Page 117 of Check & Chase
Six to eight weeks. March, at the earliest. The season will be three-quarters over before I can contribute again.
“That timeline works for us,” Harrison acknowledges, surprising me. “Next season is the priority at this point.”
“Next season?” I repeat, not bothering to hide my displeasure. “We’re barely out of December.”
Coach sighs, exchanging a look with Harrison. “Our playoff chances took a hit with your injury and West’s suspension. We’re realistic about this season’s prospects.”
“West is being traded to Winnipeg after his suspension, by the way,” Harrison adds. “Deal’s done, just waiting on his suspension to finish. Of course, that’s if he and his lawyer don’t fight it, which they probably will.”
The possibility that Tyler might actually leave should feel like a victory, but all I can think about is how management has basically given up on this season.
“So what exactly am I rehabbing for?” I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
“For your career, Mitchell,” Harrison says firmly. “Which we expect to be long and productive with this organization, assuming you don’t pull any more heroics without a helmet.”
The rebuke is gentle but clear. I’ve been reckless, and they’re concerned.
“The publicity from the incident was great,” Harrison continues. “Saving your girlfriend’s brother made for great PR. But from a business perspective, we’re investing in your future, not just this season.”
I should be grateful they’re taking the long view rather than rushing me back. Instead, I feel sidelined. Again.
“We’re still aiming for a March return,” Coach Barrett adds. “Just with modified expectations. No need to push beyond medical recommendations.”
“I understand,” I say, though frustration still burns beneath the surface. “What do you need from me in the meantime?”
“Focus on your recovery,” Harrison instructs. “Maintain team presence when possible. And…” he hesitates, glancing at Peterson.
“And?” I prompt.
“And exercise appropriate discretion regarding your personal relationships,” he finishes delicately. “Particularly those with medical staff.”
Ah. So that’s part of this meeting too. I guess Emma and I aren’t flying under the radar anymore.
“Ms. Anderson has taken a step back from your treatment,” Peterson mentions. “She’s transferred your care to Mr. Richards for the remainder of your recovery. The decision was hers.”
This news hits me harder than the talk of next season. Emma has removed herself from my treatment entirely? When did she decide this? Why didn’t she tell me herself?
“This arrangement will protect both your recovery trajectory and Ms. Anderson’s professional standing,” Harrison explains. “We have no issue with your personal relationship, Mitchell. We just don’t want anything that could be misinterpreted.”
I want to argue, but the truth is, she’s the one who made this call. And I respect her enough to accept her decision, even if it stings.
“Understood,” I respond finally. “Is that all?”
“That’s all,” Harrison confirms, standing to signal the end of the meeting. “Keep up the good work with your rehab. We’re looking forward to having you back at full strength.”
As I turn to leave, Peterson follows me into the hallway.
“This wasn’t my idea,” he begins. “Emma came to me yesterday after you returned from Calgary. She felt the lines were becoming too blurred between her professional responsibilities and personal feelings.”
“Did something happen? We were fine when we left her mom’s place.”
He removes his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nothing happened, per se. She simply recognized a conflict she could no longer reconcile professionally.”
Translation: Emma freaked out about how serious things are getting between us.
“I respect her decision,” I say, meaning it despite my disappointment.
I leave the facility with mixed emotions, but also a strengthened resolve to move forward with my surprise. If Emma is pulling back to protect both our futures, the least I can do is finish the project that might help her reclaim a part of herself she lost years ago.
