Page 57 of The Head Game

“I’ll be back in a bit,” August said.

“Thanks.” She yawned again. “Honestly, I might take a nap.”

“Sounds good. I think the chairs over there lean back into a recliner actually.”

August had napped in a similar one when his grandfather had been in the hospital last year.

“Okay, perfect.” Skylar stood and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. “This baby is starting to make sitting in one position very uncomfortable.”

“I can only imagine.”

August walked toward the door but Skylar stopped him. “Wait, give me your phone number. I’ll text if there are any updates.”

“Good idea.”

Amusement washed over August as he rattled off his phone number and she texted him a random emoji so he had her number. He saved it, deciding his life truly had veered sideways into a strange dimension.

Julius would be wildly envious of him for getting her digits, but of course, this whole situation was a secret August would take to his grave.

Once August was sure Nico was okay, his life would return to normal.

Thank God.

* * *

Nachos were not easy to find.

August finally had to order some to be delivered to the hospital. It was a little much, maybe, but Skylar had been genuinely nice and easy to talk to and August was feeling guilty as hell about the little—or make that big—lie he’d told about being Nico’s fiancé.

Nachos and drinks acquired, he stepped into the elevator to go up to the neurology floor. But between the bag of food and the decaf iced latte he carried, his hands were full.

He glanced over at the middle-aged man next to him. “Could you hit the button for five, please?”

“Sure.” The man did so, then looked him up and down. “Hey, you’re August Manning, right?”

August blinked, already regretting that he’d drawn the guy’s attention to him. “Uhh. Yes?”

He got recognized occasionally but not the way players did. Of course, there was also a strange little subset of the population that came to games dressed in black-and-white-striped shirts to cheer on referees and linesmen.

Hockey fans were weird.

August’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he swore silently, with his hands full, he couldn’t answer it.

“Big hockey fan,” the guy continued. “I was at the game last night. How’s Arents doing?”

August’s phone buzzed again. Shit, was there an update on Nico?

“Umm …” August was at a loss for how to answer that without flat-out lying or giving too much away. “Honestly, I have no idea. I’m here for a friend. I think there was talk of a press conference at some point but you’d have to check the team’s social media for that.”

“Oh, okay.” The guy looked bummed August couldn’t give him any inside info.

Thankfully, the doors opened on the fifth floor and August stepped out. “Take care.”

He sighed with relief when the elevators shut behind him, smiled at the woman at the desk, then walked to the waiting room.

“Hey, Skylar, I got your nachos,” he said as he stepped inside, belatedly realizing she might still be sleeping.

But no, she was definitely awake.

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