Page 66 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show

“Oh.” Sebastian crumples, and he slides his gaze over to me, frowning, as if maybe blood is squirting out of me or something and he hasn’t noticed it yet.

“Luke has a concussion. He’ll need someone to take care of him. It can be one of the doctors, or it can be a friend.”

She glances at me when she says the last word.

“Sebastian will watch me,” I say.

She nods. “I thought so.”

Sebastian’s eyes widen, which is wrong. That’s not supposed to happen. He shouldn’t look like he’s looking for a reason not to watch me. He shouldn’t look anxious. Shouldn’t look scared.

I want to reach for his hand again, but that didn’t work so well last time, and maybe Sebastian is just really shy.

He was shy in school, even if he pretends not to be now, when all the cameras are on him and all of America is watching him, and he gives his little speeches about love in that calm, inspiring manner.

“Luke probably wants to have one of his friends watch him.”

Dr. Novak looks disappointed. “The other guys will have to fly back to Boston tonight. I can’t ask someone else to stay. Snow is always an issue, and I don’t want more than one player to potentially miss his flight. Luke is important to the team, and our priority is keeping him healthy, but—”

“I understand.” Sebastian looks at me. “But—”

“Please,” I beg.

His face crumples. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

I lean back in relief.

“Wonderful.” Dr. Novak hands Sebastian a piece of paper. “Here are instructions for our concussion protocol. You’ll need to wake him up through the night and ask him questions. You’ll also need to be available in case he needs you.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises.

“Here are the painkillers to give him. And of course, you have my number too if you have any questions.”

Sebastian nods, looking slightly overwhelmed, and maybe I should have asked for one of the team’s staff to stay instead.

I squeeze my eyes, and everything in my body hurts.

“Are you okay...” Sebastian’s voice his closer to me than it was before, low and rumbling. The vibrations seem to move over me, settling in all the places where there was only pain before.

I should think more about my injury, be angrier, at myself, at the Montrealian who injured me, but instead, all I can think about is that Sebastian is here right next to me. He looks like an angel, big blue eyes filled with worry. His hair sticks up in odd directions, despite his no doubt vigorous pomade routine, and I reach out to soothe the more egregious, Little Rascalesque ones.

He draws back, pink rushing to his high cheekbones again, and his lips form an O. I need to ask him if he uses gloss on them. I want to ask him now, but I know he’s shyer than he appears on the screen. I know because I used to know him.

Sort of.

But now I’m getting to know him. I smile. We’re going to have the night together.

“You seem to be in a good mood for someone with a concussion,” Dr. Novak says, smiling.

“Is that a problem?” Sebastian asks, and I hate the worry in his voice.

“Well. Maybe the painkillers are taking effect. Usually, it’s a struggle to keep the players from returning to the ice.”

“I’m reasonable,” I say.

“He’s a good man,” Dr. Novak says to Sebastian, her voice serious. “Don’t hurt him.”

“The puck already took care of that,” I explain, and Dr. Novak laughs and explains more about what Sebastian should do to take care of me.