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hawke

. . .

My head is killing me.

My throat feels like I swallowed a bag of cotton balls and something scratchy.

My arms ache.

My muscles feel like they’re on fire and restless.

What the fuck happened to me? Slowly, my body starts to come back to itself. There’s a beeping noise, cool air, and a stillness that you don’t usually have in a team hotel. Where am I?

“Mr. Sheppard?” a feminine voice says, and I want to recoil when a cool hand lands on my arm.

A light shines in my eyes and they flutter open hesitantly. “Fuck,” I mutter and there’s a laugh that sounds like it’s being covered by a cough. I blink several times and focus around the room.

A woman around my mother’s age is wearing a white coat and holding a clipboard. Next to her is another woman, younger, in teal green scrubs. “Where am I?”

“Hospital, bro,” Falcon says, and my head turns to find him sitting at the foot of my bed, looking relieved and also like he’s enjoying this too much.

“What the hell am I doing at the hospital?”

“You were brought in by ambulance after you were found in your room, passed out,” the doctor lady says. Her tone is firm and very no nonsense. She has my attention immediately. “Do you remember what happened, Mr. Sheppard?”

My eyes drop to my arms, covered in wires that lead to two seperate IVs in my hands. I clench the blankets, hoping to hold back the wave of nausea. “I?—”

What had I been doing? There was the bus, the plane ride to Florida, we won the game, our team had dinner, the guys went to celebrate, but I had an important text and went to my room to talk to, “Emmarys!”

My eyes widen and I reach for the wires, needing to get out of here. I need my phone. I have to get to my girl; she must be worried sick.

“Chill, Hawke.” Falcon’s hands reach for me, pushing me back in the bed. “She’s fine. She knows where you are. She was here but had to get back two hours ago because she has a game tonight.”

“She knows?” I grunt. My brother better be telling the truth. The need to hold my girl is overwhelming right now. Something doesn’t feel right.

“Mr. Sheppard.” The doctor settles my wires back into place. “It's really important you finish these two bags of fluid. I need you to hold still.”

“What happened?”

“You were drugged, Mr. Sheppard,” she answers, bluntly. No flickers of emotion except for checking the notes on her clipboard. “When they brought you in, your stomach was pumped. You tested positive for rufilin, that was unfortunately cut with a small dose of fentanyl.”

“What the fuck?” I explode, sitting up and attempting to get out again.

“Hawke.” Falcon is holding me, his arms wrapped around me. “You’re okay. The police are investigating it. Coach knows, the team knows. You didn’t get on the bus and someone was sent to your room to see if you were there. They found you and called 911.”

“As I was saying,” the doctor continued, “Your stomach was pumped and we flushed everything else out of your system. I only know about the fentanyl because of toxicology. No Narcan was used on you or CPR. You should heal up just fine, but you might feel like shit for a few days. Forgive my language.”

I crack a small smile for the stern doctor. “It could have been worse though, right.”

She hesitates and I see the indecision in her eyes on what she should tell me. “You were very lucky, Mr. Sheppard.”

I don’t feel lucky. I feel fucking angry that someone did this. Someone who was close enough to me because I didn't party last night. I planned to go right back to my room and FaceTime Emmarys, hopefully talk her into phone sex with me. I only had water at dinner. Dinner with my team, which means…

“Someone on the team did this.”

Falcon nods. “They’re looking into it. Coach, Riggs and a few of your teammates vouched last night about what you ate, that you didn’t drink and you went straight to your room.”

“Emmarys knows?” I turn to my brother and he hesitates. It was barely a flicker, but it was there. “Tell me, Fal.”

“While you were out, something happened. We think the two things are connected. Some woman came forward and sold a story about an affair you had with her while you were in Texas. Your social media took a hit, and all the positive attention about you and Emma is being overshadowed right now. They’re calling you a cheater and they're connecting it to how you left Texas,” Falcon explains.

My chest feels heavy. Anger simmers under my skin. Not only was I drugged, violated, when I work hard to keep myself healthy and in top shape for competition, but someone deliberately set out to hurt the woman I love more than my own life. “You said she was here?”

He nods, a huge smile splitting his face.

Pride shines on his features. “Your girl is kicking ass and taking names. Finding you was her, calling the hotel and the ambulance, all her. She’s working with Isla to find out who this Gia Houghs is and they plan to bury her in her lies.

Add in the fact that you were drugged deliberately, which is starting to look like it was a setup, and things should work out. ”

“So she isn’t mad?” I ask, my mouth gaping open.

Having Emmarys fighting for me makes me feel invincible.

She really does love me. This could have set us back; it could have kicked up her old insecurities, but to hear she’s handling it like a boss…

fuck, it makes me so damn proud. And hard, which is not great since I'm in a hospital bed. I’m so fucking gone for this girl.

She is the best thing to ever happen to me and I will be thankful until my dying breath that she forgave me. That she chose me.

“Nah, man.” He slips me my phone. “See for yourself.”

I read through my texts, all the ones from Emmarys.

I feel guilty that I missed her the night things happened.

I can read the worry in her messages. But then they turn brutal.

She tells me all about what she found, how she doesn’t believe it.

She's going to find me, fight for me. Then they turn sad. She tells me how she’ll be with me soon.

How she wants to stay but has to leave for her game.

At the end of each text though are the only three words that I need. I love you.

I blink the tears from my eyes. “I need to get discharged. The girls have a plan and I want to be a part of it.”

“Already on it.” Falcon bumps my shoulder with his fist lightly and leaves the room in search of the doctor or nurse.

An hour later, I’m dressed, discharged, and returning phone calls to Riggs, my mom, and Coach. Everyone is on board to fight this mess. The national championship is in ten days, and I plan to be at full strength.