Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2)(102)

“So I play like shit. Do you have a better solution?”

Hammer pauses and I look up in the mirror. All of the guys look back at me. “If you turn around right now, you’ll get to Luce before her match.”

“And what? You guys will hitchhike back to Western?” I scoff.

“No. We all go with you.” Hammer stretches his long arm past my seat and out the windshield. Ahead of me, the caravan of vehicles carrying all the starters and number two players on the depth chart are signaling left to take the off ramp.

“What the hell, Hammer?” I flick my eyes up to the rear view mirror again.

He holds up his phone to indicate he texted the other cars. “You need to get to Luce. She ran around this morning, knocking on doors, getting everyone up. When Stoltzy forgot his playbook, she went back and retrieved it from the hotel. Plus, you’re our captain. Our ship floats or sinks with you.”

I look at Ace, who’s staring out the window. We don’t move without him. He’s still pissed at Luce. He hasn’t gotten over the fact that Luce chose me. That it wasn’t that athletes weren’t her type, but that Ace wasn’t. He might have been able to have her if he hadn’t treated all the women in his life like dirt.

But he had. She saw it. While she loved him like a friend, she couldn’t ever love him like he wanted, like she loves me.

Part of him wants her to twist in the wind. I can see it his face.

“Do I drive on or get off at this exit?” I ask grimly.

Hammer doesn’t give him a chance to answer. “Turn at the exit. Ace and Jack can go back to Western,” he says with utter disgust.

“No way. I’m coming with the team,” Jack protests.

“And you, Ace? You with the team?” I ask softly.

He waits a heartbeat longer and then sighs. “Yeah, I’m with the team.”



* * *





Lucy


“Fuck, my throat is raw.” Heather flexes her jaw. The hoarseness in her voice makes me wince.

“We shouldn’t have gone last night.” Now that the drug that is Matty Iverson has worn off, I see the foolishness of my decision.

“Stop stressing out about it,” Heather scolds me. “The drive didn’t make me sick. It’s been coming on all week.”

“You should’ve rested up.”

She rolls her eyes. “I did rest up. I was sleeping while you were screwing Matty. If we hadn’t gone, you’d have been worthless. At least now you can concentrate on the case.”

“Right.” I pace nervously. Despite my morning insulin, I’m sluggish and weak. I pull out the orange juice I bought from the vending machine and take a small sip. I have no idea about my sugar levels because I haven’t taken a measurement in nearly three hours.

My sweaty palms, racing heart, and lightheadedness could be because I’m nervous. It could be because my BG levels are wildly unstable at this point. Dry-mouthed, I take another sip of the juice.

“I have to use the bathroom.”

“Jesus, it’s like the third time this hour,” Heather complains. Even though she’s lost her voice, she still manages to eke out a bitchy comment. Classic Heather. I flip her off and walk slowly toward the girl’s room.

Nothing comes out of me when I sit down. I flush, stand up and nearly fall backward into the bowl. I’m going to have to tell Randall and Heather and the rest of the team.

Would Randall be able to carry on? Would we have to forfeit? God, that alone makes me want to puke and cry. We’re so close.

But there’s no time to drive to the drugstore to pick up insulin. I Googled it and the closest one is twenty-five minutes away. The clerk at the gas station I spoke to across the street didn’t even know you could buy insulin over the counter. He insisted I would need to go to a pharmacy. Even if we could make it, I didn’t have the money. I had to go to Heather and ask for help. She called her dad immediately but neither believed the wire would get here in time.

I push my way out of the stall, ignoring the shakiness of my hand. I wash, dry, take another sip of my juice and go find Randall and Heather.

“I don’t know if I’m going make it,” I admit when I find them.

“You took one this morning, though, right?” Randall asks. His normally dark skin is looking alarmingly pale.

“Before breakfast,” as is my custom, although I’ve slipped now and again. Like the time I stayed over with Matty.

“Then you’re probably feeling like a piece of shit because of your nerves.”

Heather agrees with Randall. “You need to do this.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.” She grabs my clammy hand. “You know this case better than anyone. You wrote all our examinations. No one is better suited to this than you. Just stand up there and own the courtroom. Believe you’re better and what happened to you freshman year won’t happen again.”

“Is this some Tinker Bell shit? Believe?” I scoff.

“Hey, that bitch is earning billions in royalties what, a hundred years after her creation? You should dial back on your critiques of her. She might be basic, but she knows what’s what.”

Randall and I stare at each for a moment and then burst into laughter. Only Heather would call a fairy who can make people fly basic. We laugh until we can’t stand, leaning against each other until we end up on the floor on our asses.