Holbrook nods, his smile gentle. He spends the next twenty minutes examining my ankle and then my knee at Nolan’s request, diagnosing me with a mild sprain.
“You’ll need to fill out a report since you got hurt on Camden property,” Holbrook says. “Let me grab one and some information on taking care of this.”
“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”
He barely cracks a smile. “Come see me tomorrow between twelve and three. I want to see how the swelling and bruising are.”
“I’m going to have to contact one of the woman’s trainers to see if they have crutches small enough for you,” Holbrook says.
“Crutches?” Crutches are more embarrassing than Nolan carrying me, which is a really poor comparison because after the initial shock, being held in Nolan’s arms made me feel all the things I knew I shouldn’t. The walk to the facility wasn’t nearly long enough.
Nolan frowns a sympathetic look that has me looking back at Holbrook. “You’ll need to use them for the first couple of days, at least,” Holbrook says. “Today and tomorrow, you need to focus on icing your injury. That will help reduce the swelling and bruising. You can do it here in the ice bath or…” he turns to Nolan, “I can have someone bring ice to your dorm if you guys will be there.”
“But it’s only a mild sprain,” I object.
Holbrook laughs, a wonderful high-pitched, wheezing sound that would make me smile under normal circumstances.
“You’re as bad as him,” He pats Nolan on the shoulder, the exchange affectionate.
“Send the ice bucket to my room, if you don’t mind,” Nolan says.
Holbrook nods. “Ice it for twenty minutes every two hours. Wrap it with a tape or bandage in-between, the compression will help with the swelling. And be sure to keep it elevated.” He looks at Nolan again. “You know the drill.” He gathers different supplies that he drops into a bag before promising ice and crutches will be delivered soon.
“Hop on,” Nolan says, grabbing my shoe and backing up to the table I’m sitting on. I consider objecting or questioning Holbrook again but know it will be futile. And being this close to Nolan seems like the best part of this injury.
The walk to the dorms is short, making me wonder why Nolan was so insistent to move out. Earplugs seem like a worthy exchange for the convenience factor.
“This is so much better than my dorm building last year,” I say, looking across the expanse of the lobby.
“You lived in the dorms?”
“Only for a month, but my room was on the main floor and half of it was underground, so the window was literally ground level. I was always terrified some weirdo or an opossum was going to come into my room while I was sleeping. We didn’t have air conditioning, and I swear it smelled of Kraft mac n cheese, which I can no longer eat thanks to those few weeks.”
Nolan chuckles as he enters the elevator. I stare at our reflection, how I’m wrapped around his shoulders and neck. It’s an image I won’t soon forget. “Injury aside, how was your first Camden tradition?”
“Surprisingly fun. Are there more traditions?”
He nods. “Camden’s been open for a couple of hundred years. The cookie run is the biggest and most public. Most of the others have more of a secret society/speakeasy kind of vibe.”
“I knew it! How do you find out about them?”
His eyes flash with something that makes me feel starved for his next words. “There’s another one happening in a few weeks at the theater.”
“How do you know when and where it is? We have four theaters on campus.”
“You have to know someone who’s going.”
I lean closer to him, folding my forearms around the front of his neck. “Is this where you ask me to help you get moved back into the house in exchange for an invitation?”
“You keep bringing that up,” he says. “You must miss having me there.”
The elevators open and disappointment bounces through my chest as Nolan turns and I lose the reflection of him as we head down a long hall.
“Camden needs to hire interior designers,” I muse, looking at the endless gray. “This isn’t any better than the sea of beige in most classrooms.”
Nolan stops in front of door 434 and withdraws a keychain from the pocket of his shorts. With a couple of practiced moves, he has the door open, and lights flipped on.
“This is nice,” I exclaim, peering around. “You really prefer the spider-ridden basement to here?”