Page 50 of Call the Shots (For The Arena #1)

JUNE

YOU CAN HEAR THE OCEAN

When I woke up, the lights overhead were trying to burn my eyelids. Everything hurt. I blinked myself awake, staring at the pristine white of a hospital room, white sheets, white curtains, and a crisp white medical band around my wrist. My mouth was dry. It hurt to swallow.

“Morning,” a woman in a jean jacket greeted me, an official badge clipped to her pocket. She pulled a chair over, way more relaxed than I was. “Do you know where you are?”

I wet my lips. “The hospital?”

“Fifth time I’ve asked, first time you’ve gotten it right!”

“F—first?—?”

“Mm-hmm. You’re going to feel nauseous, shaky, tired—I’m Dr. Vakil, I should’ve said that. I’m not your actual doctor, he’ll be in later. Do you remember Dr. Samuels?” She gave a good-natured sigh. “I didn’t think you would.”

“Did I—was I drugged?”

“Nope. I wouldn’t be here if you were. I’m a specialist, June. They call me in for—ah—heavier conversations.”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to waste a hospital bed.” I squeezed my eyes shut, overwhelmed with embarrassment. “I can’t remember anything. I’ve never been drunk like that before.”

“Your boyfriend said it was out-of-character.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Bear?” She raised her eyebrows. “The man I had to hustle out of this room? He’s been here the whole time.”

“ Bear’s here?”

“Is he not supposed to be?” Dr. Vakil paused. “He was the only one who stayed, I was told the rest of your group was driven to Houston. Are you in an unsafe situation?”

“No, nothing like that—group? What group?”

The more Dr. Vakil explained, the more I couldn’t breathe, and mortified tears threatened to spill over. The boys had brought me in, passed out.

I put my head in my hands. “I ruined their night?—”

“June?” She touched the blanket. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because I’m an idiot who blacked out.”

“When you drink alcohol, your body has to dispose of it. That takes fuel. Functioning properly takes fuel. Without that fuel, you’re drunk faster, you’re drunk longer, and it’s easier for your brain to black out because it can’t keep up with the demand.

So, you might ingest your normal intake, but your body can’t handle that anymore. Why do you think that is?”

Slowly, I looked at her and she stared back with a piercing gaze.

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“I know where you’re going with this,” I assured her, my voice hoarse.

“You do?”

“This isn’t a problem. I’m in recovery.”

Dr. Vakil crossed her legs. “Recovery?”

“I can say it—eating disorder. That’s how you know I don’t have one. Because I can say it.” I said it again, so she knew how seriously I took this conversation. “I had one in high school. A real one.”

“A real one?”

“Where I was—” I dropped my voice. “—hospitalized for it.”

“June.” She motioned to the bed. “You’re in the hospital.”

“Not for?—”

“No, don't mischaracterize this, you were that inebriated because you haven’t been eating.” Dr. Vakil reached for a clipboard.

“Bear voiced his concerns to Dr. Samuels and the bloodwork confirmed it. Your levels aren’t enough to be considered an immediate threat to yourself—Dr. Samuels will have that conversation with you—but we need to talk about your tests.

This is a long-standing issue we’re looking at.

I don’t know the exact time frame, but you’ve been brutal on your body?—”

“No—no, I’m in recovery. It’s not that bad?—”

“Some people say recovery is a road.” Dr. Vakil folded her hands.

“I think that road changes as much as we do. Sometimes it’s a trail that’s difficult to hike through, sometimes it’s a tight rope across a vat of lava, sometimes it’s a field of flowers.

The thing is, recovery isn’t the road itself.

Recovery is the decision to keep going.”

“I’m two sizes bigger than I was in January?—”

“That doesn’t matter. You can be a hundred or a thousand pounds and if you have a problem giving your body the nutrients it needs, you still have an eating disorder.”

“But—”

“You’re twenty-one, June. Your body’s changing and developing because you’re getting older. You won’t always look like how you did at eighteen, or even twenty-one for that matter. That’s not a realistic expectation.”

My lower lip wobbled. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”

She had a cool, calm exterior when she spoke, like she’d had this conversation a thousand times before—and she probably had—but sympathy flashed across her eyes and that hurt worse than anything she said.

“My clinic’s in Austin but we have a sister branch in Houston,” she said, digging a card from her pocket. “When you get to the ocean, you can hear it, right? The water? The seagulls?”

Slowly, I nodded.

“At our clinic, we say that having an eating disorder is like avoiding the ocean. You don’t want to get in the water because once you do, you can’t get out.

At this moment, this is the warning before you step to the sand.

The seagulls are here, June. You can hear them.

You can still stop before you touch the water. ”

I had to talk with Dr. Samuels and fill out paperwork before I was allowed to leave. I spotted Miles and Cleo in the waiting room first, both with coffees in hand.

“Oh my god,” Cleo breathed out and hurried to me, enveloping me in a tight hug.

“Hi,” I croaked. “I’m sorry?—”

“Do you remember what bars you went to?” she demanded while Miles hugged me too. “We can sue for alcohol poisoning. Did you pay with cash or card? I have the Marrs lawyers on speed dial.”

“Alcohol…?” I trailed off, catching sight of Bear.

Miles and Cleo must’ve run to grab a shower but there was no way Bear left the hospital. His clothes were disheveled, his hair was stuck up in places, his eyes were bloodshot. He looked awful.

Slowly, he shook his head and tipped his chin to Cleo.

Bear didn’t tell them.

A whirlwind of emotions hit me because that meant Bear knew.

I’d been hiding my condition for so long that the idea of anyone finding out petrified me.

But the longer I gazed at Bear, the longer the fear settled into something else.

I was still scared but if someone had to find out, I was weirdly relieved it was Bear.

Not for any tactical reasons, like we had secrets to hold over each other, but because…

I had no idea why I was so grateful it was him.

“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Miles said.

“I said you had a family emergency,” Cleo said. “Do you want to rest at the hotel? Or we can take you to the place we’re renting?”

My eyes met Bear’s. “Are you going to Houston?”

He nodded. “We can pick up your suitcase on the way.”

“Wait, I’m sorry, did you…?” Cleo glanced between us. “Did you two talk about this? June, maybe you should stay put for a while, get some rest.”

“I’m not supposed to be here, Cleo.” I fidgeted with my medical wristband. “I didn’t want to do the fake relationship anyway. It’s not what King wants, it won’t send me to law school, it won’t get my house back.” I hugged them again. “I just want to go home.”

In the parking lot, I shuffled to Bear’s car, hands in my pockets. I stole a glance at him. “Who picked up the boys?”

“I called Denali when we got here.”

“Oh.”

Bear opened the passenger door for me, but I hesitated. “You didn’t tell Cleo and Miles…”

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“But—why?”

“I knew you wouldn’t want them to know.”

My heart thrummed in the silence. I couldn’t believe Bear did that for me. My eyes pricked with tears. “Um…could I…?”

“Huh?”

“I know they’re not really your thing…”

“What?”

“Could I…um…?” I motioned between us. “This has been a lot and—and could I get a hug?”

“You want to hug me? ”

“If—if you’re not comfortable?—”

Bear crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around me, yanking me into a gorilla-like hug. I tripped into him but if Bear noticed, he didn’t say anything.

He just hugged me tighter.