Kiss and Don't Tell(74)

My stomach plummets, that scenario never even having crossed my mind.

“Even though he was wearing a helmet, he was knocked out. Severe concussion, some short-term memory loss, and since then, he’s suffered from recurring migraines.”

What?

I nearly swallow my tongue as I think about the kind of head injury that could occur from taking such a hit to the head. And to mask it, as if nothing happened? That’s so dangerous, neglectful.

“He hasn’t been the same on the ice since,” Silas continues. “He flinches, second-guesses, and isn’t as strong in front of the net.”

“He’s still the best in the league,” Levi defends.

“He is,” Silas agrees. “But he’s lacking the intensity he used to carry, and it’s from the head injury. He missed several games because of migraines. The boy would never miss a game, even if his arm was dangling off.”

“Here you go,” Stephan says, handing me an ice pack and a thin dish towel.

“Thank you,” I say, my mouth feeling dry all of a sudden as worry builds in the pit of my stomach.

Eli comes into the dining room and pockets his phone. “Doc wants to see him.” He sits back down in his chair. “I told him that was going to be a monumental feat, to try to get him to leave here and go back to Vancouver. But Doc let it slip that right before we left, Pacey saw him with radiating pain in his head. Doc said he told him to keep an eye on it.”

Silas scratches his jaw. “There’s no way he’s going to leave here.”

“I can talk to him,” I say. My voice comes out scratchy, scared, because this all feels too familiar. Way too familiar.

The headaches.

The throwing up.

The pain.

That’s how it was when my mom first became sick.

The boys all look at each other and then shrug.

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Eli says. “Not sure how much pull you might have—”

“My mom died of a brain tumor.” The boys fall silent, sympathy evident in their eyes. “I’m not saying Pacey has a brain tumor, by any means, but it’s something that he should get checked, you know? Especially if he’s in this much pain.”

“I agree,” Silas says. “But I think we give him a second before we bombard him. He probably won’t like that Winnie knows . . . no offense,” he says to me. “And he loves being here for the off-season, so taking that away from him might be hard as well.”

“We don’t have to make any decisions now,” Eli says. “Let’s focus on getting him better, and then we can have a group talk, go over his options, see where his head is at.”

“Good idea,” Silas says and then he turns to me. “We can handle this, Winnie, if you don’t want to—”

“I want to,” I say quickly. “I want to help.” I need to help. I need to make sure he’s going to be okay.

“Just wanted to make sure you were, you know, emotionally okay. Not sure if this would bring up any difficult feelings for you.”

It’s the first time I’ve noticed Silas be sensitive toward my feelings. It’s new and surprising, but I appreciate it.

“I’m fine. I just want to make sure he’s okay. I’ve dealt with many migraines; I think I can help him.”

“Let us know if you need anything,” Eli says.

“I will.”

“Do you want any breakfast?” Stephan asks.

I shake my head. “I’m going to make sure Pacey is okay and maybe I’ll come eat something after, but don’t worry about me. Thank you.”

With that, I head toward Pacey’s room, my stomach churning with nausea as I try to process everything the boys told me.

Injury.

Missed games.

Migraines.

Memory loss . . .

When out of sight, I lean against the wall of the hallway and bring my phone into view. I quickly type Pacey Lawes puck to head into my browser and then click on the first video I see.

I clutch the ice pack as the video starts to play. Announcers call out the play in the background, but I don’t pay attention to their babbling nonsense; instead, I watch as the man with the puck—whatever you call him—brings his stick back and slaps the puck forward. In the blink of an eye, Pacey falls backward into the goal and his defenders gather the puck and push it up the ice. The referees blow their whistles and medical staff rush onto the ice to care for a seemingly lifeless Pacey.

Pacey . . . oh my God.

Bile rises to the top of my throat as I quickly exit out of the video, unable to watch the rest. I lift my eyes to his door and my entire body shakes, thinking about how he could be seriously hurt. How something really bad could’ve happened to him.

And in that moment, it hits me . . .

I care about him.

Honestly care about him.

I’m—God, I think I’m falling for him.

But how? I’ve only known him for a few days. How could I possibly care about someone that quickly? How could I fall for someone that quickly?

Love doesn’t have a timeline.

It should. Because this isn’t normal. Having these strong, all-consuming feelings about someone shouldn’t happen this fast. Don’t people scoff at that? You met this man a few days ago and now you’re not only invested in his well-being, but you have this overwhelming desire to be near him?