Doc hits me with a warning glance that stops me from adding further details, then turns back to Maya with a warm smile. “Let me wash my hands and we’ll take a look.”
While his back is turned and the water runs, Maya motions to him and mouths, “He looks like Santa Claus.”
I bite back a chuckle. With his protruding stomach, white beard, and perpetually flushed cheeks, the good ole doc does resemble Saint Nicholas.
“So what do you do for work, Maya?”
“I manage an independent bookstore,” she answers.
Greenbaum spins around with a paper towel still in hand. “Oh! I’m going on vacation with my wife next week and need a book to read on the beach. Any suggestions?”
Without hesitation, Maya deep dives into a list of books he should consider. It’s awe-inspiring, how knowledgeable and insightful she is while describing books she loves. It’s a refreshing change from the people I’m typically surrounded by. People who are always focused on the score, the plays, the next game. With books, there’s no winning or losing. There’s just pure enjoyment.
The two of them continue to talk books while he shines a light at her pupils to test their reactions.
I, on the other hand, sit in silence, my body strung tighter than a guitar string, as he assesses her memory, attention, and reasoning, as well as other cognitive skills.
“Seems to me you have a minor concussion,” he announces post-examination, “and a few bumps and bruises.”
“You’re sure?” I press. “You don’t want to do a CT scan?”
“I’m quite sure, Nicholas.” He waves me off and gives Maya a little spiel about taking it easy and avoiding physical exertion for the next few days.
She nods along before thanking him for his time, and when he disappears, she turns to me, her expression brighter than it’s been since she took that hit. “It’s weird hearing people call you Nicholas.”
I shrug at the observation. “I’m used to it after so many years.”
“Why’d you decide to go by Cole and not Nick? That’s the only nickname I’ve ever heard people use for Nicholas.”
“I lost a coin flip.”
Her legs stop swinging and she tilts her head. “You what?”
The memory makes me chuckle. “My brother and I did everything together growing up. Everyone knew us as a pair. Nicholas and Nathan. Nick and Nate. We even joked that when we made it pro, our tagline would be ‘Nicholas and Nathan: the Berrett Brothers.’”
“You knew you wanted to play professionally when you were that young?”
“Oh yeah,” I reply, my chest pinching. “We wanted to play professionally, andtogether, for the San Diego Devils. But outside of hockey, we were super different. I liked pancakes, he liked waffles. I liked thrillers, he liked action movies. I liked my coffee black, he only drank tea. We were always opposites.
“But you were still best friends?”
I swallow to clear my dry throat. “Yup. But because we were so different in so many ways, we wanted our names to be less…” I press my lips together, searching for a word to explain what I mean.
“Matchy-matchy?”
I chuckle. That’s not the term I would have chosen, but… “Exactly,” I concede. As if changing my nickname could somehow unravel the ties that connected Nate and me. Not even six feet of dirt can sever the bond. When he died, he took a piece of me with him. It’s gotten easier to talk about with time, though.
“So we did a coin flip to see who had to change their nickname. I lost, so I chose to go by Cole.”
Maya holds up her hands like we’re in school. “Question. If Nathan lost and couldn’t go by Nate, what the hell was he going to change his nickname to?” She giggles.
“Ethan.”
The giggle turns into a burst of laughter. “Ethan? That’s a random choice.”
“After Ethan Hunt fromMission: Impossible. Nearly sent my mother to an early grave. It’s a good thing I lost.” I chuckle. The poor woman. Her face turned as white as a sheet when we told her about the coin toss.
With a sigh, I stand and step up to Maya, only stopping when I’m positioned between her legs. “I’m sorry about your concussion.”
