Page 111 of Puck Block

Emory grabs me around the neck, and my head instantly throbs. Taytum screams, and I hold up my hand. “Go!” I wince, glancing at her while Emory presses his fingers in harder. My back hits the wall, and the IV pole falls to the floor. “Trust me.” My voice is strained, but I stare at her. “Please.”

Emory knows me, but I know him too.

He has to get his point across.

He has to come to terms with this.

“This is ridiculous, and this is exactlywhat I was afraid of.” She turns to her brother. “I knew you’d react like this. If anyone is ruining anything, it's you,Emory.”

Then, she briskly leaves the room, and I’m alone with her slightly unhinged brother, who is no longer looking at me like I’m his teammate. What’s even worse is that he’s no longer looking at me like I’m his best friend either.

[ 51 ]

TAYTUM

I pressmy back onto the tiled wall beside the restrooms and try breathing through my nose. I can’t seem to catch my breath. I start to pace back and forth as my hands shake. My headache gets worse the more I think about Ford and my brother essentially fighting over me.

We should have told him.

It’s my fault.

I wanted to wait because I was afraid of the outcome, and well…here we are.

My mouth is drier than the desert.

Why am I so fucking thirsty?

I start to pace again.

My stomach rolls.

I hate that my brother said that Ford couldn’t take care of me.

He’s been taking care of me for weeks.

He’s taken care of me for far longer than I’ve given him credit for, and I know he’d do anything for me. I feel it every time we touch.

I laugh quietly, in disbelief, when I think about the fact that he was willing to help me date other guys just so I could have some freedom, all while he was lusting over me. There has never been a moment where I thought that Ford would put someone else over me, even himself or his own wants.

Emory has it wrong.

I turn to stomp back into Ford’s room because I refuse to let Emory ruin anything else of mine. Their teammates are starting to pile into the waiting area, but I duck behind a nurse and follow her down the hall to avoid questions.

There’s no time for that.

My parents are likely to arrive soon because I’m certain Emory called them, and I am determined to get this straightened out before they get here. They’re under enough stress as it is. They don’t need to witness Emory punching Ford because of me.

I lean against the wall for a second and try to catch my breath.

My heart feels slow, and the hallway becomes distorted. I press my hand to my face, wondering why I feel so sluggish. I’m hot to the touch, but I’m shaking like I’m cold.

I lift my shirt and look at my injection site.

My memory is muddled, but I know I gave myself insulin before Ford fell.

What’s wrong with me?

I need to check my sugar.

---