I don’t wait for a reply. I jog around the exterior of the rink and drop down next to Matt at the bench. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I don’t know. My shoulder. I think I might have dislocated it. Can you take me to the ER?”
I’ve known Matt for a few years. He has never asked to go to a hospital. He has never admitted something hurts. His voice has never sounded so weird and choppy.
My keys are already out of my purse and in my hand when I reply “absolutely.” Matt lamely skates around the outskirts of the rink, cradling his right arm in his left hand. At the end of the hallway I take a left-hand turn, heading to the parking lot. I get about three steps before I notice Matt has taken a right. I stop. “Where are you going?”
“Locker room. I’m wearing skates.” I can hear the chuckle building in his voice, but he never turns his head so I can’t see the smile I am sure is there. I perch myself on a nearby table and watch his slow progress. At the doorway to the locker room Matt turns and searches the room. His eyes find my face. He chuckles. “Liz, are you gonna help me get these off my feet?”
“Oh.” I pop up and jog to his side. “Guess that would make sense.” Matt’s full laugh escapes, and it’s a nice sound. It tugs a smile out of me before I can stop it.
In the eerily quiet locker room I kneel at Matt’s feet and gingerly help him out of his skates. He winces at every jostle of his shoulder. When he knocks his helmet off one-handed, I finally notice how cute he really is. The dark stubble on his chin matches the dark hair on his head. Matt’s in shape from years of hockey, but there’s something solid and unpolished about it. A stark contrast to the almost-photoshopped perfection of Ben.
His icy blue eyes turn toward me. Feeling inexplicably guilty, I drop mine back to my hands. Heat creeps into my cheeks. I act like stuffing his stinky gear into the bag is the most important task in the world.
When I finally glance up, those ocean-colored irises are still on me. “Ready?” My voice comes out shaky. Matt nods and rises slowly, slipping into his flip-flops as he shuffles to the door.
In my car, we are both soundless. I turn on the radio just to fill the silence.
“Can we go to Urgent Care instead? It’s usually faster,” Matt asks quietly.
“Yeah, which one?”
“Half a mile up, on the right.”
The rest of the ride passes in quiet.
At Urgent Care I take the clipboard offered by the nurse, knowing Matt’s injured his writing arm. I drop into the cheap plastic chair and he sits beside me. “I’ll fill this out if you give me the answers,” I say.
Matt nods and leans over my shoulder to read the questions. His breath warms my ear. His leg brushes mine. It’s incredibly distracting. Somehow I get the form filled out. I tell myself it’s just proximity and nerves. I tell myself not to make a thing of it. But the flutter won't quiet.
We sit in silence, waiting. Matt doesn’t move away. I’m used to awkward silences, but not with a stomach full of knots.
The nurse calls him back. Left alone with the TV, I wonder why he suddenly feels so distracting. I’ve never noticed him like that before. It’s like my hormones are on overdrive. Or maybe… someone else’s words have me primed.
Oh shit. Ben.
I grab my phone. A message is already waiting.
Ben: Hope everything’s alright. Let me know.
Crap — it’s 45 minutes old. Still, I should answer.
Liz: In the waiting room right now. Our center hurt something. Hopefully it’s just a dislocated shoulder and they can pop it back in. He seemed like it was a lot of pain though and his fingers were starting to change color, not sure if that’s normal.
I wait. No response. A glance at the time tells me it’s 2:30 in the morning for him. Probably asleep.
I flip through magazines, but keep my phone pressed under my knee so I won’t miss it if it vibrates. My nerves won’t settle.
When Matt finally comes out, I’m still edgy. His smile shows off unexpected dimples, and for some reason that detail sticks.
“Couldn’t leave you alone,” I say. “What’s the verdict?”
“It was dislocated, probably a sprain too. They popped it back in, gave me meds.”
“Okay, pharmacy stop, then?”
He nods. The drive is quiet until the radio kicks on with a song we both love. We reach to turn it up, fingers brushing. I yank mine back, nervous laughter filling the space.
