Maya doesn’t complain when I undo her skates and slip her sneakers back on, but when I pick her up bridal style, her attitude makes a reappearance.
“Put me down,” she hisses, squirming in my arms. “I can walk, Cole.”
With a grunt, I pick up my pace and push through the doors of the building. “And I can carry you just as easily.”
“Cole—”
“Maya,” I snap. The instant the word is out of my mouth, I force myself to take a deep breath. “Just please let me take care of you, okay?”
Her pouty mouth drops open, but no words come out for the remainder of the walk to my car. She does shoot me a questioning look as I buckle her into the passenger seat, though. The moment my own ass is in the driver’s seat, I dial our team’s orthopedic surgeon. He’s at every game, evaluating sprains, fractures, and mild concussions, and he’s the one I want to take a look at Maya.
Once the ringing sound of the phone echoes through the speakers, I reverse out of my parking spot and speed in the direction of his office.
“Hey, Nicholas.” Dr. Greenbaum greets me on the third ring. “How’s your shoulder treating you?”
“Fine, thanks,” I rush out, my heart still thudding against my sternum. “But that’s not why I’m calling. I took my girl skating, and a kid flew into her, knocked her out and?—”
Maya squeaks and clutches my arm. “I promise I’m fine. I?—”
“You were out cold for over three seconds,” I scold, my voice tight. “You need to see a doctor. It’s either him or the hospital. Choose.”
Her jaw drops open in response, her focus drifting over my face. Clearly catching on to how dead-ass serious I am, she simply leans back against the seat, making herself comfortable.
I should probably apologize for my brusque behavior, but I don’t have it in me. This isn’t something I’m willing to compromise on.
Dr. Greenbaum’s voice fills the awkward silence. “Any other symptoms besides brief loss of consciousness?”
“I’m a little dizzy and my head’s sore,” Maya admits with a frown. “But that’s it.”
Her calm demeanor does nothing to alleviate the panic that’s constricting my every breath. In fact, it only makes me press a little harder on the accelerator and grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn white.
“Swing by my office,” he offers, his voice lacking the concern that’s overtaken me. “I’m sure you’re fine, but it can’t hurt to take a look.”
“Thanks,” I grit out. “We’ll see you in ten.” I hang up the phone and book it to his office in record time.
A nurse stationed at the reception desk immediately guides us into one of the brightly lit rooms with walls covered in diagrams of human anatomy, where she takes Maya’s vitals and asks her a few basic questions.
While I’m relieved that there’s no chance Maya could be pregnant—because, in my mind, that means she’s not sleeping with anyone else—I do briefly worry her embarrassment may cause her to faint.
“Nicholas.” Greenbaum’s deep baritone resonates off the walls of the small room as he steps inside. “I’m happy to see you, although I wish the circumstances were better.”
Hoisting myself out of the plastic chair that’s about two sizes too small for me, I shake his hand. “Hey, Doc. Thanks for squeezing us in on such short notice.”
“Always happy to help.” He turns to Maya with the same serene expression he wears when he’s assessing a player’s injury. “I’m Dr. Greenbaum,” he introduces himself. “What’s your name, dear?”
“Maya.” She swishes her legs back and forth off the end of the examination table, making the protective sheet over it crinkle. “Nice to meet you sounds kind of weird, given the situation.”
He chuckles and nods. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“A kid—about four-five, ninety pounds—railroaded her while we were stationary,” I explain, hands clenching into fists. “He wasn’t going full speed, but he lost control and slammed into her. She flew back about two feet and hit her head on the ice.”
Maya gapes at me with what I’ll take as a newfound understanding of just how observant I can be.
“And you were knocked unconscious?” Greenbaum directs the question at Maya, completely cutting me out of the conversation. It’s fair, considering I’m not the patient, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“For only a second or two.”
“Three seconds.” I narrow my eyes at her. “And you were dizzy and wobbly when you stood up.”
