Page 168 of Check & Chase
“Better after what you did yesterday,” he admits, rotating it cautiously. “But still catching when I try to raise it above my head.”
As I work on his shoulder, my mind continues to circle the upcoming series against the Bears. It’s not just about Chase, though he’s a significant part of my anxiety. It’s about facing my former colleagues, proving I’ve moved on, that I’m thriving in my new role.
“Word around the locker room is you used to work for the Bears,” Lewis observes. “Going to be weird facing them in the Conference Finals?”
“A little,” I admit. “But I’m a Wolf now. My loyalties are clear.”
Are they, though? When Chase is on the ice, when it’s the Bears against the Wolves, where will my heart really be?
I push the thought away, focusing on completing Lewis’s treatment.
The rest of the morning passes quickly. Appointments, evaluations, treatment plans. Working with Jackson’s team is different than the Bears in subtle ways—different systems, different priorities—but the core of what I do remains the same.
“Lunch?” Jackson appears in my doorway just as I’m finishing notes. “Team’s heading to that Italian place down the street.”
“Can’t,” I decline, gesturing to my laptop. “Too much paperwork. Rain check?”
He studies me for a moment, seeing more than I want him to. “This about the Bears? You avoiding the team bonding because it feels like divided loyalties?”
“Maybe,” I admit, knowing denial is pointless with my brother. “It’s complicated, Jack.”
He enters fully, closing the door behind him. “Because of Mitchell.”
“Partly,” I admit. “But it’s more than that. These guys are still getting to know me, still deciding if they trust me. I don’t want them questioning where my head is just because I used to work for our opponent.”
“No one’s questioning your commitment, Em,” Jackson assures, perching on the edge of my desk. “You’ve proven yourself these past weeks. Coach Willis is already calling you his best hiring decision in years.”
The praise warms me, but anxiety lingers. “It’s different when it’s the Bears, Jack. There’s history there.”
“With the team, or with Mitchell?” he asks, cutting straight to the heart of it.
“Both,” I confess.
Jackson sighs. “You’ve been seeing him. On his days off.”
I hadn’t realized I was so transparent. “We’re taking things slow. Rebuilding trust. Seeing if there’s still something worth salvaging.”
“And is there?” Jackson asks, his tone gentler than I expected.
“Yes,” I admit finally. “There is. Maybe there always was.”
He nods, accepting this without judgment. “Then we’ll deal with the playoffs like the professionals we are. You’ll do your job for the Wolves, Mitchell will do his for the Bears, and whatever’s happening between you personally stays separate from work.”
“That simple, huh?” I ask.
“Not simple,” he corrects. “Necessary.”
The team lunch is less awkward than I feared. Most of the guys are focused on playoff preparations, discussing the Bears’ strengths and weaknesses. I contribute where appropriate, offering insights, careful to frame everything in professional terms.
It’s only when Stevens, one of our defensemen, directly asks about Chase that I feel my composure waver.
“Mitchell’s knee,” he says, fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Word was it was worse than they let on earlier in the season. You treated him, right? How vulnerable is it really?”
All eyes land on me, and suddenly the air feels heavier. The loyalty I feel toward Chase—that quiet, persistent thing that hasn’t dulled even with time or distance—clashes with everything I’ve built here.
“I recused myself from his care a while ago. Ethically, I can’t discuss details about a former patient.”
Stevens huffs. “Come on. It’s hockey. Any edge helps.”
