Page 94 of Where We Belong
My vision becomes blurry as I scream for help, but of course, no one hears.
I try to catch my breath, but the air has been stolen from my lungs during the fall, and the anxiety overwhelming me prevents me from getting any more oxygen. I don’t want to look down at my foot, afraid of what I’ll see.
Not again. Please, god, not again.
The pain is so sharp that for a moment, I fear I’m going to pass out. Or maybe that’s the hit I took to the head.
A tear finally falls as I try to get up and fall down when it feels like my foot is about to be ripped in two.
“Help!” I scream, spit flying out of my mouth. “Finn! Someone help! Please!”
A sob tears through me then. So this is what true loneliness feels like.
I try to get up again, but it’s useless. There might be a bone popping out of my leg and I wouldn’t know. Not wanting to stay at the far end of the gym, I flop onto my stomach and start crawling, pain lancing through my entire body with every movement, dizzying me. Breathless, I drag myself off the small mat, my nails digging into the padded floor. I crawl and crawl, tears, sweat, and snot covering my face.
I can’t think about what’s happening. If I stop and take the time to think about the fact that I might’ve just ruined my career for good, I’ll never be able to get back up.
Eventually, my arms give out, and I lay in the middle of the floor section of the gym, almost at the spot where I’d left my phone, but I’m too delirious to move an inch more. Instead, I let my head drop to the floor and stare at an electrical outlet with my tilted gaze.
Minutes pass like this, or maybe it’s hours, until I hear the front door of the gym open.
“Lexie?”
I don’t have any strength to speak or look up anymore. The only thing I can do is squeeze my eyes shut as another set of tears leaks out of me.
“Lex?” Slow footsteps, then, “Oh my god, Lexie!”
Finn gets to me in a single breath, dropping to his knees hard enough that it makes my body bounce from the floor a little, sending another string of pain in my leg.
“What happened? Oh god. Oh Fuck.” His hands are on my face, on my arms, touching me as if he needs the reassurance that I’m actually here. “Jesus Christ, say something.”
“My foot,” I croak, then sniff. “I think I need to go to the hospital.”
His eyes close as he lets out a long breath. “Thank god.” He leans down, then presses a kiss to my forehead, my cheek, my jaw, and my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Carefully, he brings his arms under my knees and shoulders, then lifts me. I wince at the pain but feel like finally, I can let go.
“I got you,” he whispers above my head as he jogs outside.
I let my head drop to his shoulder and allow my eyes to drift close. Yes. He’s got me.
Chapter 34
Lexie
Theceilingofthecabin’s main room is made of 173 slats of wood. I know because I’ve counted them, over and over and over.
It’s been a week and a half since I broke my foot, and while that might sound short, it’s 14,440 minutes of not knowing what comes next. I’ve never had so much time on my hands, and I’ve never not known what to do with it quite like I do now. Shelli told me to take as much time off work as I needed, but I should probably quit altogether. I don’t see myself going back to that gym, knowing it’s only to coach.
I shift on my pillows as I bring my attention back to the left end of the ceiling.
One. Two. Three.
On the small kitchen counter, my phone vibrates, like it has again and again since my accident, which is precisely why I’ve left it back there. The last thing I want to do is scroll through Instagram and see the girls who used to be my competitors showing pictures of their training and their journey to the World Championships in Montreal. I’m in enough pain as it is.
My foot feels better than it did when Finn brought me to the hospital. Apparently, listening to the doctor’s orders to rest it and take painkillers has helped. Killed my morale, sure, but helped nonetheless.
I’m only a little embarrassed to say I’ve stared at the X-ray of my right foot more times than I can count, every day since I left the emergency room with a walking boot—no cast, thank god—and a broken heart. I had asked Dr. N’Diaye to give me a copy of the imaging and got it printed at the library, and while I’m no radiologist, I haven’t been able to stop staring at the little crack she pointed at. Two tiny millimeters that have cost me my career.
