Page 71 of Risky Match
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Iwake up chilled. My head is throbbing, and there’s an incessant beeping that won’t stop. It’s impossible to focus on tennis when I can’t get a good night’s sleep. I try to roll over and bury my head under the pillow, but something tugs at my arm.
I yank harder, determined to escape the incessant beeping.
“Ouch,” I yell.
The beeping grows faster and louder.
Doors fly open. Lights flood my eyes.
“What the bloody hell?”
A stern voice says, “Mr. Knight, calm down. Please stop moving. You pulled your IV out.”
My pulse spikes. The beeping escalates. What’s happening? Am I dreaming? Is this a panic attack? Is it possible to have one while I’m asleep?
I finally manage to call out, “Who are you? Why are you in my bedroom? What IV? Where am I?”
“You’re in hospital. I’m Nurse Beasley. Do you remember what happened yesterday?”
“Huh? Hospital? Yesterday?”
“You’re okay. Try to take a deep breath. Then tell me what you remember.”
If I’m okay, why am I in a hospital? My head is pounding. It hurts to think—but I try.
Slowly, I say, “I remember playing the match. My stomach started hurting. I felt dizzy.”
“That’s right. You collapsed on the court.” Her voice softens.
“Did I catch a virus? Was it food poisoning?”
I must be in the Wimbledon medical facility, hooked up to an IV for rehydration.
“The good news is that you’re improving. I’ll let Dr. Shepard explain the rest—he’s coming in now,” she says, stepping back.
An older male voice says, “Hello, I’m Dr. Shepard. Welcome back to the living, Mr. Knight. How do you feel this morning?”
Morning? But my match was in the afternoon. Wait—someone asked me about yesterday. I’m so confused.
“My head hurts like someone took a hammer to it.”
“That should subside in the next few hours. Are you nauseous?”
Hours? I don’t have hours. Medical timeouts only last ten minutes. My brain is so foggy. Nothing’s making sense.
“No, not really. I’m thirsty though. And my arm hurts. I need to hurry and get back out on court.”
“We’ll get you water and fix your arm where you yanked out the IV. Now that you’re awake, you shouldn’t need it anyway. But you won’t be going back onto the court. Your match is over. It was yesterday. You’ve been unconscious for more than fifteen hours.”
“What do you mean? Is this stomach virus or food poisoning that serious?”
“It wasn’t a virus or food poisoning. As shocking as this will sound, you were poisoned.”
“Huh? You mean Bri’s chef served me something spoiled and gave me food poisoning?”
