Page 9 of Just My Puck
The door handle clicks again, and the hot guy immediately goes back into Protector Mode, but this time it’s Dr. Silva.
“Oh, you have a visitor,” she exclaims, her pupils dilating. “Wait, aren’t you Caleb Hawthorne from the New York Raptors? The NHL team?”
“I am,” he says, shaking herhand. “Just wanted to make sure she was okay.”
“Hold on. Do you know each other?” she asks, and I swear I can hear my heart pounding in my ears as I wait for his answer.
“No,” he says, and my heart falls. I close my eyes, two seconds away from passing out. Of course he doesn’t. There’s no way I hang out with hot guys like him, especially if he’s some famous athlete. “But I’m kind of responsible for her being here, so—”
“Wait a minute,” I cut in. “What do you meanresponsible?”
He frowns, glancing between me and Dr. Silva. “Um. You don’t remember what happened?”
“They just said I was at some kind of arena and got a blow to the head.” My eyes widen. “Did youassaultme?”
“Whoa,” he says, taking a step back. “Absolutely not. What happened was completely involuntary. You were sitting right behind the glass. I got bodychecked and kind of landed on you, then your head hit the step. I’m really, really sorry.”
I narrow my eyes. If he’s so innocent, why is he still apologizing?
He shakes his head. “I’ll make it up to you.”
I blow out a frustrated breath.“How? Are you going to give me your cornea?”
He blinks back. “Excuse me?”
“Scratched cornea,” I say, gesturing to the bandage.
He frowns. “I don’t think that’s a thing, but we’ll figure something out. Jenna, our PR manager, already said you were getting lifetime tickets to our games, so that’s a start.”
“Great.” I snort.
He scratches his head, looking away. “You were at a hockey game, so we assumed you were a fan. But of course, we’ll be covering all your medical expenses too.”
I frown at his statement. I definitely don’t think I was a hockey fan. Nothing about him, an ice rink, or the name “Raptors” rings any bell. The weirdness of this entire situation deepens, and I scratch my arm in an attempt to soothe myself. “Um, sure. Thanks.”
Then, his eyes settle back on me. “What’s your name, by the way?”
4
"Yay, I’ve never been arrested."
Caleb Hawthorne
Dr. Silva and the girl exchange a weird look, and I’m not exactly sure what’s happening. I just asked her her name. Is she someone famous?
Dr. Silva opens her mouth to speak, but before she has the chance, the woman sits up in her hospital bed. She rearranges her long brown hair before admitting, “Actually, I don’t know what my name is.”
I frown, shaking my head. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I justdon’t know,” she repeats, wringing her hands. “My brain is a total blank.”
I turn to Dr. Silva, my brows furrowed. Surely, this girl is messing with me, trying to get back at me for injuring her.
Dr. Silva clears her throat, turning to her patient. “Do you want me to tell him, or . . .?
The girl nods, crossing her arms. “Sure. Why not? He is responsible, after all.”
“Well,” Dr. Silva continues, her focus shifting back to me, “the hit she took to her head damaged her medial lobe and hippocampus, which, in some cases, can induce memory loss.”
