Page 84 of On the Line
No more flying private for him. At least, not until he was settled in LA.
God, when was the last time he flew with people he didn’t know? People who weren’t his teammates?
The thought of the guys he was leaving behind was a punch to the gut. With a broken phone, a broken relationship, and a ton of unavoidable changes coming down the pipeline, Mitch had to admit he was a little freaked out. And without Lexie there to walk by his side through it all, maintaining his ties to Detroit simply didn’t feel as important as it would have a week ago.
He loved this city, and the Warriors, but they apparently didn’t love him back. He was moving to LA whether he liked it or not; there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
This was his chance to make a clean break. From everyone and everything. And it had to be all or nothing. If he was going to leave Lexie behind, Berkley had to join that list. As Lexie’s best friend, she would only serve as a constant reminder of what he’d lost. And as Berkley’s other half, Brent had to be cut off too. Which meantallof his teammates had to go.
Former teammates, he reminded himself.
Keeping them in his life would only be rubbing salt in the wound.
He wasn’t proud of himself for the decision, but the way he saw it, this was the only way to survive. Change his number. Delete his social media profiles. Throw himself one hundred percent into helping his new team win games. Do his best to keep his head down, move forward, and forget about Detroit. Forget about Brent Jean and Berkley Daniels. Forget about Cole Reid and Jordan Dawson and all of the other Warriors he had spent the last five years with.
Forget about Alexandra Monroe, the woman he hadplannedon spending a lifetime with.
When he landed in Los Angeles, he deplaned to find it was pouring outside, a weather pattern that, though a rarity in Southern California, suited his mood perfectly.
He powered his phone on and waited for the notifications to come through. When the only text he received was one from his agent telling him to let him know when he landed, he was reminded he had changed his number.
No one from his old life was coming after him. No one could; he’d made sure of that.
Crazy how it had only been about eight hours since he got the call and he was already referring to it as hisoldlife.
There was something so freeing in that notion, that his new life in California really was an entirely clean slate, and yet, something so fucking depressing that Mitch almost started crying right along with the sky.
But Mitch Frambough did not cry. Ever. Hadn’t cried since he was a child and his father beat his ass anytime he did.
He ordered an Uber as he walked through the crowded terminal toward baggage claim. Truthfully, he could’ve skipped checking a bag altogether, and he didn’t know why he hadn’t. He’d packed in a hurry, so all he had with him on this side of the Mississippi was a duffel bag full of clothes and his skates. Clothes that, he soon realized, would be woefully out of place in the California heat. Back in Detroit, the ground was just starting to thaw, and all of his summer clothes were still in storage.
This was certainly going to take some getting used to.
Mitch climbed in when his Uber arrived, an expensive black Escalade with chrome rims and a hulking African American man behind the wheel.
“Where you headed?” The man asked.
“Can you just take me to the arena?”
The driver raised an eyebrow at him in the rearview mirror. “Which one?”
“Ahh fuck,” Mitch said. What the fuck was the name of it? He’d played there enough times over the course of his professional career, and was now completely blanking. “The one the Knights play in.”
The man still looked dubious, but pulled away from the curb anyway.
The second they were flying down the freeway, Mitch called his agent.
Jackson picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Mitch. You make it to Cali okay?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m in an Uber on the way to the arena. Can you meet me there so we can get all this shit sorted out face to face?”
“Yeah, sure thing! And look. I know this isn’t what you wanted, but there was really nothing we could do. I promise, this is going to be great for you. And think about it this way: you no longer have to deal with the temperamental Midwest weather!”
I like that temperamental Midwest weather,Mitch thought.And my temperamental Midwest woman. “Yeah, sure, dude. Whatever you say. See you in a few.”
“First time in LA?” The driver asked when he hung up.
“Nah,” Mitch said. “I’ve played here before.”
