Page 124 of Check & Chase
Chase listens, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of my hand, encouraging without pressing.
“There was this moment,” I continue, the memory so vivid I can almost feel it again, “right at the peak of a jump, when you’re completely airborne. For just a second, you’re weightless. Untouchable. Like you’ve broken free from every law of physics.”
I close my eyes, letting the sensation wash over me. “And the speed—god, the speed. When you really get going, the whole world blurs into streaks of color. Nothing exists except you and the ice and the music flowing through your body.”
“It sounds incredible,” Chase murmurs.
“It was everything,” I whisper. “The early morning practices when the rink was empty and silent except for the whisper of blades on ice. The way a perfect spiral felt like dancing with the wind. How landing a clean triple felt like conquering the universe.”
The longing in my voice surprises even me. After years of pushing these feelings down, denying them, it’s overwhelming to let them surface.
“I used to choreograph routines in my head everywhere I went,” I admit with a watery laugh. “Walking to school, sitting in math class. I’d hear a song and immediately start planning jumps and spins to match the music. My body would twitch sometimes, trying to perform moves while I was supposed to be learning algebra.”
“You still do that,” Chase says softly. “I’ve watched you unconsciously move to music when you think no one’s looking. Your body remembers.”
The observation catches me off guard. I hadn’t realized I was still doing that, hadn’t noticed my body betraying the loss I thought I’d learned to live with.
“I dreamed about the Olympics,” I continue, the confession feeling both painful and liberating. “Had it all planned out—the program,the costume, even what I’d say in interviews after winning gold. Such a ridiculous teenage fantasy, but it felt so real, so possible.”
“Maybe you could figure skate again one day.”
The idea hangs between us like a bridge I’m not sure I’m ready to cross. But for the first time in years, it doesn’t feel completely impossible.
“I think that’s enough soul-baring for one day,” I say, though I make no move to leave his arms or the ice.
“This is already more than I hoped for,” he assures me. “You’re incredible, Emma. For facing this, for letting yourself feel it again.”
The emotion between us shifts, deepens, becomes something beyond words. I lean forward and press my lips to his, the kiss gentle at first—a physical expression of gratitude. But it quickly transforms into something more urgent as if the emotional barriers I’ve lowered take physical ones with them.
Chase responds immediately, his free hand cradling the back of my head as the kiss deepens. We’re still on the ice, the irony not lost on me. The place I fear most is now the backdrop to this raw and real moment.
“I love you,” I whisper against his lips when we finally break apart. “Not just for this, but god, Chase. Especially for this.”
“I love you too,” he replies, resting his forehead against mine. “Every version of you—the professional PT, the grumpy morning person, the woman afraid of ice, and the woman facing that fear right now.”
“I’m not grumpy in the mornings.”
“Blondie, you threatened to stab me with a fork yesterday when I talked to you before coffee.”
“That was an extreme circumstance.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest, warm and fond. We stand there grinning at each other like idiots until Chase winces slightly, his weight shifting unconsciously.
“Your knee,” I realize, immediately shifting into PT mode. “We should get you off the ice. You’ve been standing too long.”
“Worth it,” he insists, though he doesn’t resist as I guide him back toward the gate. “Every second was worth it.”
We make our way back to solid ground, the transition strangely anticlimactic after such an emotional breakthrough. But as we head inside, I can’t help looking back one more time.
The rink sits quiet and patient in the gathering dusk, no longer the unconquerable monster of my nightmares. Just ice. Beautiful, dangerous, beloved ice. Waiting for me to be ready to truly come home to it.
And for the first time since my accident, I believe that day might actually come.
Chase
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It’s been four weeks.
