Page 27 of On the Line
A team had gathered around him in the private room he’d been given, and several nurses stepped back at his outburst.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I would just like some answers.”
“We’ll go get the doctor for you.”
One by one, the crowd exited the room, giving Mitch his first moment of peace and quiet since he left his apartment earlier that day to head to the arena.
In the way that always happened when he had a few silent moments to himself, Mitch’s thoughts turned to Lexie.
Had she heard about his accident? Would she be worried? Would she even care?
That last thought wasn’t fair. For all her faults, most of them completely internalized, Lexie was one of the most loyal people Mitch had ever met. He would bet she did care, if only because she never liked to see anyone in pain.
And what about his former teammates?
And,fuck, what about his current ones? Mitch experienced a pang of guilt that they weren’t his first thought. He wasn’t an egotistical man; he knew hockey was a team sport, and as long as they all did their jobs right, they would win more often than not. But he also didn’t have any delusions about how big of a part he played in changing the tide of a game when he was on the ice.
Had they won tonight? Were Gabe or any of the other guys outside waiting for news on his condition?
And his mom? Another stab of guilt thatshewasn’t his first thought. God, she was probably beside herself with worry. She wasn’t a huge fan of flying, and being the sole owner of a successful accounting firm kept her insanely busy, even months before tax season really ramped up, so she typically only attended games near Ann Arbor—Detroit, Chicago, Columbus, sometimes Minnesota.
His heart rate kicked up at the thought of her and the panic she must be experiencing, and a nurse rushed through the door at the monitor’s increased beeping.
“Sir, are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Mitch said. “I need a phone.”
The nurse walked up to him and reached for his hand, turning it palm up and pressing her cold pointer and middle fingers to his wrist, a ministration Mitch found odd considering he was connected to a machine that gave a digital readout of his pulse.
“You need to relax,” she said as she turned to leave.
“No, I need a phone. Please.”
She spun to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Give me one reason why?”
Mitch found her behavior incredibly odd and briefly wondered what he’d done to piss her off. “Look, my mom lives in Michigan. I’m her only child, and she likely watched my game tonight and saw her son be carted off the ice on a stretcher. And you know how the media can be. They’re probably spinning all sorts of crazy tales about my condition. I just want to let her know I’m okay.”
The nurse stared at him for several long moments, then said, “I suppose that’s a good enough reason to give you special treatment.”
“Special treatment?” He blurted, incredulous. “It’s not like I’m in prison, miss. I just want to call my mom.”
She rolled her eyes but stalked from the room, returning a short while later with a cell phone. “You can use this,” she said. “Assuming you know her number by heart.”
The open hostility grated on Mitch, whose mood given his current circumstances wasn’t exactly glowing to begin with, but he accepted the phone gratefully. “Thank you,” he said.
She nodded and remained in the room, staring at him expectantly.
“Uhm…can I have some privacy, please?”
She gave him a withering look before turning and leaving the room, shutting the door hard enough to rattle the window inside.
Mitch tapped in his mother’s number and took deep breaths, bracing himself for the crying and yelling and endless questions about his health he was about to endure.
Being the parent of a professional athlete meant his mother rarely answered the phone for numbers she didn’t recognize. Reporters regularly managed to dig up her contact information and attempted to weasel information from her. Still, he had long ago spoken with her about it, and thankfully, the number of reporters that got through to her these days—as far as he knew—was next to zero.
He hoped she recognized the area code and picked up just this once.
When the phone rang several times, and Mitch was certain he was going to reach her voicemail, a click came through the phone, followed by a tentative, “Hello?”
