Page 21 of Check & Chase
“Everything about you is my business now,” I reply with a grin. “Since we’re going to be spending a lot of time together over the next six weeks.”
“As your physical therapist,” she emphasizes. “Nothing more.”
“We’ll see.”
The nurse arrives with my discharge papers and a pair of crutches before Emma can respond. She’s probably grateful for the interruption, but I’m just getting started.
After the paperwork is complete, a hospital orderly wheels me to the exit while Emma walks alongside, her expression suggesting she’s already regretting her offer to drive me home.
“You don’t have to do this. I can call an Uber.”
“And have you try to somehow charm your way into skipping the recovery protocol?” She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. I want to make sure you’re properly set up at home before I leave you to your own devices.”
“So considerate,” I drawl. “Or maybe you just want to see where I live.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Mitchell.”
“Back to ‘Mitchell’ now? What happened to ‘Chase’?”
She ignores me, focusing on helping me into her car—a sensible Subaru that somehow perfectly matches her practical personality. The process of getting in is awkward and painful, my knee protesting every movement despite the pain medication they gave me at the hospital.
A hiss escapes me as I finally settle into the passenger seat, and Emma’s mask cracks just enough for me to catch the worry in her eyes.
“You okay?”
“Never better,” I lie through gritted teeth.
She doesn’t call me out on it, just shuts the door and walks around to the driver’s side. As she slides in, her scent fills the enclosed space. Something light and floral, like she just walked through a garden.
“What’s your address?” she asks, starting the car.
I rattle it off, watching as she inputs it into her GPS. “You know, I’m starting to think you actually care about me, Blondie.”
She sighs, pulling out of the hospital parking lot. “I care about all my patients.”
“But I’m your favorite, right?”
“You’re my most annoying, that’s for sure.”
I laugh, the sound turning into a groan as the car hits a pothole, jolting my knee. Emma’s eyes flick to me, then back to the road.
“Sorry,” she murmurs. “Pinewood’s roads are a disaster.”
“No worries. Gives me an excuse to make wounded noises and earn your sympathy.”
“Is that your strategy? Pity points?”
“Is it working?”
The corner of her mouth twitches, almost a smile. “No.”
“Damn. Back to the drawing board.”
We fall into silence as Emma navigates through Pinewood. My phone buzzes with incoming texts. Teammates checking in after hearing about the MRI results. Everyone except West, of course.
“Popular guy,” Emma comments, noticing the constant notifications.
“Hockey teams are like family,” I explain. “Dysfunctional at times, but we look out for each other.”
