Page 84 of Check & Chase
“It’s lovely to meet you, Chase. Emma hasn’t mentioned a special friend.”
“It’s relatively new,” he replies smoothly. “But very special.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my stomach flip.
“He plays hockey for the Bears. He’s currently one of my patients.”
My mother’s eyebrows rise. “Jackson must love that.”
He laughs. “We had dinner last week. He only threatened my life twice, so I consider it progress.”
My mother launches into updates about her book club, volunteer work, Jackson’s recent visit. Chase listens attentively, asking thoughtful questions and laughing at all the right moments.
My mother is clearly charmed. I watch Chase interact with her, the easy way he draws her out. It’s a side of him I haven’t fully seen before. The family man beneath the hockey star.
“And how’s your knee? Emma’s always been an excellent healer.”
“She’s the best PT I’ve worked with. I’m ahead of schedule, thanks to her.”
“Don’t let him fool you. He’s the worst patient. Never follows instructions.”
“I follow the important ones,” he protests, his hand finding mine beneath the table.
“Emma takes after her father that way,” my mother reflects, her expression turning nostalgic. “He was a doctor. So dedicated to his patients. He would have been so proud of her.”
The mention of my father creates a familiar ache.
“He died when she was just a baby. Car accident. She was only six months old.”
I tense, not because I mind him knowing, but because it’s so personal for a relationship that’s supposedly just for show.
“I’m sorry,” he says, squeezing my hand gently. “That must have been incredibly difficult.”
“It was. But we had Jackson, and each other. We made it work.”
When we finally end the call twenty minutes later, I feel strangely exposed.
“Your mom is great. I see where you get your smile from.”
“Everyone says that. Sorry about the impromptu introduction. And for her bringing up my dad.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m glad I got to meet her. And I’m glad she told me about your father. It helps me understand you better.”
“Understand me?” I turn to face him, arms crossed defensively. “What’s there to understand? He died before I could remember him.”
“But his absence shaped you anyway.” His insight is gentle but penetrating. “The way you throw yourself into caring for others. The way you maintain distance to protect yourself from loss.”
The accuracy steals my breath. “That’s… presumptuous.”
“Is it? I lost my grandfather when I was eight. He was the one who taught me to skate, who took me to my first hockey game. When he died, I threw myself into the sport—as if by excelling at the thing he loved, I could somehow keep him with me.”
The personal revelation catches me off guard. “I didn’t know that.”
“Not many people do. My parents tried their best, but they were both working. My grandfather was the one who took me to early morning practices, who cheered the loudest at games. After he died, hockey became more than a sport. It became a connection to him. Every time I step on the ice, I feel him with me.”
The weight of his confession settles between us. I reach out and squeeze his hand.
He looks down at our joined hands, then back at my face. Something shifts in his expression—vulnerability mixed with something that makes my pulse quicken.
