Puck Block : A Brother’s Best Friend Hockey Romance (Bexley U)

I press my 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.Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

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.

I take a step forward toward the room, but my knees buckle. The hard floor bites into my skin, and I wince. My eyes droop, and I try to shake myself awake.

Insulin.

I feel for my back pocket, and the empty denim scrapes against my palm. Where is it?

Panic stuns me. Oh my god. 

It’s last summer all over again.

Only this time, I know what’s wrong.

“Help.” My voice is so faint I can’t even hear it.

My eyes refuse to open.

Shit. 

The hallway comes into view, but it narrows right away. I push myself up on my palms to make it to the bend in the hall so someone will see me, but I know it’s too late.

I close my eyes before I feel the sting of the floor meeting my cheek.