Alexei (Chicago Blaze 5)

“I shit myself,” he moans. “This is the end.”

With a deep breath, I bend down and heave him up into my arms, my hip aching from his weight. I’m able to keep my balance though and walk through the hospital’s emergency doors.

Two nurses stand on either side of a stretcher.

“Right here,” one of the nurses says. “We were expecting you. We have several ambulances on the scene now.”

I nod, breathing hard as I lay Anton down on the stretcher, and start following the stretcher as they roll it away. One of the nurses puts out a hand to stop me.

“Just have a seat. We’ll take care of your friend and let you know how he is as soon as we can.”

“That’s my brother. I’m staying with him.”

She hesitates, then nods. I trail the stretcher as they roll it into an exam room, wishing Graysen was here with me.* * *“The fruit salad?” I ask Easy, furrowing my brow. “No, I didn’t eat any of it.”

“Neither did I. But everyone who got sick did.”

“Shit.”

We’re in St. Louis’ visiting locker room, and even though it’s a skeleton crew, we still have enough players to play our preseason game. Our head coach isn’t sick, but all the others are. Most of the guys were treated and released, but a few had to be admitted overnight due to severe food poisoning.

Anton was one of the admitted players, but he was feeling much better by the time I left him to come to the arena to shower and get ready for the game.

“Guess we’re the first line tonight,” Easy quips.

“Dude, we’re like the only line. I’m surprised this game is still on.”

“It’s only preseason,” he says. “Let’s just give it our best, eh?”

I bump his outstretched fist. After this road trip, I’m gonna need an entire weekend of R&R with Graysen.23GraysenI’m still riding the wave of last night’s Blaze win when I leave my apartment to walk to my El Train stop the next morning.

Miraculously, with half the team seriously ill with food poisoning, Alexei led the Blaze to a 5–3 win. They had the momentum determination, the game commentators astounded they were even playing and the St. Louis crowd cheering them on along with their home team.

When Alexei called me from the locker room, my eyes welled with tears as I heard the excitement in his voice. He said he’s picking me up at my place as soon as I get home from work so I can spend the night with him, and I’m more than ready for it.

I’m glad we waited nine months—Alexei needed to get his feet under him and I needed to know he wasn’t staying sober just so we could try having a relationship. But I don’t want to wait any longer.

The El is uneventful this morning, and I’m all caught up on client files, so I have time to read some news articles about the food poisoning the Blaze players and staff got. It sounds absolutely horrible. Alexei told me he’ll never forget it and I’m sure once everyone recovers, there’s gonna be plenty of jokes about it in the locker room.

When I get off at my El stop, I buy a coffee at my favorite café, which I like to do when I’m running a little early. One of my former patients owns it, and I smile at how far she’s come since I met her three years ago.

I’ve just left the shop and am about to round the corner when someone grabs me from behind, spilling my coffee all over. I forget about the coffee when I’m hauled into a dark alley and shoved face first against a brick wall.

Terror courses through my veins as I feel something hard pressing against the back of my neck.

“Make a sound and I’ll cut your throat,” a female voice says.

I just breathe, too afraid to move. I’m usually guarded when walking downtown, but I don’t know how I could have anticipated anything like this.

“I just want to talk to you,” the woman says.

Oh God. My mind floods with possibilities. What if this is my mother? I don’t recognize the voice, but if she’s using and desperate, it could very well be her mugging me right now, or one of her friends.

“About what?” I ask, still out of breath from the struggle. “Who are you?”

Silence. Then I feel her slightly shifting backwards, but keeping the knife in place. I wait for her to say something, but instead, I hear her crying.

“You didn’t help him,” she says through her tears. “You were supposed to help him.”

“Who?”

She’s sobbing now, and I can tell based on every clue she’s given me so far that this woman isn’t going to use that knife on me.

“Hey,” I say softly. “Put the knife down and I’ll turn around so we can talk.”