Page 45 of On the Line
“Not kidnapping. First of all, you’re a giant. You’d be impossible to hide. And second, we’re going to lunch. Together. And we’re going to talk.”
“Goodie,” Mitch said under his breath, heaving himself off the chair and ambling behind them toward the elevator.
The elevator ride down the car was quiet and tense, as was the ride from the rehab center into downtown Ann Arbor, where Brent steered them in the direction of a hole-in-the-wall diner, navigating them around on Mitch’s clipped directions.
When they parked and made their way into the restaurant, Brent settled them at a table that would offer plenty of legroom for the three men, who combined for nearly nineteen feet of height.
A waitress came over, took their orders, and then left them to their own devices.
“So, spill.” Brent said. “What’s the prognosis? And what the fuck happened in April?”
“Prognosis is I’m never going to play again. I got in a car accident when I was fourteen that fucked up my back the first time. Twenty straight years of playing hockey after that, combined with this L2 fracture, caused nerve damage severe enough that I risk permanent paralysis if I ever try to play competitively again at an elite level.”
“Damn,” Cole said quietly. “That’s brutal, man. I’m sorry.”
Mitch waved him off. “It is what it is,” he said. “Who knows how much longer I would’ve been playing without the injury anyway. It’s not how I wanted to go out, but my career was going to end eventually.”
Brent and Cole shared a look, as though they couldn’t quite reconcile the version of Mitch sitting in front of them with the one that had left all those months ago.
But surprisingly, mentally, Mitch felt fine. He had always been realistic about the longevity of being a professional athlete. He knew it wasn’t going to last forever, and that he was going to have to find some way to fill his time for the rest of his days when it was all said and done.
The rest of his days were just starting sooner than he expected.
And that was fine. Like he had just said, it is what it is.
“So what’s next?” Cole asked.
“Next, I learn how to walk again without taking this stupid fucking cane with me everywhere,” Mitch said, glaring daggers at the curved aluminum tube as though it had gravely offended him.
“And after that?” Brent asked.
Mitch and Lexie had this conversation once, and it was honestly the only reason he could answer Brent now.
“I think I’d like to get my real estate license.”
“Damn,” Brent said. “That’s a big change.”
“Not really,” Cole said. “He’s owned and rented the loft out for years. Going from property management to real estate sales seems like a natural step. He’s personable and highly recognizable, so he should be making good money in no time.”
Brent and Mitch stared at Cole in stunned silence.
“That’s…” Mitch said, sputtering, trying to find the words. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me, Cole.”
Cole shrugged. “It’s true.”
“Speaking of the loft,” Mitch said to Brent, “did y’all ever use it while I was gone? The team real estate agent told you I added you to the title, right?”
Brent and Cole exchanged another look, and Brent said, “She did. But no, we didn’t. It never felt right without you.”
Mitch blinked slowly. “You mean to tell me…that building…has been sitting empty and unused forseven months?”
Most people thought Mitch only rented or leased the floor the loft was on, but in fact, Mitch had owned the whole building. He’d always dreamed of renovating the lower floors into…something. But he’d always been so busy with hockey that he never found out exactly what.
Maybe now was his chance.
But back to the matter at hand.
The guys shrugged at his outburst, and Mitch’s temper rose. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You should’ve been partying there every weekend. Every night. Y’all love the loft.”
