Spiked (Blocked Book 3)

by Jennifer Lane

  “Then let me get you something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She grabbed my wrist. “You’re shaking. Come sit.” She pulled me toward the chair, and I was too tired to resist. An urge to vomit pressed at the back of my throat. I held onto the seat to steady myself, and barely felt the prick of the needle Karen pressed into my fingertip.

  “No.” Lightheadedness engulfed me, and my stomach killed. I wanted to get the hell out of there. I tried to get up but Karen pressed me down with one hand as she tested the glucose strip in the other.

  “Hold on, I’m waiting for the number. Johnny, help.”

  I was going to throw up any minute, and I started thrashing around on the chair. I wasn’t sure what was happening but powerful hands held me down, and when I looked up, Johnny loomed over me. When had he gotten so strong?

  “Oh, God,” Karen cried. “You’re over six hundred! No wonder you look like a train wreck.” She lifted my shirt and jabbed a needle into the left side of my abdomen. Over the rush of blood in my ears, I heard her say “Get an ambulance to thirty-three Mt. Vernon Avenue.”

  “No,” I moaned. No longer in control of my muscles, I slid down the chair.

  As Johnny transferred me to the floor, Karen balled up her jacket and stuffed it under my head as a pillow.

  Don’t vomit, I kept repeating.

  “Is he okay?” Fitch peered down at me, and Itch came up next to him.

  I realized the guys were no longer arguing. Damn. My collapse couldn’t have come at a worse time. They wouldn’t want a band member who couldn’t last one rehearsal. Sayonara, band dreams.

  “He’s diabetic,” Karen snapped. “And he hasn’t been checking his blood glucose.”

  I couldn’t keep my eyes open, but maybe that was a good thing. I wouldn’t have to face her wrath.

  She said, “Shoot, I forgot water. You guys got any?”

  Some time later, she lifted my head, and water dribbled into my mouth. It tasted so good, I didn’t even care that it was warm.

  The nausea lightened—maybe the insulin was kicking in. I opened my eyes. “Where’s Weston?”

  Itch glared. “He’s off doing what he always does when he doesn’t get his way: baking his bong. Sorry we didn’t get to play together.”

  “It’s my fault.” I grimaced.

  “You were doing great—you jumped right in, before you…” Itch chewed on his lip. “Do you like the song? I wrote it.”

  I managed a smile. “‘Gaijin Dream’…I really felt the guy’s longing for the girl.”

  Itch lit up.

  “What does gaijin mean?” I asked.

  “It’s a Japanese word for Westerner.”

  Two paramedics hustled in. Karen barked orders, and soon they wheeled me on a gurney to the ambulance. I’d been through this before.

  A few hours later, they rolled me from the ER to a hospital room. They’d had to admit me since my blood glucose wasn’t coming down quickly enough. The day just kept getting better.

  The huge hospital room looked suspiciously similar to Alejandro’s from a two years ago. They’d stuck me with two IVs, which now stood next to my bed. Despite my protests, the nurse had also added a catheter to the mix. Irritation tightened my throat.

  Karen’s arms crossed her chest. “You’ve been through high BGs before. How could you miss the signs?”

  “I thought it was the heat.” I looked down as I replayed my first and last band rehearsal. “And I was kind of swept up in the moment.”

  “Me, too,” Karen said. “I felt like I was in an episode of VH1’s Behind the Music.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t have let them distract me from checking in on you.”

  It wasn’t her fault, and I felt like a selfish jerk. She was just trying to do her job. I looked up at her guilty eyes. “Sorry I’ve been a pain in the ass.”

  The deep line in her forehead smoothed out.

  “Interesting friends you got there,” Johnny said. He pinched his forefingers together and held them between his pursed lips like he was inhaling from a joint.

  “I’m not sure about this, Mateo,” Karen said. “Our boss won’t be happy if he finds out we allowed illegal drug use right in front of us.”

  I exhaled. “Thanks for not making a scene. But don’t worry, I’m sure the guys won’t want me after all this.”

  “I’ve heard you play,” Johnny said. “You’re good.”

  I stilled.

  “They’d be lucky to have you,” he added.

  A nurse came in to run some tests on my blood and urine, and I knew that would happen about a thousand more times before they discharged me.

  After she left, Johnny straightened and seemed to listen to his earpiece. “Oh.”

  “What?” I followed Johnny’s gaze to the door.

  When two Secret Service agents entered, my eyes widened. “Mr. Frances?” What was Joey’s dad doing here? Then my mom darted into the room, and I groaned. “You didn’t have to come, Mamá.”

  “Of course we did!” She bustled over to the bed in her formal red dress and leaned down to hug me.

  “We?” My voice sounded weak.

  More agents preceded Dad, and if that wasn’t enough, Alejandro came in next. Awesome.

  Mom glared at me. “Karen told me you haven’t been checking your numbers.”

  I tried to find Karen in the sea of agents now populating my hospital room, but couldn’t. Traitor.

  “You’re not managing your illness well,” Mom continued. “Do you want to stay in college?”

  My jaw unhinged. “You’ll make me leave Highbanks?”

  “Sylvia.” Dad draped his arm across her shoulders. “Tranquila. Let’s not be rash. Great to see you, Matty.”

  I nodded at Dad, who looked tired, even in his dapper tuxedo. Was it possible his black hair had grayed a little more in the one week since I’d seen him?

  Mom rifled through her giant handbag and drew out a package of tissues. She took one and dabbed under her eyes.

  Shit. She was crying.

  “How’re you feeling, best man?” asked Alejandro, assessing me.

  I nodded. “Better.”

  “I’m glad, buddy. Want to make sure you’re fit for the wedding.” He grinned.

  When my dad smiled, too, I let out a breath. “Thanks for coming, guys.”

  “Of course we’re here!” Mom sniffed. “And we’re not leaving till you get the pump.”

  “Come again?” I sat up. Could I retract my gratitude? “You told me that was my decision.”

  Mom shook her head. “Not the way you’ve been dealing with your illness. Denying your illness. This has to stop, niño. We can’t fly here every time you have a problem.”

  “Nobody asked you to come!”

  “Sylvia, sweetheart.” Dad guided her to the lounge chair in the far corner of the room. “It’s been a long day.”

  My teeth clenched as I watched my parents murmur to each other. I was so sick of Mom telling me how sick I was.

  Alejandro’s eyes lifted to the ceiling. “Ignore her. She gets like this when she’s had wine.”

  “She drinks wine?” That was news to me.

  “Only when she has to attend events with Sherri Nichols.”

  Despite my anger, my mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile. Dad almost hadn’t picked Bill Nichols as his VP because Mom hated his wife. She thought Sherri was a stuck-up bitch.

  “They were having a dinner for some head of state—who can keep track—and Mom had to sit next to Mrs. Nichols the whole time.” Alejandro snorted. “She probably was grateful she had to leave.”

  “Yeah, so she could yell at me about the damn pump.”

  Alejandro shrugged, and I expected him to chime in about how I needed it. But he just stood there. I noticed Joey’s dad by the wall, and when he saw me looking at him, he smiled and waved. I nodded at him. Living under protection sucked, but at least Mr. Frances could take care of his family because of it.

 
My brother spoke up. “Could I ask a question?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know you have concerns about the pump. What’s your biggest one?”

  I looked down.

  “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay,” he added.

  “What if…” I sighed. Then I lowered my voice. “What if a girl’s undressing me, and she sees that thing? Instant turn-off.”

  Alejandro studied me for a moment.

  Did he think my reasoning was stupid? Immature?

  “Wow,” he finally said. “That makes total sense. No wonder you’ve waited.”

  I gaped at him.

  “But, Matty, think about this. If something like that turns her off, she’s not the right girl for you. You don’t want a girl who disdains the very thing that keeps you healthy.”

  I let that sink in.

  “Besides, when she’s undressing you, she won’t be looking at your side.” His gaze drifted down to my crotch, and he smirked.

  My eyes flew open. Had Mr. A+ Alejandro just made a sex joke?

  “Matty!” Lucia cried from the doorway. Her long, wet hair hung over her volleyball themed T-shirt, which read Sorry, Princess…Not Even Cinderella Could Get to This Ball. “I came as soon as my match ended.”

  I groaned as more agents filled the room.

  “Did you win?” asked Alejandro.

  “Of course,” she scoffed.

  “Luz got eighteen kills!” Dane said as he crutched in.

  Why the hell was he here? My breath caught when I saw Jessica and her dad come in next. ¡Chin! I didn’t want her to see me looking like a sick weakling. I tried to sit up in bed.

  Lucia must have seen the panic on my face, because she leaned in to whisper, “Sorry. Dane insisted on coming once he heard you were sick.”

  “You okay, Teo?” Dane asked. Jessica hung behind her brother, watching me. The circles under her eyes looked even darker than yesterday.

  I nodded. “I’m good.”

  “Mr. DuPont,” Dad said as he stepped forward and shook his hand.

  “It’s Patrick, Mr. Pres—”

  “Call me Adolfo, please. And you remember Sylvia.”

  Mom smiled at him. “Is Lois here, too?”

  “No, she sent me to visit Dane and Jessie. Guys, come here.” He waved them over.

  Mom gasped when she saw Dane’s crutches. “Ay, Dane. ¿Qué pasó, niño?” Instead of giving him a chance to reply, she moved on to Jessica. “Jessie, you’re at Highbanks, too!” Jessica seemed to tense when Mom scooped her up in an embrace.

  My cheeks warmed. Mom sure was a hugger.

  “You had high BG?” Lucia asked me.

  Alejandro answered, “Over six hundred.”

  I rolled my eyes. Privacy was impossible with the Secret Service involved.

  “I bet your body’s just adjusting to a new environment, new stressors,” Alejandro said. “That’s why your numbers have been so up and down.”

  Hmm. That sounded plausible. And I didn’t seem to have as much time to bother with test strips in college.

  “That sucks, Matty.” Lucia patted my hand.

  I swallowed. “Mom said I have to get the pump or they’ll make me leave Highbanks.”

  Lucia’s mouth dropped open. “She did?”

  “Dad won’t let her do that,” Alejandro said. “Don’t worry.”

  Lucia rested her hand on my shoulder. “Are you thinking about the pump?”

  I clutched the sheet. “Maybe. This…” I gestured around me. “This could still happen, you know. It doesn’t prevent blood sugar crashes.”

  “But it makes it easier to monitor things, right?”

  Alejandro nodded. “Right.”

  “Alex,” Dad said. He beckoned for him. “We’re talking wedding over here. Where’s the reception?”

  Alejandro joined the discussion between my parents and the Monroes.

  Lucia sat on my bed, and the coconut smell of her wet hair floated toward me. “Don’t do this for Mom, or Dad, or me, or Alex. Do this for yourself.”

  I frowned.

  “You quit sports for Mom’s sake,” she continued. “That wasn’t right. But the pump benefits you, right? Makes it easier to go to class, run on the treadmill, play guitar with your buddies?”

  I wondered if I would’ve made it through today’s rehearsal if I’d had the pump.

  “It’s okay to take care of you,” Lucia said.

  I stroked my jaw.

  Dane materialized by the bed, towering over me as he balanced on one foot.

  Lucia popped up and leaned into him. “You must be exhausted from your crutches.”

  “No fucking kidding.” He managed to wrap one arm around her.

  She whispered something in his ear, and a huge grin broke out. I wondered what she’d said. Judging by her soft blush, it was something sexual. As they turned to the side, Jessica approached.

  I tugged the sheet to make sure the catheter was hidden from view. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

  She looked down, and her blond ringlets fell over one cheek. She wore white shorts, and my eyes trailed down her long, toned legs. “I didn’t want you to see me like this, either,” she said.

  Like what…beautiful?

  Her mouth quivered, and her eyes glistened. Was she about to cry?

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She blew out a breath, and I thought I smelled alcohol. “You’re the one in the hospital, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

  “Sí.” I stared into her eyes. When she looked away, I squeezed her hand. “Jess. Are you okay?”

  She turned back to me, eyes wide, blinking rapid-fire. Her chest rose with a long breath. “No.” Her hand tensed in mine, like it cost her to admit that. “I’m not doing so great. I’ve had a rough start here.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She slumped. “Thanks.”

  I let go of her hand. “It’s not, um, it’s not been easy for me, either.”

  Her pretty blue eyes came up to meet mine.

  “I’m not managing my diabetes well here. Mamá’s right.” My jaw tightened. “Looks like I have to get an insulin pump. A fucking pump.”

  “Oh.” She blinked at me. “So…a fump?”

  In an instant, I grinned. “Yeah, a fump.” How in the world did she get me to smile? “A fump, near my rump.”

  She giggled, and it was the cutest sound. “It goes on your butt?”

  “Nah.” I patted the area above my hip. “The needle goes in my side, I think. And I wear the pump in my pocket, or clipped to my belt.”

  “Sounds like carrying a cell phone,” she said.

  I’d never thought of it that way. “The fump’s got my pancreas on speed dial.”

  She giggled again. I wouldn’t mind having her on speed dial. But I didn’t even know her number. As her light chlorine scent washed over me, I felt my body reacting. Holy crap—the catheter tube shifted next to me. I folded my hands together over the sheet to hide my growing problem.

  “Could I get your number?” I blurted.

  She flinched, and her eyes got big.

  Idiota. I shouldn’t have asked that, but my dick had no self-control. “Or, uh, I could give you mine? You could decide if you want to call, or text, or…”

  She pulled her phone from her pocket. “Let me turn it on.”

  “Why’d you turn it off?”

  Her head stayed down as she licked her lip. “Um. Battery’s, uh…dying.”

  Was she lying? Something felt off. I caught a glimpse of her phone lighting up with incoming texts as it vibrated in her hand. “Oh, no,” she whispered. Her hand shook as it floated over her mouth.

  “You’re getting texts you don’t want?”

  She seemed to freeze and wouldn’t look at me. I got the sense she was scared, but I didn’t know why.

  I tried to make my voice as gentle as possible. “Why don’t you block them?”

  “Huh?” Her glassy eyes blinked at m
e.

  “You can block a number, right?”

  Her lips parted. “You’re brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  She just called me brilliant? The catheter levitated off the mattress.

  After tapping on her phone several times, she looked up at me with a dazzling smile. “Okay, tell me your number, Teo.”

  Chapter 9

  I GRUMBLED AS I READ THROUGH all the questions I had to answer for Dr. Valentine. When I looked around the sports medicine waiting room, a man with his arm in a sling stared at me.

  This blows. My appointment was scheduled to begin in ten minutes, but I hadn’t realized I’d have to answer so many invasive questions beforehand. My head hurt. I wished Dane was here to help me, but he had class on Mondays.

  What is the reason for your visit today? My face flamed as I wrote, Positive drug test.

  After a bunch of questions about athletic injuries, school, and family, there was a symptom checklist. Insomnia? Check. Appetite loss? Check. Low energy? Check. Impaired sport performance? Check. Impaired school performance? Not checked, due to the aforementioned insomnia. My late nights at the studio meant I’d already finished art projects due next week.

  What are your goals for counseling? That one stumped me. I was here because I had to be, but I thought it’d be rude to write that. When Mom had been a psychologist, she used to complain about court-ordered clients giving her a hard time. I didn’t want to make things difficult for Dr. Valentine.

  I don’t want to feel so tired, I finally wrote. But then I thought about all the times I’d nearly jumped out of my skin when someone startled me the past week. I don’t want to feel so jumpy. Though my drooping eyelids told me I was still tired. Maybe I shouldn’t have crossed that out. How could I feel jumpy and tired at the same time? It made no sense.

  Fuck it. It was just stupid paperwork. Why am I obsessing over these asinine questions? I gave the packet to the receptionist and returned to my seat. A nurse or somebody called a name, and the man with the sling followed her down a hallway.

  Now I was alone. The TV played ESPN, but I didn’t care to hear the commentators argue over Highbanks football’s ranking in the national polls. One guy said Highbanks had played pansy opponents, so we didn’t deserve a high ranking. The other guy told him he was just jealous. I thought they were both fuckknobs.