Lexie boomed out a laugh at the memory of Berkley’s wallowing in the wake of her breakup with Brent. It made her feel better, knowing she wasn’t the only one who had reacted poorly to the loss of the best relationship they’d ever had.
The only difference—and it was a big one—was that Berkley got hers back.
“I truly thought you were going to kill me for that,” Lexie said.
“I definitely thought about it,” Berkley told her. “But surprisingly, I was uninterested in going to prison for murder. Do you know what would happen to me on the inside?”
Lexie giggled. Berkley in prison? She’d be eaten alive.
Lexie sighed and said, “Tomorrow is going to be really hard.”
“I know it is,” Berkley told her. “But you’ll feel better once it’s over.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Berkley had always been an optimist, especially where Lexie’s relationship with Mitch was concerned. She had always chosen to see the bright side of things, to focus on the fact that two people she loved so much had found each other, hadlovedeach other.
In Berkley’s mind, that was everything.
But Berkley still didn’t know the full story behind that last night, and Lexie didn’t know if her best friend would be so optimistic about tomorrow if she did.
Eventually, Lexie would have to tell her and deal with the consequences. Knowing Berkley, she would not react kindly to the truth of their breakup and Mitch leaving.
Lexie had fucked up.
And so had Mitch.
It kept Lexie up that night, the memories of those final days. Of ignored phone calls and broken bottles and so many tears.
How could she walk into the hospital tomorrow with her head held high, knowing the part she had in destroying what they’d built?
How was she supposed to walk in there and look into the face of the man who had so thoroughly broken her?
How could she give him the power to do it again?
With each exit she passed on I-96 heading in the direction of Ann Arbor the next morning, Lexie nearly took the off-ramp and turned tail back to Detroit.
But she didn’t, and those forty-two miles passed in the blink of an eye. Before she knew it, she was pulling up in front of the University of Michigan’s Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation center, where Mitch had been staying since he came back to Michigan and was now recuperating from his most recent surgery.
Before stepping out of her car, she sucked in several deep breaths, took a fortifying sip of her lukewarm black coffee, and wiped her sweaty palms on her dark jeans. It was mid-December, the temperature moderate but nowhere near what Lexie considered warm, and yet she was seconds away from sweating through her sweater.
Finally, she unbuckled and unfolded herself from her vehicle, her long legs gobbling the distance between the parking lot and the reception area.
The automatic doors opened to a large lobby where a reception desk sat off to one side, the space beyond it narrowing into a hallway where people bustled in and out of rooms.
The desk was decorated with twinkle lights and garland, and a soaring pine tree to her right reached toward the skylights in the vaulted ceiling, decorated in the University of Michigan school colors.
As a Michigan State University alumna, the sight of all that maize and blue made Lexie want to vomit on the gleaming marble floors.
Honestly, it wouldn’t take much; her stomach was already twisted in knots and unsettled over why she was here.
She approached the desk and said, “Hi, my name is Lexie. I’m here to see Mitch Frambough? He’s in rehab.”
The woman quirked an eyebrow. “Honey, this entire place is rehab. You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”
Lexie’s hackles rose, but getting in a shouting match with a receptionist when her nerves were already completely frayed was the opposite of a good idea. She pasted a saccharine smile on her face and said, “He just had surgery. Spinal injury. Hockey player. Ridiculously tall, shoulder length blond hair, green eyes. Ringing any bells?”
The woman stared Lexie down for several long seconds before turning and tapping away on her keyboard. A moment later, she said, “Third floor. Take the first elevator bank on the left. It’ll open up to reception up there, and Denise will direct you to the correct room.”
