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Chapter 28
Cash
The doctor told me it was an ACL tear.
“The only way to repair the torn ligament in your knee is via surgery,” he explained, looking over the notes on his chart.
My heart was a twisted, misshapen lump in my chest. I didn’t want to ask, but I had to. “How long is the recovery?”
“If all goes well, I’d say about nine to twelve months. Maybe more since you’re an athlete.”
The news was a bucket of ice-cold water being dumped over my head. Bob may as well have chopped my whole fucking leg off. My mouth dropped open only to shut again. What was I supposed to say to that?
It wasn’t the doctor’s fault that my knee was ruined. It wasn’t the doctor’s fault that my career was officially the equivalent of a dumpster fire.
Twelve months.
Twelve months of not being able to train.
Another twelve months of getting back into shape to prepare for the next season.
This was a career death sentence.
A sudden loss of momentum like that would leave me out in the cold for good. There was no way I’d get another chance at a UFC title fight for another two years, and at that point… Would anyone even want to put their money on a washed-up, injured fighter?
Dylan, Red, and Patrick were with me, scattered about my hospital room. They looked on in silence, equal parts horror and pity in their eyes.
I hated it with a passion. The only thing I hated more was the fact that Julia was nowhere to be found.
“Are you sure there isn’t any other way?” I asked. I could feel my hope slipping, smell my dreams going up in smoke.
The doctor shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Mitchell. If it had been a minor tear, you likely would have been able to recover in under six months. Unfortunately, we’re looking at a complete rupture. There’s no way it will heal without surgical intervention. Without it, you will likely not be able to recover proper walking function. Turns and pivots will be impossible, and it’ll only cause greater strain on the remaining structures of your knee. It’s best if we go ahead with the surgery now rather than risk a more severe injury.” He paused, glancing behind him, then back at me. “Do you need a bit more time to think about it?”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek so hard I could taste blood. There was no need for more time. I only had one option and that was to go under the knife. It was better to have a working body than a broken one, even if it meant kissing everything I’d worked for goodbye.
“Let’s do it. When can you book me in?”
“I’ll have to check my schedule, but I think I have an opening tomorrow afternoon. I’ll get back to you once I have confirmation.”
I nodded. “Right. Thank you.”
The doctor left the room, and the group stepped closer to me.
“I’m so sorry, man,” Dylan said.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Red crossed his arms, his shoulders slumped and his face weary. “I’m going to kill Bob.”
Patrick glared at him. “You won’t go anywhere near that bastard. Especially not now that the three of you have assault charges pending.”
Dylan gritted his teeth. “It was self-defense.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“It was!”
“Let me worry about it, alright? I think I can have the charges thrown out, but I need things to calm down first. There’s an avalanche of pictures and videos of the altercation being released as we speak. The police have to sift through all the evidence before I can convince them it was self-defense.”
