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“You didn’t have to rush over,” I tell her, although it’s comforting to see a friendly face. “How’s Parker? I can’t imagine this is bringing back any good memories.” The last time he was in the hospital was when Summer was shot, and those are memories we’d all rather forget.
“As if you could keep me away,” she tells me, “Parker is okay. We’re more worried about you at the moment.”
“I don’t know what’s happening, Sum,” I admit, thinking back to what could have resulted in me returning to the hotel appearing drunk. Flashes of Brody leaving, the spa, a car ride, all come to me at once, but none making anything any clearer.
When a nurse comes in to check on me, voices from outside my room draw our attention. I frown when I recognize one of the voices as Brody’s PR guru. Have I caused trouble for him?
Before I can ask Summer to find out what is going on, Brody reenters the room looking on edge. He’s running a hand through his hair in frustration and frowning, the deep lines on his forehead only adding to how exhausted he looks.
“What’s happened?” I ask, my heart rate picking up, the telltale beeping of the monitor beside me alerting him to the fact.
“Try and stay calm, okay? You’re exhausted. But I wanted you to hear this from me first, not the vultures of the media.” He sits beside me again, lacing his fingers through mine.
“Hear what?” The nausea rolling around in my gut has nothing to do with whatever landed me here, and everything to do with whatever Brody is about to tell me. I know it’s going to be bad.
“A story has just come out, about the two of us.” Well this isn’t going to be good. “It’s claiming I’m a womanizer, using women to cope with the hole my mother’s addiction left in my life.” He’s pissed, and I’m not surprised. That’s not information he shares freely with people.
“Brody, I’m so sorry,” I say, knowing how much having that information out there will hurt him. He’s such a private person.
“That’s not all.” He sighs and grits his teeth before continuing. “They have photos of me and Natalya. They’re trying to spin it that I’ve been seeing you both at once. Taking advantage of the supermodel dating my teammate and the small-town jilted bride.”
What color was left in my face drains away and I want to throw up. My life, the most devastating part of it is now out there for people’s amusement?
“I…I don’t understand,” I admit, my voice sounding weak even to me. The headache I had before is nothing compared to the pain I feel now.
“Try and calm your breathing, dear,” the nurse tells me, noting my vitals and offering me a reassuring smile. She leaves the room, reminding Summer that visiting hours are coming to an end.
“We’re going to figure it out, okay?” Brody offers with an unconvincing smile. “Let’s focus on you first and figuring out how you got so sick.”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to remember.” I replay the events in my head. “Maybe I was sitting in the sun for too long? I remember feeling dizzy, and a little spaced out. It was like I was watching my life play out in front of me, you know? Then things are a bit fuzzy.”
“You were comatose, Angel. Scared the ever-loving shit out of me,” Brody admits, squeezing my hand and moving a stray strand of hair from my cheek, the touch grounding me and offering a life raft in the storm we’re about to weather.
“But I didn’t drink. It makes no sense,” I tell him, feeling tears form in my eyes, and desperate for them not to fall. Nothing is making sense.
“This looks more like a drug overdose than an alcohol-induced coma,” Parker states from the door of the room. “Heather used to get like that after using.”
Brody erupts, the tension of the day breaking free and the full force aimed at Parker.
“She’s not a fucking junkie,” he snarls at him, and I grab his arm before he can move over there, trying to placate him.
“I wasn’t suggesting she was. I’m just saying, from my experience, that’s what it looks like to me.” Summer moves to stand beside him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“I don’t take any medication, well I took a couple of Advil for my headache yesterday, but other than that, nothing.”
“That’s what your record shows,” a middle-aged doctor says as he enters the room with some notes, “but you had high levels of Alprazolam in your system. That combined with painkillers, well you’re lucky your boyfriend brought you in when he did.”
Silence fills the room as we try to digest this newfound information. I had drugs in my system? How is that possible? My mind goes through everything I remember, every piece of information flitting about in my head. Natalya, her admitting to her relationship with Brody, lunch.
The doctor continues, “Is there anything you want to tell us?”
“No. I don’t understand. I only started feeling funny at lunch,” I admit, looking at the doctor. “But I was only drinking water and Natalya was with me the whole time, she can vouch for that.”
Brody’s whole body stiffens. His demeanor changing in an instant. Turning his attention to the doctor, he asks, “Is it something that could have been put in her drink?”
What? Someone spiked my drink?
“It is possible. It can be administered in liquid form,” the doctor confirms and my head is struggling to catch up with the fogginess obscuring clarity.
