I pulled my hand back, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. “The medicine is making you loopy.”
“Maybe. Still true, though.”
The doctor finally returned with results, a young woman who looked exhausted. “The good news is that your jaw isn’t broken, just severely bruised. Your nose is fractured but should heal cleanly. The bad news is that you’re definitely concussed. Grade 2, possibly Grade 3. You’ll need to follow protocol, which means no play for at least a week, possibly two.”
Adan groaned. “Scouts could be watching those games.”
“Scouts understand injuries,” I said firmly. “Your health comes first. You’re no good to anyone with a brain injury. Can he go home?” I asked.
“Once we’re sure he’s stable. Someone will need to stay with him for the next twenty-four hours. Watch for signs of increased confusion, vomiting, severe headache. Standard concussion protocol.”
I nodded. “We’ll make sure.”
Most likely, his parents would want to take him home. That was at least the benefit for him of being local. The alternative was Tank, but I didn’t feel comfortable letting him take that medical responsibility.
“Your father is on his way,” I told him once the doctor had left again.
“He’s gonna be pissed…”
Adan was correct in his assessment. When he arrived, Mr. Rivera first hugged his son carefully, then checked out his injuries. Once he was satisfied Adan would live, he turned to me. “Where the fuck were the refs when this shit went down?”
“Dad…” Adan protested weakly, but I held up my hand.
“They weren’t doing their jobs, and I can assure you that Coach Brennan has already lodged a formal complaint. This was absolutely unacceptable, and both HIT players and their coaches should receive an official reprimand.”
That seemed to take away some of Mr. Rivera’s anger.
“Nils almost fought them,” Adan then said.
His father’s eyes met mine, clearly picking up on the use of my first name rather than Coach Anders. “Is that so?”
My cheeks heated. “I was rather desperate to get those players off him. I may have used some colorful language too.”
Mr. Rivera studied me for a moment more, then patted my shoulder. “Good.” He turned to Adan. “Do you want to come home?”
Adan hesitated. “You know how Mom gets when I’m injured.”
“Yes, your mother will worry even more than she already does.” He turned to me again. “Adan’s mom has a big, soft heart, and she has a hard time seeing her son hurt.”
But he did need to stay with someone and not a student. Every rational part of me screamed to not even consider it. But he was hurt, vulnerable, and needing comfort I desperately wanted to provide.
“If you’re okay with it, he can stay at my place tonight,” I said quietly. “I live close to campus. I’ll follow the concussion protocol, make sure he’s okay.”
Mr. Rivera’s eyes drilled into mine, and for a moment, it hit me that Adan had his father’s eyes—though a little less intimidating. He seemed to see what he wanted on my face or in my eyes and gave me a curt nod. “That would be appreciated.”
They discharged him an hour later with pain medication, care instructions, and strict orders to rest. “I’ll drive you,” Mr. Rivera said, which I appreciated since we would’ve had to take an Uber otherwise.
I gave him my address, which he put in his phone for directions. The drive to my apartment was quiet except for Adan’s occasional groans when we hit bumps. When we were in front of my entrance, Mr. Rivera shut off the engine and helped Adan get out. He gave Adan another careful hug. “Get some sleep, Puck.”
“Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too.” He turned to me. “Please call if anything changes. Anything at all. I’ll have my phone on.”
“I will.”
Adan and I slowly made our way inside, where I opened my front door.
“Thank you,” Adan said as we walked into my apartment. “For fighting for me on the ice.”
