Page 40 of On the Line
Lexie opened her mouth to respond, but her father cut her off. “Although, I suppose you dodged a bullet with that one anyway. He’s got a long, difficult road ahead of him.”
Lexie blinked, unsure she heard him correctly. “What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t seen the news?” Her father asked. “Mitch—his name is Mitch, honey, not Matt,” he added to her mother, “took a nasty hit in a game last week and has been in the hospital ever since. Sources say he’s paralyzed, and the doctors are unsure if he’ll ever walk again.”
All the blood drained from Lexie’s face, and she was glad to be seated, knowing full well her legs would’ve given out from under her otherwise. A roaring filled her ears, drowning out her parents as they continued to chat about nonsense bullshit, completely unaware that their daughter’s world was falling apart.
“Lexie?” Her father’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she said, standing quickly, grabbing her purse and jacket from the back of her chair. “I have to go.”
She power-walked from the restaurant, on the verge of running, ignoring her parents as they called after her.
Her phone was in her hand, dialing Berkley’s number before she even reached the sidewalk.
“Hey, Lex,” Berkley said. “How’s Dallas?”
“What happened to Mitch?”
Berkley was silent for so long that Lexie pulled the phone away from her ear to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.
“Berkley,” Lexie said, voice barely above a whisper. “What happened?”
“We didn’t know how to tell you…” her friend trailed off, still not answering the question.
“We’ll circle back tothatlater,” Lexie said, voice rising with impatience and anger and worry. “What the fuck happened?”
“He took a bad hit last week when they played the Wolves. Some asshole hooked him and he went into the boards at a really weird angle. It’s been almost impossible to get information on his condition, but Brent threw his weight around and someone finally talked. He fractured his L2. Initially, he had some really bad swelling and I guess the break was doing some weird shit to his spinal cord because he lost feeling in his legs.” Berkley paused for a moment, and Lexie could hear murmured voices in the background. She came back with a sigh. “I should’ve just had Nate explain this to you. But basically, he broke his back and might have been paralyzed. Now that the swelling has gone down, he’s regaining feeling thankfully. Next steps are preventing further nerve damage while he rehabs.”
Lexie took a deep breath, the weight on her chest easing some. She breezed through the doors of her hotel and made a beeline for the elevator. “So that’s good news, right? He can walk. He’ll be back on the ice in no time.”
More silence followed that statement, and when Berkley spoke again, it wasn’t Berkley at all, but a man. “Hey, Lexie.”
Lexie, unfortunately, recognized that voice instantly, though the memory of that night is a tequila-soaked mess of bad decisions and regret. Thankfully, she had just reached her hotel room and keyed the door open, dropping her purse and coat on the floor before sitting down at the foot of the bed. “Hi, Nate.”
“Okay, so look…as Brent’s brother and a future doctor, I’ve sort of been the Warriors sounding board for all things medical over the last few years before seeking an opinion from one of the team doctors. And Mitch…when he was a teenager, he was in a bad car accident.”
Lexie knew the one.
“He’s going to be able to walk, right?” She asked Nate, afraid of where this conversation was going.
“Yes,” Nate said. “Certainly. The only problem is, despite the fact that in all other aspects of his physical health, he’s in his prime, his back has suffered enough trauma over the years that, at this point, he’s one bad hit away from legitimately never walking again. His playing days are over.”
His playing days are over.
Those words bounced around in Lexie’s brain.
God, he must be devastated.
In a daze, mind and heart swirling with a million thoughts and emotions, Lexie disconnected from Nate and flung herself backward so she was sprawled across the plush white comforter.
The urge to call Mitch over the last several months had always been there, like a low level hum in the back of her mind. She had come close a few times, going so far as to type his number in before remembering he had changed it.
Right now, more than ever, she wished she could call him. She wanted to tell him she was thinking about him, that everything was going to be okay, and that he’d find meaning in his life without hockey. That he’d be successful in whatever he chose to do next.
But she couldn’t do that. Not just because he had changed his number, but because he had left her. He didn’t want her anymore.
And she had no one to blame but herself.
