I feel it stick me when two of the thugs grab me from behind, holding my arms behind my back. Then I look up and see the bastard shove his thumb all the way down, injecting me with the full dose.
I stop fighting, frozen, unable to move.
I'm going to die. I'm really going to die. Mama's drugs are going to take me out just like they killed my daddy.
"NO!" Eva yells, kicking and screaming when the empty syringe falls to the ground.
The dealer's greasy face hovers over me before he knees me in the stomach. I collapse against the side of the wall, an unfamiliar rush surging through me despite the pain.
"Since you're so greedy, wanting every last drop for yourself, we'll have to get a little more creative on how we deal with your little punta over here." He cracks his knuckles and looks around, clearly enjoying this. "What do you say, boys? Any objections to granting me first dibs? No? I didn't think so. Just hold her down in case she gets feisty. Then each of you can have a go at her. I don't care. Just make sure he's looking over here the whole time. Maybe I'll double the blow and do her on his Harley."
My blood runs cold. I can't let them do this to her. I fumble to my knees, scraping and crawling to get to her. I make it about halfway before I receive another crippling blow to the stomach, hearing them laugh above me.
"Where do you think you're going? Get back down on the ground." The dealer shoves me with the heel of his boot. "Get ready, because you're about to witness something you'll never forget."
I dig down deep, fighting past the pain, before lunging at him and digging my nails into his face. I've always been more of a street brawler than a baseball player, ready to throw down, ready to flip the switch and go for the kill. He cries out in agony, trying to shake me off, but I hold on like a rabid dog, sinking my nails in even deeper.
All I can think about is saving her from a fate like this that, at first, I don't hear the police sirens wailing in the background. It's not until someone's hand lands on my shoulder, a hand too small to be a man's, that I begin to come back to the present moment.
"Drake! Drake! Let go!" Eva's voice urges from somewhere nearby.
I release my grip, shaking out the blood that was pooling inside my fingernails. I gaze around dazedly when a cop hauls the dealer away from me, the cuts I left on his face dripping blood all over the ground. The police read their rights while handcuffing the lot of them. I sigh, knowing they're probably going to arrest me along with them, but as long as Eva's safe, that's all that matters.
I hear her voice again through the fog in my brain.
"Someone please help him. He's just been shot up with a massive overdose…"
A paramedic crew rushes over, positioning my body on a stretcher. It's not long before I'm being shifted inside an ambulance. My heart is beating so fast that it seems like it's going to pound right out of my chest. I'm feeling so many different sensations at once—lightheadedness, nausea, a tingling sensation all up and down my arms and legs. It's too much, like my head is about to explode. But I can still make out Eva's sweet voice somewhere close to my ear.
"Someone upstairs heard yelling and called the cops," she tells me. "Just relax. You're in state of shock."
I blink my eyes to let her know I'm listening.
"I'm terrified that he may have just been injected with…"
But it appears that she's talking to someone else now. I only catch bits and pieces of what she's saying since I'm starting to fade in and out of consciousness.
"Dirty needle… What's happening? Is he… Cardiac arrest?"
I groan as the ambulance doors slam, and the wheels begin to move.
I couldn't run from her. She knew the deep, dark place where I'd be hiding, and she didn't hesitate to come and haul me out of there. She was willing to endanger herself in order to save me. But her sacrifice isn't going to do any good.
Because I know I'm not going to make some kind of miraculous comeback. Not anymore.
It's all over.
Mama always wins.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Eva
I'm witnessing the power of the New York Kings in action when the sergeant in charge is pulled away for an emergency phone call. He gets in his cruiser, closing the door only to argue heatedly with whoever's on the other line. I don't think he wins the argument because he slams the phone down on the dash and gets out, roughly adjusting the badge on his shirt.
"Everyone over here now!" He signals for the remaining cops on scene to gather around him in a huddle.
He stares them down one by one before speaking in a voice too low for me to hear. They nod, keeping their eyes trained on his face until he seems satisfied. He claps his hands, and they start to break away, going about their business and scanning the area for more evidence. I stand there in a bewildered sort of silence until one of the cops calls out behind me.
"Sir, I found the keys to the Harley in the ignition. Please tell me you're not going to impound this baby. Let me take it in. I wouldn't trust those numbskulls down at the lot to keep their mouths shut once they run the license plate."
"You and your toys, Henderson." The sergeant shakes his head at him then glances over at me. "All right. Why don't you take Ms. Sloane over to the stadium on it? We wouldn't want to leave such an expensive ride unattended now, would we?"
Henderson smiles widely at his boss. "Sounds like a wonderful idea!"
"The stadium?" I blurt out. "No…I want to go to whatever hospital they're taking him to."
"The ambulance was diverted en route," he replies, giving me a pointed look. "It was redirected to the stadium."
"But—" I start.
"No one likes the ball being taken out of their hands," he says with a grimace. "But this goes above and beyond my pay grade. I suggest that you let Henderson take you to the stadium and not ask any more questions."
Without further coaxing, Henderson slides onto the seat, expertly taking control of Drake's pride and joy.
"He trains the new recruits on our motorcycle task force," the sergeant offers by way of explanation. "Nobody knows more about bikes than Henderson. I promise you. You're in good hands."
I give him a quick nod, just wanting to get to Drake any way I can. Without giving it a second thought, I hop on the back, trying not to think about how my hands are gripping the shoulders of one of the NYPD's finest—and not the man my heart is worried sick over.
Henderson shoves the helmet from his police motorcycle on his head and takes off. There's nothing more I can do than hold on to him as he zooms along the city streets, my hair flying out from beneath Drake's helmet. I give in to the adrenaline rush. It's about the only thing that's keeping me from completely losing it until I find out what's going on with Drake.
I don't know how much of the drug entered his system. He could be OD'ing right now for all I know. I wasn't allowed to ride in the ambulance with him because one of the paramedics told me that it's company policy to transport only the ill or injured whenever the lights and sirens are on. And even if he survives this attack, we're going to have to start from scratch. That is if he even wants to try again. He seemed pretty adamant about giving up this morning, having no qualms about throwing it all away. And it shatters what's left of my heart, even more so than knowing he was forced to shoot up again against his will. If he no longer has the desire to remain clean, there's nothing I can do, regardless of what happens next.
We make it to the Bronx in record time, and there's a parking attendant out front who waves us forward.
"Officer, you have clearance to drive right onto the field."
Henderson tips his head and motors in, traveling along a ramp, dipping down, and then emerging onto the warning track of Kings Stadium. It's a majestic view from the open gate next to the bullpen, the kind of glimpse usually only relief pitchers like Jilly Gillette get. Henderson is careful to stick to the dirt, being sure not to leave any tire marks on the manicured grass.
When Henderson stops in front of the Kings'
dugout, I'm surprised to see Diane standing there, waiting for me.
I tap his arm, saying, "Thank you, Officer Henderson, for everything."
"For what?" he asks, winking at me over his shoulder. "I was never here, remember?"
I'm grateful for his tactfulness as I hurriedly climb off the bike and remove Drake's helmet. I rush down the steps of the dugout and race toward Diane, eager for news on Drake's condition.
"How is he?"
"He's in the trainer's room. Come see for yourself." She slides her arm through mine to guide me.
I don't know my way around down here, but it seems like an eternity before we come to a room at the far end of the hall. I brace myself, unsure of what I'm going to find once I step inside. There's a lot of milling about coming from within and deep voices talking in hushed tones. I can even make out the beeping of a heart monitor.
I glance at Diane, and she gives my arm an encouraging squeeze before letting me go in. I take a step through the door, telling myself not to fear the worst. But he's been through so much already, and I honestly don't know how he's going to bounce back from this.
"Eva! There you are!"
I blink when I feel a familiar set of arms go around me. "Dad? What are you doing here?"
He gives me a hug that instantly makes me feel better. "Diane called me as soon as the police notified her," he says, drawing back to wiggle his eyebrows at me. "Apparently, there's been a lot of trouble at Rosewood lately, and someone in the apartment above got suspicious when they heard screaming in the alley and they were quick to report it. And it's lucky they did, because when Drake's GPS tracker suddenly stopped working, Diane was afraid that he had taken off on you."
"I wish it were that simple," I mumble when I see Drake laid out on the massage table, unconscious, with an IV drip in his arm, the bag connected to him filled with blood. "What's going on? What are you doing to him?"
"Now, don't panic." He looks down, peering into my eyes. "The cops on the scene sent over a digital image of the residue remaining in the needle, and I don't think it's cocaine."
"Oh God," I mutter, feeling sick.
"They're running more tests within the hour, but just from eyeballing it, it appears to be a heroin."
I stagger backward, and Dad wraps his arm securely around my waist to keep me from falling.
"Dad, they gave him so much." I start to tremble and can't seem to stop.
Dad tenderly runs his hand over my arm. "I'm working with Liam, the Kings' head trainer and the team doc. We're going to try an experimental treatment on him. To flush it out of his system, swap out his blood with new blood, a type of extreme purging, if you will."
"But is it safe? Is it—?" I question.
"It's the best option we have," he replies matter-of-factly. "I only wish it were easier, like he'd swallowed a pill. Then we could pump his stomach and be done with it. But it's a little more complicated once an opiate like heroin enters the bloodstream."
He leads me over to where Liam is sticking yet another needle in Drake's arm.
"We're going to collect a blood sample to see just how potent a batch he was injected with and go from there," Liam says. "We should have the results back soon."
I don't have to ask how he's able to speed things along. The Kings' logo—on the walls, on the door, on the floor—is enough of an explanation.
"So, what can I do until then?" I ask, desperately wanting to do something to help Drake.
"Sit by him. Talk to him. Even if he can't hear you, trust me, he'll know you're here." Dad pulls a chair out.
I lower myself into it, holding on to Drake's hand, the one that isn't currently undergoing a blood transfusion.
Dad kisses the top of my head. "Eva, I promise you. I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure what happened to Jared doesn't happen to him."
I blink my tears back, only able to nod as he gives me a big hug.
"I have to get back to work, but you stay with him. Let him know how much you care about him."
I get choked up as Dad walks away and begins consulting with Liam and the Kings' doctor, giving me some alone time with Drake. I take the opportunity to rest my chin on his pillow and whisper in his ear.
"Hey. It's me."
He doesn't stir. His bare chest just rises and falls in time with the monitor.
I struggle to hold my tears back by gently fingering the leads that are stuck to the patches of hair on his chest. "You're going to wish you'd made time for that waxing appointment, buddy, because these are going to hurt like hell when they come off," I say, trying to make myself laugh instead of cry.
I make sure to say when, not if, because I have to believe he's going to wake up again. This can't be it. I refuse to accept that.
As if to reassure me, his fingers move ever so lightly against mine, and I gasp, lifting my head away from the pillow to look down at him. But there's no change in his condition. His eyelids don't flutter open. He doesn't sit up. He remains completely still as his life's blood is drained out of him, forcing his body to accept a new period of sobriety, overriding his brain from resisting it at every turn.
I take a deep breath and stare down at him, preparing myself for the long day ahead, because there's no way I'm leaving his side.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Drake
I sit by the window of the Kings' suite at the Roosevelt Building, watching the fireworks light up the harbor.
It's the Fourth of July, the night that was supposed to herald my big return, but I'm nowhere near the stadium. I'm right back where I started, with a bandaged arm and a girl who's looking at me with uncertainty in her eyes.
"I want to go back to Logan Tower," I mutter more to myself than to her.
"You know you can't," Eva responds, the glow of an exploding rocket illuminating her face in the darkness. "Not until things die down."
"But you told me Diane hushed it all up."
"She did." Eva shifts uncomfortably beside me. "But there are still a lot of questions swirling around after you were scratched from tonight's game. And Diane's not sure if Mama's boys are going to cooperate or not."
"I thought she said the other three were going to cop a plea to put the dealer away." I turn to look at her, my stomach in knots.
I'm okay with her knowing about my past, but it doesn't mean I'm ready for the whole world to know about it yet. The last thing I need right now is for everyone in America to learn about my drug use, never mind my dysfunctional upbringing.
"That's the plan, but there's only so much that can be done. It's a holiday weekend. The courts don't reopen until Monday, and nothing's a guarantee until their statements are a part of the official record. They could change their minds. Mama could still get to them somehow." Her voice trembles, and it irks me that I brought even more stress down upon her. "Just focus on the upside. You're alive, the needle wasn't contaminated, and you're clean again. That's all I care about right now."
I stare blankly out at the dazzling display before me, not feeling the least bit celebratory.
"I need you to fight, Drake, harder than you ever have before," she says, moving her chair closer to mine. "I hate seeing you look so defeated."
"Why?" I ask despondently. "I'm not going to be making a return to the majors. Not now. Let Sanders keep my job. I'm tired, Eva. I'm done."
"I'm not going to accept that from you." She sticks her chin out, her stubborn streak shining through. "You're going to have to do better than that."
"Everyone was expecting me to fail and I did." I shrug, refusing to run from my guilt. "I've never been clean for that long before, and look what happened. All I could think about were my stupid cravings. Face it. I'm just one of those people who can't be helped."
"I don't believe that, and neither should you," she says, her voice regaining the conviction she had when she first started working with me.
"You should get back together with Jared. You really loved him at one point, and no matter what he did to you,
I know he's better for you than I'll ever be."
"That's going to be hard to do, considering he's dead," she says, her voice flat. "He OD'ed."
I grit my teeth. I didn't know…
"And another thing, it'd be kind of hard to get back together with someone I was never with in the first place."
"What do you mean? You said you lived with him?"
"I did. As his friend," she sighs. "Drake, Jared was gay."
I don't know what to say. I feel like an even bigger idiot than I did before, jealous of something I didn't even understand. I helplessly gaze out at the exploding colors, wishing I could slowly dissipate into thin air along with them.
"Eva—"
"Drake, don't." She lifts up her hands. "I know full well the dangers of getting attached to an addict. But don't you see? It's too late for me now. I—"
She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, struggling to hold on to her composure, and it tears my heart apart to see her this unhappy.
So I utter the only thing I can—the truth. "Eva, I'm only trying to protect you…give you what you need."
"Yeah? Well, what I need is you," she responds, her voice raw with emotion.
"No, you don't. You deserve to help people who will benefit from all your hard work." I pause, taking a deep breath. "I don't want you getting wrapped up in a hopeless case like me."
The grand finale of the fireworks show sets the night ablaze, but I wait until it's over before finishing what I have to say.
"Eva, I'm not going to see Mama try to hurt you again just so you can get me off drugs for a few weeks at a time. It's not worth it. I can't stay away from cocaine and she can't stay away from me. It's a lose-lose scenario."
I get up from the chair and walk into my unlocked bedroom, hurling my body onto the bed. I just want to sleep and forget this ever happened. Maybe we had a shot before coming back to New York, but not anymore. My fate will always be linked with Mama's. I'm sure of that now. I crossed her, and she's never going to stop coming at me, even if her boys in prison talk about her involvement, my involvement, the whole goddamned thing.
Inside Game Page 23