Fifteen minutes later, a doctor comes in holding a clipboard. Alex has what he says is a “moderate to severe” concussion. He was unconscious for more than a few minutes, which is a big concern. He’s also experiencing some loss of memory, the doctors call it retrograde amnesia, which is apparently not unusual for this kind of head trauma.

The phrase head trauma causes more tears. My mom puts her arm around my shoulder, but I’m numb, so I can’t feel anything other than bubbling panic.

The doctor keeps talking. Half of it is medical jargon, but I get the important parts. He sustained no injury to his spinal cord, thank Christ. The thought of Alex having to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair starts a whole new round of tears. I can’t get a handle on myself at all. I should be embarrassed, but I can’t find it in me to care that I’m such a mess.

Alex has a dislocated shoulder, a fractured collarbone, and a cracked rib. It could’ve been so much worse. He’s lucid, but on pain medication, and he experienced confusion and some aggression when he initially came around.

“Aggression?” I ask.

“It’s not uncommon after a concussion like this one. Is he usually an aggressive person?”

“No,” I say.

“Sometimes,” Darren says at the same time.

We look at each other.

“Not outside of hockey,” I say.

Buck coughs.

“Or when it comes to me, or his sister.” I wring my hands as more than one throat clears. “Okay, sometimes he’s aggressive. But only when he’s really, really upset.” God. I sound so defensive. “He’s never aggressive with me. Ever.”

“Locker room,” Buck mutters.

I spin to face him. “That was hot sex! I’ve never been afraid of him.”

The room is silent apart from the doctor tapping his pen on his clipboard.

Buck sighs. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, Vi. I’m just saying, Alex has a history of aggressive behavior, and while it’s generally directed at someone other than you, it’s important to remember he’s been concussed, and sometimes people get weird and act in ways they usually don’t after something like that. Right, doc?”

The doctor’s eyes shift between me and Buck, and then he nods. “Sometimes the trauma to the brain causes atypical behavior. We’ll observe him closely for the next forty-eight hours and decide if we need to monitor him longer. There are additional tests scheduled for the morning.”

“What kind of tests?”

“Just standard tests after this kind of injury.”

I know what he’s saying between those words. He wants to make sure Alex’s brain is working properly, that he hasn’t sustained lasting brain damage. Beyond being an amazing hockey player, Alex has a gorgeous, intelligent mind. Thinking about that part of him being affected by this is too scary.

The doctor will let us see him, but we’re only allowed in two at a time, and the visits must be brief. Sunny and I go first.

“He’s no longer aggressive, but he’s experiencing some difficulty with memory and some confusion, so be patient with him.”

If Alex can’t remember me, it’ll be like that Adam Sandler movie where they go on their first date over and over.

I take Sunny’s hand when the doctor opens the door, because I’m relieved and terrified at the same time. He’s okay, but not.

“You have visitors, Alex.”

I’m unprepared when he comes into view. The lights are dim, but I can still see the damage, and that’s only the obvious stuff. He has black shadows under his eyes and the bridge of his nose is stitched and taped. His arm is braced and his shoulder wrapped. I can see it under the hospital-issue gown. His eyes are tired and glassy, medication making him slow to react.

As big as he is, he looks fragile hooked up to all the monitors and beeping machines. And what’s worse, he regards me with curiosity, not familiarity.

I shield my face with my hair so he can’t see my fresh tears. I can still see him, though. Confusion is the strongest emotion on his face apart from pain.

“Oh, Alex,” Sunny whispers brokenly.

“I look that bad, eh?” He cracks a weak smile.

“You’ve been prettier,” she says. It’s a joke, but it comes out with a stuttered sob at the end.

Neither one of us is really good at this whole keeping-it-together thing. I wish I could be stronger.

I let go of Sunny’s hand and rush over to him, stopping when I reach the side of his bed, unsure where or if I should touch him. “I was so scared.” I wipe away my tears, but they keep falling.

He focuses on my hand, the one with the huge rock. I don’t know if he actually knows who I am, or is drawing conclusions based on deduction.

“C’mere, baby.” He pats the edge of the mattress.

I sit gingerly beside him and take his hand. There’s an IV needle taped to it, and it’s cool and clammy. I lift it to my lips and kiss his knuckles, then rub my damp cheek on the back of his fingers.

“I love you,” I tell him. “I thought—I didn’t know. It was so fast, and you weren’t moving, and I didn’t kn-kn-know—” I can’t take a deep-enough breath to get the words out.

Alex cradles my cheek in his palm. “It looks a lot worse than it is,” he whispers hoarsely.

I don’t believe him. The pain in his eyes and his voice are obvious.

Sunny comes to stand on the other side of the bed. Alex glances at her without moving his head. She gives him a small smile, then reaches out to brush his hair off his forehead before giving him a tentative one-armed hug. He needs a haircut. He’s been putting it off for a while.