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“Ah, Miss Bassouni, I see you’re awake. I’m Dr. Benson. How are you feeling?”
Taking my attention off the handsome jackass beside me, I lean back and watch the doctor. “Like I got hit by a hockey player.”
“I did not crash into you,” Carter protests, raising his hands in innocence towards the doctor. Like the man has any authority to arrest him. “It was a sleigh!” This is gold.
Doctor Benson doesn’t crack a smile or anything. He continues to stare at me, waiting for a straight answer. “Umm, okay, I guess. My head hurts. Everything hurts, really.”
“That’s to be expected.” His voice is very loud for the small room. He steps up to the bed and moves a mini flashlight pen right into my line of sight. “You took quite the hit to the head, I hear.”
“I, umm, don’t remember all of it,” I tell him as I try not to blink against the light in my eyes. “I just remember slipping on the ice.”
Doctor Benson pauses in his examination of me. “Do you know who you are?”
“Penny Bassouni.”
“Age?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Parents' names?”
“Marcus and Cynthia.”
“And this man here?” He points to the side.
“Lucifer.”
“Jesus, Penny.”
“No, that’s definitely not the right name either.”
Carter hangs his head. If I didn’t know him better, I would think he’s embarrassed, but I can see his shoulders shaking with laughter.
“I know who he is,” I tell the doctor. “Carter Canmore, Center for the Vancouver Vikings and the biggest pain in the butt known to womankind.”
The doctor nods, noting something down on his pad. “Can’t say that I have all that much time to watch hockey,” he starts but gets cut off when both Carter and I audibly gasp. “But it’s a good sign that you’re joking around and have recollection of your loved ones.”
“I’m sorry,” I start. “You don’t watch hockey?” I swear I see his eyes roll at my question, like he is so bored and gets asked this all the time.
“Just because it’s Canada’s national winter sport does not mean every Canadian has to watch, cheer, or speak hockey.”
“But—”
He’s so over it. Doctor Benson continues like he didn’t just shock me into complete silence. Obviously, I know not everyone likes or watches hockey, but in this town, with a home-grown NHL player in our midst…wild.
“You have a mild concussion, but nothing that requires overnight visitation. A nurse will be coming around soon to put your arm in a temporary sling to help with the pain. Nothing is broken, but the sling is to help rest the arm and not put any strain on it for the next week. You’re bruised from head to toe, but those will fade in time.”
I take in everything the doctor is saying. It’s not ideal that my dominant arm is out of commission for a week, but I’ll make do.
“You’ll need to be supervised for the next twenty-four hours. Either by family or your boyfriend here.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Supervised?”
Carter and I both speak at the same time.
“Sorry, Doctor Benson,” Carter continues as I remain stunned. “I thought you said she was okay. Why does she need supervision?”
