Spiked (Blocked Book 3)

by Jennifer Lane

  “So you’re here for Jess, not me.”

  My eyes widened. My father and I had our share of differences, of course, but I would never speak to him like that.

  Jessica pulled her father down to sit between her and Dane, and I took my seat on the other side of her.

  Applause rang out, and I realized the match had just ended.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Dane said. His dad tried to help with his crutches, but Dane brushed him off. “I guess you’re coming with us, then?”

  Mr. Monroe glanced at Jessica and then back at Dane. “Yes.”

  “Awesome.” Dane’s mouth was tight.

  “Ready to go?” Karen asked me.

  I didn’t want to leave Jessica, but I didn’t have much choice. “Yeah.” I fidgeted as Dane crutched by me, with Mr. Monroe following him. Jessica turned to me.

  “Good to see you, Teo.” She clutched my wrist again, and I liked it, even though her hand was cold and trembling. “Sorry I’ve been such a mental case. I, I’ve had a lot going on.” She swallowed, and her eyes glistened. Was she about to cry? When Dane barked at his father, she looked over her shoulder. “I better go. Stop these two from killing each other.”

  “Right. See you.”

  I watched her walk away, shoulders slumped, seeming lost in a world of her own.

  How would I stop thinking about her now? I’d hoped not seeing her for a week would decrease my obsession. But after tonight, that hope vanished. Something seemed off about her, like a fragile shell had enveloped her and obscured her bubbly spirit. I hoped she wouldn’t break.

  Chapter 7

  “HEY, JESS.”

  I gasped when Blake touched my bare shoulder. Son of a bitch. I’d been up late after Lucia’s volleyball match, and I didn’t need this so early on a Saturday. But I knew he wouldn’t just go away, so I forced myself to turn around and face him.

  He stood too close, clad only in his black swimsuit. Rivulets of water dripped down the curves of his pecs, slipped over his thighs, and left a small puddle on the pool deck. Why did the guys’ team have to end practice at the same time as us? Damn it. I’d almost escaped to the locker room.

  “We’re having another party tonight.” He smiled as his gaze lowered to my swimsuit. “You’re coming.”

  My heart was on overdrive. I crossed my arms over my chest and reached up to clutch my shoulders. I knew my shiver wasn’t just from standing on deck in a wet suit. The flickers of his tongue across his lower lip seriously creeped me out.

  “I’ll pick you up at eight.” He nodded and turned.

  “I can’t,” I breathed.

  His scowl froze me in place. “Of course you can.”

  “My dad’s visiting.” I looked up to the stands above the pool, but he wasn’t there yet. And I didn’t see anyone else on deck to save me. Most of my teammates were already showering. “We have plans after the game.”

  “The old man will be in bed by ten for sure. Then I’ll come get you.”

  He turned to leave again, but I blurted, “Can’t. We’re staying at my brother’s tonight. He, uh, broke his foot, and he’s on crutches, and my dad came to help…”

  As Blake’s scowl returned, I tried to think of a better excuse.

  “Jessica,” Kathy said.

  When I looked at my coach, my stomach dropped. Her hands were on her hips, and her mouth was tight. But it wasn’t her angry expression that made it hard for me to breathe. Next to her was Michelle Farris, associate athletic director. Drug test overseer. Grim reaper of my swimming career.

  “We need to speak to you in my office,” Kathy said.

  I gulped.

  Blake’s eyes got big. He clasped my elbow as he leaned in and whispered, “You got drug tested?”

  I shrugged out of his hold and stepped away as my face flushed. This is your fault, asshole. I should’ve screamed that, but the two women about to end my career were within earshot.

  Ms. Farris narrowed her eyes at Blake, then looked at me. “I’m late for an alumni breakfast. Let’s go.”

  I couldn’t feel my feet as I followed them to Kathy’s office. Behind me, Blake said something, but I didn’t make it out over the buzzing in my ears.

  I’d started swimming at age six. Twelve years later, it was all I knew. How would I survive without my beloved sport? I cast a longing look at the crisp, blue water before I entered the office. Adios, chlorine dreams.

  My assistant coach, Mike, was already inside. Great. More people to witness my demise.

  Ms. Farris and I joined Mike at the round table in the corner of the office. Kathy rummaged in a cabinet and pulled out a fluffy towel. She draped it over my shoulders before she sat next to me. As I drew its warmth around me, I wondered why she’d done such a kindness right before kicking me off the team. The gesture made me want to cry.

  “Do you know why we’re here, Miss Monroe?” Ms. Farris asked.

  My dry throat made swallowing difficult. “I failed a drug test.”

  Ms. Farris’s eyebrows arched. After a beat, she said, “Correct. You tested positive for metabolites of THC.”

  I couldn’t look at Kathy or Mike. They must’ve been so disappointed in me.

  “Here’s a letter outlining the consequences of your positive test.” Ms. Farris offered it to me, but I didn’t take it right away—I wanted to be a swimmer a little longer. The letter would revoke my scholarship and boot me off the team. Nausea stirred in my gut just thinking about it.

  “Jessica.” She rattled the paper, and I took it. “You are to schedule an appointment with Dr. Valentine within the next week.”

  My forehead wrinkled. Why would I have to meet with the sport psychologist if I wasn’t a Highbanks athlete anymore?

  “You’ll be tested more frequently now,” Ms. Farris continued. “And if you have a second positive, you’ll lose two weeks of the season.”

  I stared at her.

  Her head tilted. “Do you understand?”

  “Wait.” I blinked. “I’m still on the team?”

  “Of course you are,” Kathy said.

  I’m still a swimmer. My blinks picked up speed as I tried to fight off tears. But I lost the battle and soon I was bawling. All the fear and tension I’d been holding spilled out of my eyeballs and nostrils. I was grateful when Mike handed me some tissues.

  “This reaction’s a bit unusual,” Ms. Farris said. “Most athletes deny using drugs. And I’ve seen tears, but not a total meltdown like this.”

  “No, this fits. Her last coach told me Jessie’s a good girl. She’s just lost her way.” Kathy nodded at me. “I wondered why you haven’t been swimming well. I knew you couldn’t be out of shape, not with Gary as your coach.”

  My last club coach, Gary, was known for his tough practices.

  “But if you’ve been smoking pot all the time, that makes more sense.”

  I cleared my throat. “I only smoked once.”

  Ms. Farris rolled her eyes. “Now that reaction’s more typical.”

  “It’s true.” I sniffed. “I’m not a pothead.”

  “Regardless, you will meet with Dr. Valentine, and she’ll assess the situation.” Ms. Farris reached for her handbag. “I don’t want to have this meeting again, Miss Monroe.”

  My eyes widened. “You won’t.”

  “I need to get to the Cougar breakfast at the PAC.” Ms. Farris stood, and the rest of us got to our feet. She looked at me. “Are you going to the game?”

  I’d almost forgotten there was a home football game this afternoon. “Yes. My dad’s here.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  A worry entered my mind. “Will you tell my parents about the drug test?”

  “That’s up to your coach,” Ms. Farris said.

  I looked at Kathy, who frowned. “I haven’t decided,” she said. “If you get your shit together, I won’t tell them. But if I think you’re not on the right track, you can bet I’ll have them on speed dial.”

  I exhaled. I didn’t
want anyone to know about my stupidity.

  Ms. Farris stared at me from the doorway. “Oh, and Miss Monroe, stay away from negative influences.”

  Was she talking about Blake? If so, I would have no trouble following her advice. Now that my THC trip-up was out in the open, Blake couldn’t threaten to tell my coaches about it. I wouldn’t have to talk to him at all, I hoped.

  When I emerged to the natatorium lobby, I was surprised to find Dane standing next to our dad.

  “What the hell?” Dane looked at his watch. “Did you fall in? We’ve been waiting forever.”

  Dad shifted, looking uncomfortable, and I noticed he carried a canvas with its back to me.

  No way I’d tell them about my meeting in the coach’s office, so I chose deflection. I pointed to Dane’s crutches. “I didn’t think you were going to the game.”

  Dane shrugged. “Dad pointed out that it’s my senior year. I might regret it if I don’t hit up all the home games.”

  “We didn’t have a nationally ranked football team at art school,” Dad said.

  “Or a football team at all,” Dane added.

  Dad grinned. “Right. Or over a hundred thousand fans at the games.”

  There seemed to be a lighter mood between them, and I wondered what they’d been up to since they’d dropped me off last night.

  “Plus, I want to watch your reaction to the painting.” Dane gestured to the canvas in Dad’s grip. “He was up all night finishing it.”

  “Dad!” I studied him, but he didn’t seem tired. If anything, he seemed bright-eyed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “You know what it’s like, Jessie. When the muse graces you with her presence, you need to welcome her with open arms—stay up all night, if that’s what it takes. You can always make up sleep.”

  I hoped that was true. Last night had been another rough one with the nightmares. I felt my eyelids droop.

  “Staying up all night seems like a manic episode to me,” Dane said.

  Dad frowned. “You sound like your mother. Just because I’m an artist doesn’t mean I have bipolar disorder. And you haven’t even started grad school. It’s way too early to fling around diagnoses.”

  Dane sagged against his crutches and moaned, “Don’t remind me about grad school applications.”

  “Besides, bipolar’s highly heritable. Maybe you were in a manic episode when you stayed up most of the night watching Days of Our Lives.”

  Dane blushed.

  Dad looked at me. “Did you know your brother’s hooked on a soap opera?”

  “Uh-huh.” I giggled. “He got Lucia to start watching, too.”

  Dane jutted his jaw. “Yeah? Who was the one asking me all about the show as he painted, hmm?”

  Dad shook his head. “Now the jerk’s got me addicted. Fuck.”

  Dane laughed, and Dad joined in. I marveled at them.

  “Just wait, Jess,” Dane said. “I got Luz and Dad to watch, and I’m going to get you addicted next.”

  “No way.” I shook my head.

  “And Teo, too.”

  A smile played on my lips as I remembered sitting so close to Mateo last night. I’d felt safe with him and his agents. But my smile faded as my freak-outs came to mind. Why had Mateo asked me about the “swimmer guy”? I never wanted to think about Blake again. Mateo probably thought I was cracked.

  “Is Lucia going to the game?” Dad asked.

  Dane shook his head. “Her coach won’t let them go because they have another home match tonight. Says it drains their energy.”

  “Is Teo going?” I asked.

  “Nah. Luz said he’s meeting up with some guys in a band.”

  He was in a band? That sounded sexy. I craved more information but didn’t want to appear too eager. My phone buzzed, and I read the text.

  What happened with Kathy? You okay?

  Blake. He wanted to know if I’d implicated him as my supplier. I decided not to answer, and powered down my phone. Make him squirm.

  “Who was that?”

  I looked up and met Dane’s inquisitive eyes. “Nobody.” He kept staring at me. I swallowed, then gestured to the canvas. “So, are you going to show me my painting or what?”

  Dad blanched, and he tapped the corner of the painting. His apparent nervousness was cute. He flipped it around to reveal a sea of light blue and silver. He’d combined white and blue so artfully that it looked like waves undulating off the canvas, like the painting was alive, pulsing with energy. I stepped closer to peer at the creature in the middle. A flash of silver, like scales on her body—a fish, perhaps? Pale yellow tendrils flowed from her head, swelling and rolling with the waves. I made out faint lines of eyelashes and a serene smile, as I looked closer. Peace. The sea creature had found the peace I coveted. I wanted to dive into the painting to be with her. I wanted to be her.

  When I touched my face, it was wet. I was crying again? What the hell was wrong with me?

  “Wow, Dad,” Dane said. “Your painting really moved her.”

  They watched me as I stepped back and sniffed.

  “You like it?” Dad asked.

  I smiled at him through my tears. “I love it.”

  “Well, I love watching you,” said Dad. “I was trying to recreate the feeling I get when you swim. You’re so beautiful. So powerful. It’s like you belong in the water.”

  And I’d come so close to losing swimming. Dumbass.

  “You don’t seem like yourself, Jessie.” Dad set the painting down. “You’re edgy. And sad. Like you were two years ago.”

  “Two years ago?” Dane asked.

  I looked down. “The terrorist bus thing.”

  Dad continued, “Are you having trouble sleeping again?”

  “A little,” I confessed.

  “Did anything happen?”

  Dad’s question ratcheted up my heartbeat, and my tears stopped. I couldn’t tell him or Dane about my first night at Highbanks. “No. Maybe it’s being in a new place, trying to sleep in the ugly dorm.”

  “Let’s go hang this in your room, then.” Dad looked at his watch. “Dane told me you want to loft your bed, so maybe that’ll help, too. We have time for that and a bite to eat before the game, if we hurry.”

  I shifted my backpack and nodded.

  The sunlight blinded me as we walked out of the dark pool lobby. Dane’s long stride allowed him to keep pace pretty well next to me, with Dad behind us. “Dad knew about your nightmares after the terrorist plot?”

  I noticed his grimace. “Yeah.”

  “He helped you?”

  I nodded, wondering why he was asking.

  “Sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

  Oh. Mr. Budding Psychologist felt guilty he hadn’t helped me deal with an emotional crisis. “It’s okay. Mom was busy with the election, and you were busy pretending you didn’t like Lucia.”

  He barked out a laugh.

  The metallic shifting and blunted thud of the crutches on the pavement lulled me as we continued our progress toward my dorm. We passed scads of people excitedly chatting or pointing to campus landmarks. The first game of the season brought out all the fanatics.

  Dane looked at me as we stopped by the entrance of my dorm. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

  I sucked in a breath but tried to look cool. Did he know about Blake? About the drug test? “I know.” I swiped my ID, and we went inside.

  Five hours later, Dane and I collapsed on the sofa in his condo. We’d left the game early for two reasons: Highbanks was crushing Bowling Green, and Dane’s foot was hurting. At least we hadn’t had to walk far to the car since Dane had a handicapped-parking hangtag.

  “Here you go.” Dad handed him a bottle of pain pills and a glass of water.

  “Gracias, padre.” He closed his eyes after swallowing a pill. “Can’t believe I forgot these.”

  Dad picked up a pillow, fluffed it, and propped it under Dane’s foot on the ottoman.

  “Who knew you were such
a good nurse,” I said. He’d nursed me, too, by bringing the painting. It really brightened my room and now hung right under the lofted bed Dad had built. Dad had even promised to get me a small sofa for under the bed.

  Dad smirked. “I took care of your mother when she broke her leg.”

  “Mom broke her leg?” asked Dane.

  “Before Jessie was born. You were only one. She was carrying you in from the car and slipped on the ice.”

  Dane leaned back. “Yikes.”

  “She managed to protect you when she fell.” Dad looked out the window. “She’s good at that. Protecting her kids.”

  The sadness in his voice made me look over at Dane, who stared back. Was Dad implying he didn’t do so well at that?

  “Jeez, it’s hot out there.” Dad wiped his forehead. “I need a drink.”

  So do I. Alcohol sounded so good.

  He looked at Dane. “You got anything?”

  “Uh, there’s some beer and wine in the fridge.”

  Dad headed to the kitchen. “Any liquor?”

  “Vodka’s in the cabinet over the microwave, I think.”

  “Want a drink?” Dad called.

  Dane and I looked at each other again.

  “Better not mix it with my pain meds,” Dane said.

  “Jessie?”

  If my dad was cool with me drinking underage, then I was, too. “Sure.”

  Dane clicked on the game, which had five minutes left in the fourth quarter. The Cougars were up 45-0, and the stadium was starting to empty.

  Dad handed me a glass of white wine and sat on the other side of me. “Here’s some Riesling. I couldn’t find any tonic for the vodka.”

  “Sorry, guess I’m out.” Dane took another sip of his ice water.

  As the wine slid down my throat, the sweetness awoke my taste buds, and the coolness relaxed me. Yum. I’d hated the red wine I tried last year, but I could get behind this drink.

  Five minutes later, Dad glanced at my empty glass. “Whoa, guess you were thirsty.”

  I blushed when I noticed his was still full.

  He smiled. “A little too sweet for me. Why don’t you take my glass back to the kitchen and pour yourself another? I’ll go out and get some sauvignon blanc later.”