Page 174 of Check & Chase
“Always. But I wanted you to know what’s being whispered. So you can be prepared if anyone approaches you directly.”
I nod, appreciating the warning even as it amplifies my anxiety.
“How are you holding up anyway, Em? And don’t give me the line you’ve been feeding everyone else.”
The question breaks through defenses I’ve been keeping up for weeks. “It’s hard. Harder than I expected. Trying to be excited for Chase while dreading what it means for the Wolves. For you. Maintaining distance when all I want is to talk to him.”
“Have you texted him at all?”
“Once or twice after dinner.” I shake my head, frustration building. “This is ridiculous, Jack. We’re adults, not spies exchanging state secrets. And yet every time I think about reaching out, I worry about how it’ll be perceived.”
“So basically you’re both being stubborn and noble and miserable,” Jackson summarizes. “Sounds about right for you two.”
Before I can respond, Coach Willis appears at the end of the hallway, gesturing urgently. “Team meeting in five.”
Jackson straightens, captain’s mask sliding back into place. “We’re going to win tonight. And then you and Mitchell can figure out this whole star-crossed lovers routine somewhere other than the hockey rink.”
When the teams take the ice for warmups, my eyes find Chase instantly. Like they always do.
He looks good. Confident. Focused. Moving without any visible hitches that might indicate the knee problem Coach Willis mentioned earlier.
I watch him longer than I should, drinking in the sight of him after days of self-imposed distance. He completes a drill, then turns suddenly in my direction, as if sensing my eyes on him. Our gazes lock across theice, sending a jolt of electricity through my body despite the distance between us.
He raises his stick slightly. Not a celebration, just acknowledgment. I nod once, barely moving, before turning away to continue my preparations.
The first period is intense. Tight checking, few scoring chances, both teams aware of the stakes and playing with appropriate caution. Jackson plays like a man possessed, throwing hits, blocking shots, leading with a ferocity that inspires his teammates. Chase responds, using his speed and skill to create opportunities that only spectacular goaltending keeps from becoming goals.
It’s scoreless after twenty minutes, and the tension is climbing higher with each passing second.
The second period brings the breakthrough Wolves fans have been waiting for. A power play goal by Stevens, assisted by Jackson, putting us up 1-0. The bench erupts in celebration, temporary relief from the crushing pressure of elimination.
But the Bears respond with poise and patience. Chase ties the game late in the second, a beautiful individual effort that showcases his skill. I can’t help the surge of pride I feel watching him celebrate, even as disappointment for the Wolves twists in my stomach.
Tied 1-1 entering the third period. Twenty minutes to determine if the Wolves’ season continues or ends tonight.
The intensity escalates immediately, both teams abandoning caution in pursuit of the go-ahead goal.
I’m standing in the tunnel, unable to tear myself away despite work waiting in the treatment room, when I notice something concerning. Number 23, Rodriguez—a guy who’s been chippy all series—is playing differently. Finishing checks with unnecessary force, initiating contact after whistles, targeting Jackson specifically with increasing frequency.
My brother gives as good as he gets, never one to back down, but there’s something in Rodriguez’s demeanor that sends alarm bells ringing. A recklessness, a disregard for normal boundaries.
“Keep an eye on twenty-three,” I murmur to Coach Willis as he passes. “He’s hunting Jackson.”
He nods sharply, already aware of the developing situation. “Anderson can handle himself.”
I’m not so sure. Rodriguez has been getting more aggressive with every shift, and when they’re back on the ice together, I can see trouble brewing. He shadows Jackson, looking for his opening. It comes during a scrum along the boards. Jackson digs for the puck, head down and vulnerable. Rodriguez approaches from his blind side, picking up speed, clearly planning a hit that will do serious damage.
“Jackson!” I shout, but my warning gets swallowed by the noise.
Someone else sees it too. Tyler, positioned nearby, reads his teammate’s intention immediately. Without hesitation, he lunges forward, inserting himself between them just as Rodriguez launches himself forward.
The collision happens before I can blink. A full speed impact that sends both Tyler and Rodriguez sprawling. Jackson spins around, eyes widening as he registers what nearly happened and what Tyler has done.
The whistle blows, players converging, officials trying to restore order. I watch as Tyler slowly rises to his feet, clearly shaken. Rodriguez gets up too, looking dazed but fine.
Clean hit, by hockey standards. No penalties assessed. Just Tyler putting himself between danger and Jackson, protecting my brother at cost to himself.
Tyler skates to the bench, but something’s off. There’s a hitch in his stride, a careful way he’s moving that sets off alarm bells in my head. I watch him sit down, favoring his right leg slightly, trying to hide it from his teammates and coaching staff.
