“Okay . . .” he said slowly, drawing the word out. I wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question. He seemed confused over it more than anything else.
I took a step toward him. “Is it a mistake?”
Say it’s a mistake.
“What do you think?”
I sputtered. “What the hell am I supposed to think?”
Seriously, what was I supposed to think? My brain at that moment might as well have been a screen saver of a fish tank. A couple of goldfish, a bobbing, plastic scuba diver, and some air bubbles.
“I would like to think it’s wrong,” I continued, “but I don’t see you jumping to deny it.”
And he still didn’t. He said nothing and blinked a few times, then just disappeared into his room.
My heart thumped against my chest. What was happening? Why was he hiding? No, this couldn’t be what I thought it was.
I glanced down at the division between his room and the rest of the house. Normally, I didn’t enter my teammate’s rooms. The bedrooms were designated as personal space, and I planned to keep it that way. But, in that moment, it was a threshold I knew I had to cross. I closed my eyes, and my rib cage tightened around my chest. Despite Rooke’s dodging, I knew what was coming. No matter what he said, or didn’t say, this was a moment that would affect the team for the rest of the tournament.
I crossed the line and stepped into his room.
Though it had only been a short time since Cole had left, the room had already transformed into something else. When we’d first moved in, I’d told my teammates to decorate their rooms however they wanted. Each was their space, and I wanted them to feel like this was their home as much as mine. Boy, did they listen to me. Shortly after moving in, they’d all created rooms that were complete reflections of their personalities. Especially Hannah.
Her room was peach-colored. And fluffy.
Rooke was no exception. He’d made the room his own. The walls were the same color, a shade somewhere between soft green and gray. A new bookshelf ran the length of the far wall, floor to ceiling, on the opposite side of the bed. Every shelf, top to bottom, was filled with books. Yes, real books made out of real paper. Nowadays, nearly everything was paperless, and real books cost more than most people could afford. At least I knew how he spent his tournament winnings.
Besides the books, a few antique swords hung from the sidewall, and a collection of relics sat on the dresser. Black sheets, gray walls. Together, it was one hundred percent Rooke. Subdued, masculine, and just a little old-fashioned.
Rooke was sitting on his bed, back bowed forward, elbows resting on his knees, like he was trying to close in on himself. His jaw was hard, his eyes were cold, and suddenly, he was that icy, barren man he’d been when we had first met.
I took a breath, crossed my arms, and forced an even tone to my voice.
“Why did your drug test come back positive for HP?”
“Kali . . .” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head.
I took a step toward him.
“Are you using again?”
Another step.
“Rooke, what the hell—”
He exploded and shot to his feet. “I relapsed. Is that what you want to hear? I fucked up.”
The world stopped.
Oh, no.
I fought my knees from buckling. He stood at the foot of the bed, glaring at me, breathing hard. I, on the other hand, couldn’t breathe at all. He fucked up. He relapsed. Is that what I wanted to hear? Shit, no. Shit, shit, shit. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. As I stood there, doing nothing but blinking for several seconds, the feeling returned to my body, and I found myself thumbing my taijitu pendant. I glanced down at it, and the sight of it reminded me of the values I strove to live my life by even if I failed sometimes.
Stay calm, I told myself. He won’t open up if you aren’t calm. This is just a moment in time, and you can get through it.
I tucked the pendant into my shirt.
“How long has this been going on?” I asked.
Rooke paced around the foot of the bed, back and forth. Looking everywhere in the room but at me.
“Awhile.”
Well, that was completely nondescript but not unlike Rooke.
“I have it under control,” he added.
Whoa. Oh, wow. This was bad. Denial overload.
“Actually,” I said. “I have a drug test that proves otherwise.”
“And what I choose to do with my life is my business. Not yours.”
My heart sunk. I’d said the same things to him when I was in denial over my own problems.
“You’re wrong,” I said simply. “What you choose to do affects the team. It’s not just your life. It’s theirs, too.”
He scoffed, shook his head, and started pacing around the foot of the bed again. As he paced, my mind drifted back over the last few days.
“When did you even . . .”
Snippets flashed across my mind. Getting past The Wall. Meeting the all-stars at the reveal.
The reveal.
“The other night. At the all-star reveal.” With every fractured sentence, my voice got louder. There goes balanced and calm. “You got high at the all-star reveal?” Then another revelation smacked into me, like I’d been pelleted with a brick. “Is that why you left the team when I took over? You were hiding this from me.”
He started pacing in faster, tighter circles, like he was in a cage, and it was getting smaller by the second. “I was protecting the team from my screwup. I wasn’t about to let you lose everything you’d worked for because of me.”
“But . . . why didn’t you just tell me? I would have understood.”
“Exactly. You would have understood. You would have dropped everything and put your dreams aside to help me. I wasn’t going to let that happen. Not after everything you worked for.”
I took a step back. I should have known it was something like this. Not the drugs. God, no, not the drugs. But if Rooke had bailed, I should have known his intentions were more noble than selfish. He’d always had a chivalrous streak, putting others before himself. Tears stung my eyes as the memories seeped in. Flashes of the nights he’d helped me overcome my addictions, stayed right by my side the entire time and helped me hide it from the world.
I swallowed thick.
“Accomplishments mean more when you get to share them with people.” I cleared my throat a few times, trying to push out the next sentence. “And you’re right. I’m not going to risk everything because of this. You have to get clean, or you have to leave.”
He gaped at me. “Kali, I’m trying. But you can’t kick me off the team. You can’t replace me in the all-star tournament. You might have to forfeit.”
“That’s right. Like I said, this affects the whole team.” I swallowed down the thick knot in my throat. “You need to talk with Dr. Renner. You need a trained therapist to work through this with you.”
He said nothing but started pacing again. I closed my eyes and took a breath. I knew what I had to say next. He had to admit to everyone what he had done, and Rooke was a deeply private person. When I was struggling, he’d kept my problems a secret, but if I was trying to run my team the right way, it was only fair that they know what was going on.
“And,” I added, “you can tell the team, or I will.”
He froze, and his jaw went tight. I knew he wouldn’t like it, but it was time to rip the Band-Aid off.
“It’s none of their business,” he said quietly.
“It is, even if you can’t see it.” I took a step toward the door. “I’m telling them now. Are you coming?”
He folded his arms and just stared.
Guess that’s a no.
I kept my head high and headed for the exit. When I reached the doorway, he spoke.
“Are
you going to report the test?”
It was my turn to freeze. What was I going to do about that test? If I reported it as is, we’d take a penalty and have to play the Death Match with only four players. Against one of the top teams in the world.
And that was only half the problem.
Once the media got ahold of it, Rooke would be on the cover of every tabloid in the States. He sure as hell didn’t deserve the backlash that would follow, and given his introverted personality, it would do nothing but hinder his recovery, if I could even get him there.
I lingered in the doorway, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
“I’ll do what I think is best.”
He scoffed. “You mean whatever’s best for you.”
It wasn’t what I meant at all, but I wasn’t going to argue with him, either. At this point, it was useless. So, I said nothing and walked out. He slammed the door shut behind me, and the sound from the impact shook my soul. My throat grew thick. Everything inside ached. Not just because of his actions or words.
Because I’d done the same to him.
Last year, when I was down this rabbit hole, I’d screamed at him. Slammed the door in his face. Told him he was an idiot. Now I knew what it was like to be on the other side. To watch someone you cared about play Russian roulette with their life, believing they were invincible, and that their actions had no impact on the people around them.
I made it to the kitchen before I broke down.
My breaths came in heavy gasps as I leaned against the counter. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and my whole body shook. The sadness inside turned to anger, and I punched the countertop. Then again, and again. I hammered my fists against the counter until my knuckles threatened to break.
“Kali?”
Hannah stood at the edge of the kitchen. “You know we have punching bags for that.” She grinned, until her gaze flicked down to my wet cheeks, and her face fell.
“What’s wrong?” she gasped, rushing to me with open arms.
“I just . . . I can’t . . . I don’t know . . .” I choked out.
Hannah wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me into a tight hug. She hushed me.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
My knees gave out, and we sunk to the floor with her arms still wrapped around me. I gripped her tight as the tears just kept pouring out of my eyes. My knuckles throbbed and pulsed with little lightning bolts of pain, but I didn’t care. I only gripped her tighter.
She held me, hushing me, stroking her fingers through my hair, and I sobbed in her arms until I had no more tears.
• • •
Hannah gathered up the team while I washed my face and blinked back any evidence of my sobbing.
We met in the living room. Everyone sat on the couch while I stood in front of them, wondering how to break the news.
Rooke didn’t show.
My knuckles still throbbed. Nothing was broken, but they’d be black-and-blue tomorrow. I prayed they’d heal in time for the matchup on Saturday. If not, the injury would transfer, and I’d be playing the first matchup of the game with a weak grip and a weaker punch.
“Rooke’s drug test came back positive for HP,” I finally said. No point in sugarcoating it.
They all sat there, stunned. It was quiet in the room for several long seconds until Derek finally scoffed, like he didn’t believe it. “That has to be a mistake.”
“It’s not.”
“But, this is Rooke we’re talking about—”
“He’s had problems before,” I reminded him. “Dr. Renner looked at the test herself, and Rooke pretty much admitted it.”
“What do we do about this?” Hannah asked.
“We have to be supportive but firm with him. And on top of the no drugs on the premises rule, this house is now alcohol free, at least for the remainder of the tournament. I don’t care if you drink at the clubs. Just not here.”
Everyone nodded.
“And if he doesn’t stop,” I continued, “he’s off the team.”
Derek leaned forward. “But, if we try to replace a player, there’s no way we could train someone to fit in with the team. Not that fast. We’d be out of the tournament for sure.”
“I know.”
They all exchanged glances. I frowned at their reaction.
“It’s the game or his health, guys. I hope we all know which is more important.”
They all glanced down at the floor, or off to the side, guilty faces all around.
“Yeah, sorry Kali,” one of the girls muttered, so quietly I wasn’t sure who.
“So, he’s out of the Death Match then?” Derek asked.
I faltered. “Yeah, I’m still figuring that out.”
“What do you mean—”
I held up a hand. “Just let me worry about it.”
He didn’t. After the meeting in the living room, Derek followed me to my office and sat across from my desk.
“What are you doing about that test?” he asked.
I sighed as I collapsed into my chair. “Honestly, I don’t know. We’d have to take the penalty and go four on five against one of the top teams in the world. Plus, if the media gets ahold of this, I don’t know how he’ll handle it or what that will mean for his recovery.”
Derek was quiet for a minute as he stared at the floor, lost in thought. Then his gaze flicked up to mine.
“You have to report it.”
I blinked. “I have to?”
“Yes.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’m off the team. I’ll finish out the tournament, but that’s it.”
My mouth dropped open. “What?” I studied him for a second. “You’re bluffing.”
“Is that what’s important to you? Wondering if I’m bluffing?” He stood from his chair and leaned over the desk toward me. “You took over the team to change things. To make a stand. And now, the first time something goes wrong, you’re thinking about backtracking.”
“This is different—”
“No. It’s not,” he said simply. “You have to draw the line and hold it. It doesn’t bow for anyone or any reason. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“If you think this is about my feelings for him—”
“I sure as fuck hope not because if you really cared about him, you’d report that test and not even think twice about it. Giving him a way out is enabling. Taking the stand makes the consequences real. That’s what he needs.”
I stood to face him, leaning across the desk, so we were only inches apart. “Is that what you want? We don’t know who we’re facing in the Death Match. We need him in the game.”
He slammed a hand on the desk. “No. We need him in real life. That’s what matters.” We locked up, both breathing hard from the heat of the argument and neither backing down.
“We can take the loss, Kali,” he continued. “It’ll only knock us into the losers’ bracket. You just said it yourself in the living room. His life is more important than the game. We have to be firm. No excuses.”
It went silent again between us as we settled into our staring contest. But inside, I was wavering. Was he right?
Derek pulled back and stood straight. “You know how I feel about it. I’ll leave you to it.”
He walked out of the office, leaving me alone. I watched him go and stared at the door long after, until I finally collapsed back into my chair.
What was I going to do?
I could report the test, take the penalty, and go in with only four players. No matter who we faced off against, they would still be one of the best teams in the world, and we’d undoubtedly get knocked into the losers’ bracket. And, on top of everything, the media would rip apart Rooke’s reputation and put someone who hated the limelight right in the middle of it.
Or, I could fake the results and go against everything I was trying to fix. I’d lose Derek’s respect, and any I had for myself. And I’d be giving Rooke an excuse to get high again because if I tampered with one test, I might tamper with more. But with him, we’d be full strength in the game, have a chance at the winners’ bracket, and it would save him from becoming the paparazzi’s latest victim.
Either way could make things worse for Rooke and the rest of the team. My stomach churned at the thought. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
It hit me, right then. I didn’t know why it took so long, but the realization slammed into me with the force of a freight train.
Their fates were in my hand.
The whole team. With every decision I made, I could make their futures or crush their careers. Their livelihoods, their dreams, all rested on my ability to lead the team on a whole new level. And, of course, instead of keeping things simple, I’d signed them up for the most insane tournament the world had ever seen.
We weren’t ready for this.
I wasn’t ready for this.
I rested my elbows on the table and buried my face in my hands.
What the hell had I done?
CHAPTER 9
“What should I do?”
I walked into Dr. Renner’s office later that day and plopped down in the chair across from her. The words just started spilling out of my mouth.
“Rooke’s drug test. I can’t report it. The media will rip him apart. But I can’t let him get away with this, either.”
Dr. Renner looked up from her tablet and met my eyes. “I can’t answer that for you.”
I tossed my arms up. “Neither can I. There’s no clear-cut answer here.”
She said nothing for a moment, sat back in her chair, and laced her fingers across her stomach. “Is this all that’s bothering you?”
In a word, no. Despite the fact that we’d split when he cut me out of his life, he was still a friend. A teammate. That meant something.
I cleared my throat in a poor attempt to dislogde the growing lump inside it.
“He was the one who helped me,” I finally said. “When I was all fucked up, he was the one at my side, making it seem so easy. We could be at the clubs, around alcohol and drugs, and it didn’t even bother him. That’s what made me think I could do it, too. And now we’re heading into this crazy tournament, and I can’t know what will happen. I mean, you should have seen the all-star dinner and how insane the fans were. This is going to be the biggest tournament in the history of anything. I know these new pods are easier on a gamer’s mind, but what about the pressure? The intensity of our training schedule? He already relapsed, and that wasn’t inside this crazy-ass tournament. How can I know he can make it through all this?”
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