“I’ve got a heck of a hard head,” Ryan said, smiling winningly.
The doctor didn’t smile back. “It’s not a joke, actually,” she told him, looking unimpressed. “We take traumatic brain injuries very seriously in student athletes. I understand you had a concussion last year, as well?”
“Just a mild one,” Luann put in.
“I was fine, really,” Ryan said. “It was the very beginning of freshman year, it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Mild or not, repeated concussions over time can cause long-term neurological problems,” the doctor continued. “Memory loss, depression, changes in your mood and personality, inability to perform academically. In very rare cases, concussions can be catastrophic.”
Gabby wasn’t entirely sure what the doctor meant by catastrophic, but she didn’t think she wanted to find out.
“I’m not going to tell you you can’t play hockey, Ryan,” the doctor said. “But I am telling you this is something we need to watch very carefully. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am,” Ryan said, polite as a church mouse. “I understand.”
Luann let a breath out once she was gone. “She told us, huh, lovey?” she asked him, pushing Ryan’s hair off his forehead.
“I’m fine,” Ryan promised, rolling his eyes a little bit.
Gabby waited for Luann to contradict him, to tell him this was serious—crap, to tell him he couldn’t play hockey anymore—but instead she just got to her feet. “I need to go fill out some forms,” she said. “Will you kids be all right here for a second?”
Gabby nodded. “Sure thing,” she said, and Ryan looked up at her; for the first time, he seemed to notice that she was here. When Luann was gone, they stared at each other for a moment. Gabby had no idea what to say.
“You let them cut my shirt off?” Ryan asked, sounding bewildered, and just like that he was himself again; Gabby exhaled. “Why did they have to cut my shirt off?”
“I don’t know,” she said, taken aback. “I didn’t really ask.” She looked at him for another minute, still hovering near the doorway. “How you feeling?” she asked.
“Like shit,” he said. “Don’t tell my mom.”
Gabby rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you busted your brain?”
Ryan shook his head, then immediately winced. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Oh, really?” Gabby asked, gesturing around them. “Because I gotta tell you, it kind of seems like a big deal.”
“Yeah, because you freaked out and called the National Guard,” he said irritably. “Now they’re gonna have to tell my coach, which means I’m definitely going to get benched this week.”
“Because I—” He was pissed at her, Gabby realized. Abruptly, she wanted to smash his head in herself. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she snapped. “I’m not going to have that argument with you. You scared the shit out of me, do you know that? I thought you were going to die.”
Her voice did a weird, squeaky thing on that last word, the fear hot and sharp and immediate. She hadn’t felt any of her standard-issue panic when it was actually happening, on the phone with the 911 operator or riding in the ambulance; now, though, it was like some kind of impermeable shield had sprung a leak, all of it rushing in at once. When she looked down at her hands they were shaking.
“Okay,” Ryan said, letting out a sigh and leaning back against the pillows. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I should have said something. I was going to mention it at least, but then you were so mad at me all night.”
“I wasn’t mad at you,” Gabby said, coming into the room and sitting down in the chair by the bedside. “I mean, I was, but not because you did anything.”
Ryan looked at her like she was speaking German. “Gabs,” he said. “I have a fucking concussion. You gotta make more sense than that.”
That made her laugh, but then it was like the laugh jangled something loose in her and for a second she felt, horrifyingly, like she might be about to cry. Gabby straightened her spine, swallowed savagely. She was tired. A lot of different things had happened tonight.
“Michelle was giving me a hard time today,” she explained finally, picking at a loose seam on the handle of her purse. “About the idea that you’re, like—” She broke off, waving her hand vaguely. God, she hated talking about this kind of thing. It was so profoundly gross.
But Ryan pressed. “That I’m what?” he asked. “Gabby. That I’m what?”