“Ha ha. I’m not the one with three speeding tickets.” Reaching over, she pressed something beside the bed. “Got told to buzz if you woke up.” Then she squeezed the hand she held. “Some asshole slipped a drug into your drink last night. You were out of it.”

Danny’s blood ran cold. Jerking up into a straight-backed sitting position, he tried to think back to the night, hit a blank wall. His heart thudded, his mouth dry. “I can’t remember anything after the game.” He’d been buoyant, delighted at their win against the Southern Blizzard.

“I looked it up on the web when I couldn’t sleep,” Catie said. “Being roofied can result in retrograde amnesia.”

“Roofied?” Mind spinning, he tried to make sense of what she was saying. “Why—?”

The curtain rustled to reveal a small-boned woman in scrubs. “Good, you’re awake,” she said. “And perfect timing. Dr. Smitherson is doing her final rounds before heading out.”

He didn’t have to wait long for the doctor.

After checking Danny over—including testing his cognition and motor skills, she slipped her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “Your friends were right—and wrong,” the doctor told him.

“You were slipped a drug, but it wasn’t what’s colloquially called a roofie. Rather, it was a downer cut with another drug.” She rattled off the technical names. “Tests show you were dosed with a relatively small amount comparative to your physical size.”

Danny tried to think. “Why would anyone do this?”

“Given the circumstances—that you were surrounded by friends who would and did notice that something was off with you—it might’ve been for no reason but that certain individuals get a kick out of it.” Her face reflected her distaste. “Last month we had five people come in sick and vomiting after a supposed friend spiked their drinks with an illegal substance simply to see how they’d react.”

“It could’ve also been an unscrupulous reporter,” Catie put in. “Photos of Danny out of it would bring in serious bucks, and all they’d have had to do was bribe a member of the bar staff or a groupie who could get close to you.”

“Shit.” Danny shoved both hands through his hair, only then realizing he’d been holding on to Catie all this time. “This could get me thrown off the fucking team. Zero tolerance to drugs, that’s the policy.”

“It’s all confidential,” Dr. Smitherson told him. “It won’t leak from here. But if it does ever come up, I’m more than willing to testify that you didn’t voluntarily take the drugs. I also suggest you file a police report.”

Danny’s mind was a huge roar of noise.

“Can he go home?” Catie asked, taking charge.

For once he didn’t argue. Didn’t have the capacity to argue.