Page 20 of Check & Chase
“Mitchell,” Dr. Reynolds says, his tone suggesting he’s dealt with hockey players like me his entire career, “this isn’t something you can play through. Your MCL is completely torn. You’re looking at six to eightweeks minimum before you can even think about getting back on the ice.”
“Six to eight weeks?” I repeat, as if hearing it again might somehow change the diagnosis. “That’s not gonna work for me, Doc. We’re playing against the Wolves on Friday. Season opener.”
“You won’t be playing,” Emma interjects, her voice firm. “You won’t be playing anyone for at least six weeks. And that’s only if you follow my rehabilitation protocol exactly.”
I look at her, hoping my Chase Mitchell charm will soften her stance. “Come on, Blondie. Work with me here.”
“I am working with you. That’s literally my job.” Her green eyes narrow. “And don’t call me Blondie in a professional setting.”
There it is again, that wall of professionalism she keeps trying to put up between us. It only makes me want to climb over it more.
Dr. Reynolds clears his throat, clearly sensing the tension. “Ms. Anderson is correct, Mitchell. The MCL provides stability to the knee. Without it, you’re at risk for further damage that could end your season completely… or worse.”
“I’ve played through worse,” I insist, though we all know that’s not true.
“No, you haven’t,” Emma snaps. “And if you attempt to play on this knee before it’s healed, you’re looking at potential surgery, which would extend your recovery by months, not weeks.”
Surgery. The word no athlete wants to hear.
“Fine,” I relent, not because I accept their timeline, but because arguing is getting me nowhere. “What’s the protocol?”
Dr. Reynolds outlines his treatment plan: rest, ice, compression, and elevation for the first week, followed by progressive rehabilitation. No weight-bearing for at least two weeks. No skating for at least six. Physical therapy sessions three or more times a week.
I pretend to listen while my mind races, calculating how many games I’ll miss, how this will affect my stats, my contract negotiations. This is supposed to be my year—the season that cements my positionas one of the league’s elite forwards. Instead, I’ll be watching from the side while the team plays without me.
“Do you understand, Chase?” Dr. Reynolds asks, pulling me back to the present.
“Yeah, sure,” I reply automatically. “Rest, rehab, return. Got it.”
Emma’s expression makes it clear she doesn’t believe me for a second.
“Ms. Anderson will be overseeing your rehabilitation,” he continues. “She has extensive experience with this type of injury and an excellent track record for recovery outcomes.”
“Lucky me.” I shoot Emma a wink; she rolls her eyes, unimpressed.
“I’ll leave you in her capable hands, then.” Dr. Reynolds stands, gathering his tablet. “Follow the plan, Mitchell. I mean it.”
After he leaves, silence fills the room. Emma busies herself reviewing my charts, pointedly ignoring my gaze.
“You ran onto the ice.”
She looks up. “What?”
“Earlier today. You ran onto the ice to help me.”
A flush creeps up her neck. “It’s my job.”
“Most physical therapists don’t sprint across ice rinks without hesitation. Especially not ones who look terrified of being there.”
Her eyes widen slightly before she composes herself. “I wasn’t terrified.”
“You were having a panic attack by the time they carried me off,” I counter. “Your friend had to help you back to solid ground.”
Her jaw tightens. “That’s not relevant to your treatment.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Blondie. I think it’s very relevant.” I adjust my position on the bed, wincing as pain shoots through my knee. “Why would someone who’s clearly scared of the ice choose to work with hockey players?”
“I’m not scared of the ice,” she mutters, but the flicker in her eyes says otherwise. “And my career choices are none of your business.”
