr. Robison.”

“God, you’re practically already a fucking doctor,” Ramsey complained.

“I’m a friend,” Brody insisted.

A minute later, the nurse returned with a middle-aged lady, hair shoved onto her head and anchored with four or five different colored pens.

“Hi,” Brody said, extending his hand. She shook, her expression blank but expectant. “I’m Brody Faulkner. I’m Ramsey’s teammate.”

“His emergency contact,” the nurse inserted.

“I wanted to know what exactly you did to diagnose him.”

Her expression softened. “We didn’t do the CT scan, if that’s what you’re asking. But that might be something Dr. Robison from the hockey team might still want to do. He lost a minute before the accident, and a few minutes after seemed blurry too, when I questioned him. But other than the headache, he didn’t seem to have any significant trauma.”

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