Page 101 of Check & Chase
His eyes narrow. “Is some little nurse even qualified to care for my son? This isn’t exactly some minor scrape we’re talking about.”
Heat flashes through me, but I keep my voice level. “I’m a licensed physical therapist with a master’s degree in sports medicine.”
Something that might be respect flickers across his face before he nods curtly. “We’ll be back tomorrow.”
After they leave, the house feels different—quieter, but also more intimate. Without the external pressure of parental judgment, Chase and I can simply exist in this space together.
I return to the living room with his medication to find him slouched on the couch, eyes closed, exhaustion evident in every line of his body.
“Sorry about him,” he says without opening his eyes. “Dad’s always been…”
“A dick?” I supply.
A laugh escapes him. “I was going to say challenging, but yeah, dick works too.”
I sit beside him, offering the pills. “Your mom seems nice, though.”
“She is. Too nice, sometimes. Lets him get away with being an asshole because ‘that’s just how he shows he cares.’”
The medication makes him drowsy, and I find myself studying his face as he drifts toward sleep. Without the animation of consciousness, the full extent of his injuries becomes stark—the way the bruising extends down his neck, the careful way he holds his head to avoid aggravating the concussion.
“Now that they are gone, though. I have a question to ask you. Emma Anderson, will you be my very real, not-at-all-fake girlfriend? With all the complications and difficulties that entails?”
He says it lightly, but I hear the genuine question beneath. We’ve acknowledged our feelings, but not what comes next.
“Peterson called while you were being discharged,” I explain instead of answering directly. “He’s granted me leave to focus on your recovery. Said it was the only way to ‘maintain ethical boundaries’ now that our relationship is… what it is.”
Chase’s expression turns serious despite the medication clouding his thoughts. “I never wanted to jeopardize your career.”
“Stop.” I press my fingers to his lips, feeling the warmth of his breath against my skin. “I made my choice the moment I ran onto that ice for you. I’m not backing out now.”
The relief that floods his face is immediately followed by a dopey smile that I suspect is partly the pain medication. “So that’s a yes to being my girlfriend?”
I roll my eyes, but can’t suppress my smile. “Yes, Chase. God help me. Now, lets get you to bed.”
Moving him to his bedroom becomes a careful choreography of supporting his weight while navigating the hallway’s narrow confines.
The room reflects Chase’s personality more than any other space in the house—team photos scattered across the dresser, books stacked haphazardly on the nightstand. It’s lived-in in a way the rest of the house isn’t, personal in a way that makes my presence here feel significant.
By the time we reach the bed, he’s pale and sweating from exertion, the simple journey from living room to bedroom having cost him more than either of us expected.
“This was a mistake,” I fret, easing him onto the mattress with movements learned from years of treating injured athletes. “I should have let you sleep on the couch.”
“Worth it.” He sinks into the pillows with a groan of relief. “Now I get to see you in my bed.”
I shake my head, fighting a smile as I help him out of his sweatpants and into more comfortable shorts. The sight of his muscular legs, one still bearing the signs of recent surgery, reminds me of how fragile human bodies can be despite their apparent strength.
I shower quickly in his en-suite bathroom, the space another window into his personality. Expensive products line the shelves, but everything is practical rather than ostentatious. The shower is large enough for two, a detail that makes me blush despite the innocent nature of my current visit.
When I emerge from the bathroom, he’s already asleep, his breathing deep and even.
Slipping under the covers beside him feels simultaneously natural and surreal. Even in sleep, Chase instinctively makes room for me, his body curving toward mine like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
Sleep claims me before I can dwell on what tomorrow will bring.
The nightmare comes with vivid intensity, dragging me back to the ice where blood spreads in a crimson halo around Chase’s motionless body. In the dream, I try to reach him, but can’t move, my feet frozen in place while the ice begins to crack beneath me.
“You did this,” Tyler says, materializing beside me. “You brought him here.”
