22. Do These Tacos Taste Funny to You? (Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal)
Adam wasn't sure what woke him. Maybe it was the sunlight streaming through the window. Maybe it was just his own internal clock prodding him back to wakefulness.
Or maybe it was that all-too-familiar sense that something was wrong.
His brain seemed to slosh within his skull, spurring his vision into a wash of wavy colors. It was hard to breathe, and his stomach was doing slow backflips. And there was an odd smell in the air.
Something was definitely wrong.
He had to get out of here.
Adam tried to untangle himself from the sheets, but his movements were uncoordinated and difficult to track. It felt like his limbs were disconnected, and his head spun just trying to put it all together. Instead, he fell clumsily out of bed, landing with a messy flop. He groaned, trying to get himself back up to his feet.
His phone. He should take his phone.
On all floors, he reached out to his nightstand, groping blindly for the familiar rectangle. Fingers scrabbling over the smooth surface of his phone, he took hold and yanked, the movement stuttering as the charger came free.
It was hard to think. But he knew he had to get out of here. At least he could follow that singular train of thought.
Stumbling to his feet, Adam gripped the phone tightly, making uncoordinated steps around the bed and toward the hallway. His stomach protested the movement, and he tried to breathe through the nausea, only to remember it was already difficult to breathe.
He dragged through the hallway, hauling his uncooperative body into the living area. He had to get out. And the backdoor was the closest exit.
Lurching toward the sliding glass door, he settled a heavy hand on the handle, yanking feebly. It didn't budge.
Locked.
Trying to blink past a blurry spell of lightheadedness, Adam fumbled with the lock, finally managing to twist it with an almost echoing click. Taking hold of the handle, he tried again, and the door slid an inch against the resistant track. He pulled harder, managing to open it just enough for him to squeeze through and collapse onto the concrete patio.
His phone slipped from his grip, bouncing on the patio before landing in the grass. In only a t-shirt and gym shorts, Adam's bare knees grated against the rough concrete as his hands dug into the splintered bark dust of a nearby flowerbed.
His nausea spiked, and he vomited before he even had time to register what was happening. Coughing the last of the bile from his throat, he grappled for a coherent thought as he tried to piece together what was happening.
He vaguely remembered the smell. And with his symptoms . . . the connection was just under the surface, weirdly hard to reach.
Until it finally clicked.
He had to call 911.
Adam reached a clumsy hand out to find his phone, finally finding it amid tall blades of grass. Squinting against murky vision, he unlocked the screen and pressed what he hoped were the right numbers. Brining the device to his ear, he felt the harsh wobble of dizziness as his arms shook under his weight. He fell to his side with a grunt, trying to keep a hold on the phone as he rolled to his back.
"911, what's your emergency?"
-0-0-0-0-0-
Preach took a sip of his coffee as he drove through familiar streets. It was nearly nine in the morning, and he was looking forward to a companionable morning run with Adam.
It was always immensely wonderful to be home with his girls. But being stateside was also so very different from what they were used to. He did miss the spontaneous chats with teammates at any given time. Coordinating team socializing felt odd and unnatural, but they managed pretty well. And luckily, his wife was always on board for a team get-together at the house.
He smiled. She was especially fond of Adam and that warm grin of his. But Amir was quickly moving up the ranks, possibly due to his addictive tomato salad that she was so fond of. Although, she also found Amir to be very endearing.
Preach turned his car around the corner, slowing as his eyes fell on flashing lights. He frowned, steadily driving closer.
It was at Adam's house.
He quickly veered his car into a suitable parking spot, turning off the ignition and sliding out of the front seat. Preach approached carefully but purposefully, trying not to get in the way of people going in and out of the house. There was no ambulance, but that didn't mean it hadn't been here.
A cop stepped in his path, his expression wary but open. "Can I help you?" Preach sagged with relief, hoping for some answers.
"The man that lives here . . ." Preach began, not entirely sure what to ask. "Is he . . . okay?"
The cop's demeanor changed, his expression suddenly sympathetic and careful. "Do you know him?"
"Uh, yeah. Adam Dalton is a friend," he replied, hoping the name drop would prove his connection to Adam. He'd toyed with the idea of mentioning their professional relationship, with Adam being his CO. But that felt strange.
"They took him to the hospital an hour ago. Looks like a gas leak."
Preach looked back at the house, then to the cop. "Did you see him? Is he alright?"
The cop shook his head apologetically. "I came on the scene after, but I can track down which hospital they sent him to if that helps?"
"That would be great, thank you," Preach replied politely, still glancing at the house worriedly. The cop stepped away to talk to someone else while Preach tried not to think about the string of possibilities. A gas leak?
After a minute or two, the cop returned, giving Preach the name of the closest hospital and a reminder that he couldn't say much about Adam's condition.
Understanding completely, Preach thanked the cop, then quickly turned back to his car with the name of the hospital at the forefront of his mind. His phone was already out, the contacts page open.
He had a few calls to make on the way.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Amir chuckled as he scooped up another bite of his breakfast.
"They were probably the saltiest burritos I've ever had. After that, Top wouldn't let McG in the kitchen without supervision," Jaz finished, taking a bite of her toast with a grin.
Amir shook his head, smiling. "That explains why Top hovers so closely when he's cooking."
"I mean, none of us could taste right for a week. Top definitely had his reasons," Jaz laughed, taking another bite of her toast. "But for what it's worth, I think McG's gotten a lot better since you've been coaching him."
"Well, he's not exactly a . . . natural cook," Amir muttered, a subtle curve to his lips.
This was . . . nice. A year ago, Amir was certain that he and Jaz would never get along. But somewhere along the way, there was a click, and they fell into place. What had started off as a rocky, reluctant relationship had turned into a deep connection with unspoken understanding and comfortable silence.
And when they were stateside, they enjoyed a lot of understated brunches and breakfasts on quiet days.
Of course, Amir had a strong relationship with McG as well, but his friendship with Jaz was different. While McG complemented his quieter demeanor, adding energy where Amir maintained a certain calm, Jaz seemed to enjoy the even-keeled moments of a friendly chat over delicious food.
As he loaded another bite on his fork, Jaz's phone buzzed wildly against the table. She snapped it up, eyebrows raising as she hastily answered the call.
"What's up?"
Amir slipped more eggs in his mouth, watching with careful eyes, picking up the slightest twitches and pinches on Jaz's face. Then she frowned.
He put his fork down.
"When?"
He sat up straighter.
"Where did they take him?"
Amir inhaled deeply when Jaz glanced at him, meeting his gaze with a silent message. So it had to be someone they both knew. He tried to listen to the voice on the other end, hoping to guess which teammate had called, if only to eliminate one of three possibilities.
"I have Amir here with me. We can pick up McG on our way there."
Okay, so not McG. That left Preach or Adam. He strained his hearing further over the din of the café.
"No, no. We'll just meet you there. We'll get McG."
There was a tinny buzz on the other end, and Amir could swear the tone was low and rich. Preach. It had to be Preach on the line.
Adam.
Something happened to Adam.
"Okay. Thanks, Preach. We'll see you soon," Jaz replied in farewell, pulling the phone from her ear and ending the call.
"What happened to Top?" Amir asked quietly as he looked for their waitress and politely got her attention with an apologetic look. Glancing at Jaz, a brief flicker of surprise flitted across her face, then she seemed to think better of it and quickly moved on with a sharp focus.
"Gas leak," she answered curtly, pursing her lips. "Emergency services were at his house when Preach went to pick him up this morning."
Amir's eyes turned to hers in alarm. He hadn't expected this. Maybe a sports injury. Maybe a car accident. Not this. "Is he alright?"
"Won't know until we get to the hospital. He wasn't at the house when Preach got there," she explained.
Their waitress approached, and Amir asked quietly for their check, explaining succinctly and regretfully that an emergency had come up. With a quick nod, she was off, hastily moving to get their check.
No matter how many times it happened, he'd never get used to the uncomfortable squirm of worry in his chest.
Never.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Preach walked quickly through the hallway, mentally repeating Adam's room number as he quickly scanned signs and dodged the occasional person. The team was on their way, and Preach silently cursed Adam's bad luck. He was used to high-stress situations, but Adam definitely tested his tolerance on a regular basis.
While the medical personnel were hesitant to share Adam's medical information without Adam's say so, Preach could come to his own conclusions. Gas leaks usually meant carbon monoxide poisoning. And carbon monoxide poisoning could vary in severity.
But the fact that Adam wasn't in the ICU or in a similarly concerning place was comforting, and Preach held firmly to that tidbit of information as he navigated the hallways.
He stopped abruptly when he realized he'd arrived, eyeing the room number before pushing his way in. As soon as he set eyes on their team leader, he let out a huff of relief, finally feeling the sharp tendrils of uncertain fear ebbing away.
Adam didn't look well, but at least he was alive and sitting up.
He was pale and leaning a little bit to the side, a nasal cannula looped under his nose. An emesis basin sat in his lap, and his eyes were closed as he swallowed thickly with a grimace.
When the door shut with a soft click behind Preach, Adam managed to open his eyes, staring foggily in the larger man's direction. "Preach?" His brows dipped in confusion, and he gulped again. "What are you doing here?"
Preach moved further into the room, pulling a chair up to Adam's bedside. "Well . . . I went to pick you up for our run this morning . . . Imagine my surprise when you weren't there but a whole lotta lights were."
Adam's face pinched in sharp apology. "Oh, God. 'm sorry, Preach. Slipp'd my mind."
"I think I can forgive you this time," Preach replied warmly. "You have a pretty justified distraction."
Adam groaned, pressing the emesis basin to his stomach. "Yeah, not a great mornin'."
"When I got there, they mentioned a gas leak."
The blond sighed, squeezing his eyes shut as he took a long inhale. "I's an old house. Probably could've happen'd at any time." He took another breath, trying to keep his nausea at bay. "Had a carbon monoxide detector, but I haven't checked it since we got back. And I think it must've burned out or somethin'. Didn't go off."
The realization of what could've happened dawned on Preach, and he felt a jolt of unsettling panic in his belly.
With nothing to alert him to the danger, Adam could've died.
"How long were you in there?"
Adam shook his head, then quickly regretted it with a wince. "Dunno. Woke up dizzy. Just knew I had t'get out. Was pretty confused. Managed to figure it out and call 911, but even that was kind of foggy."
If Adam had slept in just a little longer . . .
Preach tried not to think about it.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, trying to steer away from the macabre images in his mind.
"Still dizzy. Feel weird. Nauseous." Adam blinked against a bout of lightheadedness, schooling his features into pretending it was all fine. But Preach knew better. He'd known Adam a long time.
Abruptly, Adam paled further, and Preach knew what was next. He stood quickly, offering a comforting hand on Adam's shoulder as Adam puked into the emesis basin, followed by a low groan.
Adam had the worst luck.
-0-0-0-0-0-
"This is absolutely ridiculous. On this side of the ocean, we should be able to relax and not worry about our reckless leader. And yet, here we are," McG groused, trying to smooth down his sleep-mussed hair.
"It's definitely . . . not ideal," Amir agreed.
The three of them walked quickly through the halls, using Preach's texted directions to guide them. McG had been worriedly annoyed since they'd picked him up, and based on the crumpled shirt and messy hair, Jaz and Amir had surmised that he'd been woken by the bad news.
So he was justifiably grumpy. And they couldn't deny sharing some of those feelings themselves.
But at least Preach had texted a short update, stating that Adam was mostly fine—just riding out the terrible effects of carbon monoxide poisoning.
"Look, we're here," Jaz announced, pushing into the room without a moment of hesitation, Amir and McG close behind. They stopped just inside the room, taking in the weary, sick blond in front of them. Collectively, they released a heavy sigh of irritable concern.
"You better inhale as much of that oxygen as you can," McG ordered, pointing a stern finger at his CO.
Adam grimaced against the worried anger, hugging a clean emesis basin. He felt terribly exposed, but it wasn't like this was any different from other hospital stays. Could've been the nausea. Or the lingering confusion. But he had a feeling that his embarrassment had something to do with being stateside.
"I'm doin' my best," Adam grumbled back with a frown, inhaling as deeply as he could manage through his nose. It was still a bit of a struggle, though the tightness in his chest was slowly easing over time.
Jaz and Amir looked at Preach as they moved further into the room, silently asking for an update. Preach's expression darkened, and they braced for what lay ahead.
"Said it might've been a leaky pipe. Woke up feeling dizzy."
Silence fell over the room. They all heard the implication in Preach's short explanation.
It had been close. Survival on a knife's edge.
Adam picked up on the mood, even through the thick fog of disorientation. "But I'll be fine. It's fine."
The rest of the team didn't say a word, still processing what could've happened. What Preach might've found instead if Adam had slept even just a little longer.
"Guess you've got to sell that house," McG decided firmly, falling into a chair and folding his arms over his chest.
"I do not need to sell my house," Adam huffed. "Just gotta replace the CO detector and check the lines is all."
"It can't be trusted," McG persisted.
Adam sighed, suddenly feeling way more tired. "A house 's not a person. I've just gotta maintain it better." He breathed steadily as the nausea churned and the world spun. "You can't jus' hate my house for this."
"Can and will," McG answered defiantly.
"Well, I don't know if you should go back home until everything's been checked," Jaz chimed in. "This has made me feel all kinds of paranoid."
"It's fine," Adam muttered. "I'll just check the smoke detectors and replace the CO detector. Should cover it if anythin' else comes up."
"Have you had the electrical work checked recently?" McG asked, as if trying to prove a point.
Adam looked at him, narrowing his eyes with a steady glare.
"I take it that's a no," Jaz chuckled. "Gotta definitely get that checked. Could be one hell of a fire hazard."
Adam slouched in defeat, feeling far too wrung out to put up a fight. "Yeah, alright."
"Great, that's settled," McG announced, sinking further in his chair. "Now breathe deeply through your nose. You need the oxygen."
Adam smiled, a hint of laughter at the back of his throat. "Can do."
One thing was certain. He'd never have to worry about a lonely hospital stay.
Fin.