Page 125 of Fake Game

“What did you consume today, food- and beverage-wise?”

That’s an easier question. “Rick, my mod—well, PA—set Lee and me up with bagels and coffee for breakfast. I didn’t have lunch because I was too nervous between the competition and the meet and greet.”

“Nothing else to snack on or drink at all?”

“No. No snacks.” I almost had some gummy worms but… “Oh. I had an energy drink after the meet and greet. Although, Parker drank, like, half of it.” I wave a hand in Parker’s general direction; I wasn’t sure where he was sitting.

Somehow, the room gets even more silent. It’s like I can feel it, crawling along my skin.

I said something wrong.

“Where did you get the drink?”

“The meet and greet.” My words are hesitant; I feel like a kid who’s been brought into the principal’s office.

“Did someone hand it to you?”

“One of the volunteers.”

“Did you recognize them at all? Do you remember what they looked like?”

“No, I—I’d never met them before. And kind of? I mean, I saw a lot of people today, so I don’t really remember.”

“Male? Female?”

“Female. White. She had brown hair.” But I can’t picture her face or anything else. “Why? What’s this have to do with everything?”

“Deirdre, it appears you were roofied.”

My stomach bottoms out.

“What? Why?”

“That’s what we will try to find out. From this conversation, we can confirm that it was from the contents of the sports drink, as that is something you and Mr. Covington shared in common.”

“What do you mean? What does Parker have to do with this?”

“Mr. Covington was also roofied.”

My head snaps to Parker, and—Gods fucking dammit—I’m going to cry again because I can’t even make out his face. Is he mad at me? Does he blame me? It’s all my fault. Of course, he would blame me. He drankmydrink.

“Parker?” My voice cracks as I desperately search him out.

“I’m fine, Deer. Just feels like I went on the piss.” His voice is gentle in response.

“But—”

“Really, it’s okay.”

“I’m going to be sick. Like, now.”

There’s a bunch of shuffling, and by the time I get to the bathroom, I’m just dry heaving. Makes sense. There’s nothing in my body except the fucking drugs.

“We’ll let you get some rest.” The detective stands awkwardly in the doorframe. “We’re going to continue running down leadsand will look into the woman you mentioned, see if she has any connections to you or your recent incidents.” She means the swatting. It always comes back to haunt me. “We will be in contact if anything comes up.”

The doctor and detective leave the room, and I just slump against the toilet. I don’t feel well enough to risk abandoning it yet.

Jackson runs his hand up and down my arm. I’m not sure he knows it, but his constant contact is my lifeline. He’s my lighthouse, keeping me steady throughout the storm, letting me know that I’m safe and that he’s here.

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