Page 81 of Check & Chase
Her gaze is unfocused, breathing shallow and rapid.
“Emma,” I repeat more firmly. “Breathe with me. In for four, hold for four, out for four.”
I demonstrate, exaggerating my breathing pattern. Slowly, her eyes find mine, recognition gradually replacing the distant panic.
“Chase?” Her voice is small, confused.
“Right here, Blondie.” I resist the urge to touch her, sensing she needs space. “You with me?”
She nods, color gradually returning to her pale cheeks. “I’m fine. Just got a little…”
“I know.” I shift, ensuring my body continues blocking her view of the ice. “Let’s get some air.”
I guide her toward the nearest exit, my hand hovering near but not touching.
Outside, the air is brisk but refreshing. Emma inhales deeply, color fully returning as she regains composure.
“Thank you,” she says finally, embarrassment evident in how she avoids my gaze. “I don’t usually… it hasn’t happened in a while.”
“You don’t need to explain or apologize.”
“It’s ridiculous. I work in a hockey facility. I should be able to handle seeing ice without freaking out.”
“It’s not ridiculous. It’s trauma.” I lean against the building, taking weight off my knee. “And you handle it better than you give yourself credit for. You ran out onto the ice when I got hurt, remember?”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “And then had a complete meltdown afterward.”
“After you made sure I was taken care of. That takes courage, Emma. Doing what needs to be done despite your fear.”
She looks at me then, really looks at me, green eyes searching mine.
“Why are you being so nice about this?”
“Because I care about you,” I confess. “And I understand what it’s like to have the thing you love most become a source of fear.”
Her expression softens. “Your injury?”
I nod. “Every time I think about stepping back onto the ice, there’s this voice asking, ‘What if it happens again? What if this time it’s career-ending?’”
“I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“I don’t talk about it much. Bad for the confident hockey player image.”
“Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone that Chase Mitchell has actual human emotions beneath all that charm.”
“Appreciate it. My brand depends on emotional unavailability.”
She laughs, the sound warming something in my chest. “Your brand is in serious jeopardy, then.”
“Worth it.” The words come out more sincere than I intended.
Before she can respond, the door opens and Mr. Peterson emerges.
“Ms. Anderson. I was about to send a search party. Your next patient is waiting.”
Emma straightens, professional mask sliding back into place. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”
He nods, his gaze flickering between us before retreating.
