Chapter 115: Exam Room 4

NORA’S POV

"I assume Coach Brennan delivered my message, Knox. Pack your bags. My driver is pulling up to your house in twenty minutes."

Nobody breathed.

Jake gripped the back of the couch until his knuckles popped. Beside me, Priya sat frozen over her laptop, her pen hovering in midair.

Knox didn’t flinch. He leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees. "Tell your driver to turn around, dad."

A dry, patronizing chuckle came through the speaker. "Don’t be childish, Knox. You took a reckless blindside hit on national television in front of top NHL scouts. You blacked out. Letting a third-tier college athletic department manage a prospective first-round asset’s brain trauma is unacceptable."

"I am not an asset," Knox replied sharply. "And you don’t own my medical decisions. I’m twenty-one years old."

"You are my son," Garrison snapped. "And as long as my surname is on your back, you will not ruin a multi-million-dollar draft career out of stubborn pride. The driver is five miles out. Be on the curb, or Pierce will pull your sweater before midnight."

"If your driver sets foot on this driveway, Bear will throw him into the snowbank," Knox said calmly. "And if you try to take my sweater, you’d better bring a court order. Because I’m not leaving Briar."

Knox tapped the red button, cutting the call mid-breath.

Silence filled the room again.

"Damn," Milo muttered from the corner, wide-eyed. "That was... intense."

"He’s sending a car right now," I said, my heart pounding against my ribs as I looked at Knox. "We need to get out of here before the driver arrives."

"Nora’s right," Priya said, slamming her laptop shut and packing it into her messenger bag. "If his driver serves you with anything or creates a scene, it complicates the optics. We go to the hospital right now."

Knox pushed himself up from the armchair, grabbing his winter jacket. "Bear. Let’s move."

We piled into Bear’s truck and backed down the gravel driveway just as a long black town car turned onto the far end of the street. Bear hit the gas, turning in the opposite direction and leaving Garrison’s driver idling in the cold.

Fifteen minutes later, Bear pulled up to the emergency bay of Briar Memorial Hospital.

The automatic glass doors parted, welcoming us with the sharp smell of antiseptic and the hum of fluorescent lights.

Knox pulled his hood low to block the glare from his concussed eyes, but he walked with his chin up, refusing to slouch.

"I’ll handle the waiting room," Priya told us as we approached the intake desk. "I’m going to print the formal patient autonomy affidavits and the indemnification forms. Take Knox back."

Bear stayed in the lobby to run interference. I walked beside Knox to the triage desk.

When the nurse asked for insurance and emergency contact information, Knox handed over his personal student health card and driver’s license.

"I want a full emergency trauma evaluation and a head CT scan," Knox told the triage nurse in a clear voice. "I took an impact to the head during an athletic event last night. And under HIPAA regulations, I am explicitly barring any disclosure of my medical records or treatment to third parties or family members without my written consent."

The nurse blinked, clearly surprised by the level of legal precision from a college hockey player, then nodded and typed rapidly. "Understood, Mr. Sheridan. Let’s get you back to Exam Room Four."

I followed Knox into the curtained cubicle.

Ten minutes later, the curtain pulled back and Dr. Alvarez, the attending emergency physician, stepped inside with a clipboard.

"Mr. Sheridan," Dr. Alvarez said, glancing over his chart. "Doc Campbell sent over his on-ice evaluation notes from last night. Mild concussion, cervical strain, left shoulder contusion. Why are you coming in twenty-four hours later?"

"My family’s legal team is trying to claim Briar was negligent for not admitting me for trauma imaging," Knox said bluntly. "I need an independent, certified CT scan to prove there’s no skull fracture and no intracranial bleed."

Dr. Alvarez raised an eyebrow, appreciating the direct honesty. "Fair enough. Given the force of the hit on the game tape, a non-contrast CT is completely reasonable to rule out delayed hemorrhage. Let’s run basic neurological checks first."

I sat in the plastic corner chair, watching closely as Dr. Alvarez tested Knox’s pupillary reflexes, balance, and cranial nerves. Knox passed every physical marker, though his left shoulder was noticeably stiff and tender.

"Neurological baseline looks remarkably solid," Dr. Alvarez concluded, pocketing his penlight. "Let’s roll you down to radiology for the scan. We’ll have results in forty-five minutes."

Orderlies came with a wheelchair, but Knox refused it, walking down the tiled corridor on his own two feet.

I waited in the quiet cubicle with my hands clenched tightly in my lap. My chest felt tight... a mix of exhaustion from my six-hour diner shift and sheer terror that Garrison’s legal machine might crush everything Knox had fought for.

Twenty minutes later, the curtain rustled. Knox walked back in, rubbing the back of his neck.

"All done," he murmured, sitting down on the edge of the examination bed.

I stood up and moved between his knees, reaching up to gently touch the faint purple shadow along his jaw. "How’s your head feeling?"

Knox looked up at me with tired eyes, filled with an overwhelming warmth. He reached out with his uninjured arm, wrapping it securely around my waist and pulling me flush against his chest.

"A little sore," he admitted, resting his cheek against my stomach. "The machine made a high-pitched whine that felt like someone was tapping a hammer on my skull."

I ran my fingers through his messy dark curls, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against my ribs. "You were incredible on the phone with him, Knox."

Knox went quiet for a moment, his arm tightening around me.

"I spent my whole life jumping whenever he snapped his fingers, Nora," he said softly, his voice muffled against my sweater. "If he told me to skate ten extra miles, I did it. If he told me to sign with his prep school, I did it. But the second I let him dictate who I am... I lose myself."

He lifted his head, his eyes searching mine with a vulnerability that took my breath away.

"When I woke up on the ice last night, everything was spinning," Knox whispered. "I couldn’t hear Brennan. I couldn’t see the scoreboard. The only thing I cared about was whether you saw me go down, and whether you were scared."

A lump formed in my throat. I bent down, pressing my lips softly against his forehead.

"I was terrified," I whispered against his skin. "I dropped my sign and ran down the tunnel. And I’m not letting anyone take you away from this team."

A faint, tender smile touched the corners of his mouth. He leaned up and kissed me slowly and deeply.

The curtain snapped back.

Dr. Alvarez stepped in, holding a manila folder, with Priya trailing right behind him holding three stapled packets.

"Good news, Mr. Sheridan," Dr. Alvarez said, tapping the folder against his palm. "Your CT scan is completely clean. Zero intracranial bleeding, zero subdural hematoma, and no structural fractures. You have a standard grade-one concussion and a soft-tissue contusion on your clavicle. Rest, hydration, and Campbell’s five-day return-to-play protocol are all you need."

Air rushed out of my lungs in a dizzying wave of relief.

Priya stepped forward, placing her papers on the rolling tray table. "And here is the magic shield."

She laid out three documents: the certified hospital radiology report, an Adult Patient Autonomy Declaration, and a Comprehensive Liability Indemnification Waiver holding Briar University completely harmless.

"You sign these," Priya said, handing Knox a black pen. "Dr. Alvarez has already agreed to sign as the witnessing medical officer. This legally certifies that you sought your own independent care, received a clean bill of health, and released Briar of all liability."

Knox took the pen. With a steady hand, he signed his full legal name across the bottom of every page: Knox Alexander Sheridan.

Dr. Alvarez added his official medical signature and stamped the seal of Briar Memorial Hospital onto the top sheet.

"Now we have the ammunition," Knox said with cold satisfaction as he handed the folder back to Priya. "On Monday morning, we shove this down the university lawyers’ throats."

Before Priya could pack the folder into her bag, Knox’s phone buzzed loudly against the examination bed.

A text message lit up the lock screen from COACH BRENNAN.

Knox tapped the message open. His jaw locked instantly.

I leaned over his shoulder and read the text:

Pierce just called an emergency board meeting for tomorrow, Sunday morning at 9:00 AM. Garrison’s lead corporate litigation attorney, Richard Arse, just landed on a private jet at Briar Airfield. Pierce is panicking and leaning toward signing the medical transfer to protect the school from the lawsuit. Be at the athletic administration building at 8:45 AM or your season is gone.