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“I don’t know yet. She’s sleeping.” I pull away from him and look at the rest of the girls. “She’ll be fine, right? Tell me she’ll be fine.”
“She’s Lexa fucking Delvaux,” Rebecca says. “Of course, she’ll be fine.”
They all agree with her, but I know they’re just trying to make me feel better.
I wipe my tears with the back of my hand and take a deep breath. “They’re running some tests.”
“We’ll wait for the results,” Raul promises. “We’re not going anywhere.”
I don’t know how to be grateful, so I just nod.
“Why don’t I order you something to eat?” he says, already getting up.
“I’m not hungry,” I reply. “I should go back. I want to be there when the results come. But I will grab a few coffees for everyone. I have a feeling we’re in for a long night.”
Raul nods. “We’ll be here if you need anything. We’ll take turns, but someone will always be around.”
I grab coffees for me, Alycia, and Lexa’s parents. I don’t know if Lexa will be allowed to drink anything when she wakes up, so I get her a bottle of water. Once I have everything, I go back to the waiting room.
Ewan’s standing outside, talking on the phone. He looks tense and angry.
“No, Caleb, I don’t care,” he says. “I’m not coming back. My daughter needs me.”
I pass him and he doesn’t even acknowledge me. He’s too busy fighting with Caleb. I don’t blame him. I would do the same thing. But he’s not my priority. Lexa is.
I walk into the waiting room where Alycia and Isabella are sitting together. They thank me for their coffees.
“Any news?” I ask.
“The doctor should come any minute now,” Alycia says, rubbing her belly.
“Raul’s in the cafeteria,” I tell her. “And so is the rest of the team. They wanted to give us space, but if you want, I can call him up.”
Alycia smiles. “I’ll talk to him in a little bit. Let’s wait for the news first.”
We sit in silence, sipping our coffees.
I don’t want to think about what could be wrong with Lexa’s knee. I don’t want to imagine the worst-case scenario. I just want to hear that it’s nothing major, that Lexa will be back on the field soon.
A doctor walks into the waiting room. He’s a middle-aged man with glasses and a white coat. I know from his serious expression the scan’s results aren’t good.
“Lexa Delvaux’s family?” he asks.
“Yes, I’m her mother,” Isabella says, standing up. “This is her sister, and this is her girlfriend. We’re all here for her.”
“And I’m her father,” Ewan says, joining us.
The doctor nods, looking at the tablet in his hands.
“I have the results of the MRI scan,” he says. “And I’m afraid the news is not good. Lexa has torn her ACL.”
I’ve been punched in the gut. My heart has stopped. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. This can’t be happening. Not to Lexa. Not now.
“What does that mean?” Isabella asks, her voice trembling.
“It means that she has a complete tear of the anterior cruciate ligament, the main ligament that stabilizes the knee. It’s a serious injury that requires surgery to repair.”
“What’s the recovery time?” Ewan asks.
