Page 65 of Check & Chase
“Home or away colors?”
“Home. The blue one.”
There’s a flutter of excitement in my stomach at the thought of wearing Chase’s name and number tonight.
It’s just for show, I remind myself. Nothing more.
“Ms. Anderson, could I have a word?”
I look up from the patient file I’m reviewing to find Mr. Peterson standing in my doorway. After shopping with Maya this morning, I decided to stop by the Bears facility despite having the afternoon off.
He closes the door before sitting, which immediately sends my anxiety spiking.
“I wanted to discuss something delicate. It’s come to my attention that you and Mitchell have developed a personal relationship.”
My stomach drops. “I see.”
“Now, I want to be clear. The Bears organization doesn’t have a strict policy against staff dating players. We’re all adults here. However, when it comes to the medical team, especially direct care providers like yourself, there are ethical considerations.”
I nod, guilt gnawing at me. “I understand, Mr. Peterson. My relationship with Chase has not and will not affect my professional judgment regarding his treatment.”
“I believe you. Your work has been exemplary. Mitchell’s recovery is progressing well. But perception matters in this business. Ideally, Mitchell would be reassigned to another PT. However, given his specific injury and your expertise, that would be a disservice to his recovery.”
Relief floods through me. “So…”
“So we’ll need to be careful. Keep your professional interactions above reproach. Document everything. And perhaps consider whether this relationship is worth the potential complications to your career.”
The warning is gentle but clear. As he leaves, I let out a shaky breath. That could have gone much worse.
Which would be fine if this were a real relationship. But it’s not. It’s a temporary arrangement with a clear end date.
So why does the thought of that end date fill me with dread?
The arena is packed when Maya and I arrive. My jersey draws approving nods, though a few give me curious looks. The Mitchell name is recognizable enough that people are clearly wondering about my connection to him.
We settle into our seats—excellent ones courtesy of Chase, just a few rows up from the glass with a perfect view of the ice and the players’ bench.
“Damn.” Maya whistles. “Your fake boyfriend has excellent taste in seats.”
The crowd roars as the team emerges for warm-ups. Chase appears last, still in his jersey but without equipment, his knee brace visible beneath his warm-up pants. He’s on crutches, making his way carefully to the bench.
My heart does a ridiculous little flip at the sight of him.
“Stop staring,” Maya teases. “You look like a lovesick teenager.”
I’m so absorbed watching the warm-up that I don’t immediately respond, or notice Tyler skating toward our section. It’s only when he taps his stick against the glass directly in front of us that I register his presence.
He’s staring at the jersey I’m wearing. His expression cycles through surprise, disbelief, and finally, anger. He says something I can’t hear through the glass, but it looks suspiciously like “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I stare back impassively, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Well, that was subtle,” Maya comments dryly.
As warm-up winds down, Tyler skates another loop, stopping and motioning for me to come closer to the glass.
“Ignore him,” Maya advises.
But curiosity gets the better of me. I lean forward.
