Page 14 of Check & Chase
“He’s not thrilled about it.”
“I bet.” Jackson Anderson is notorious for his hatred of the Bears. “That must make family dinners interesting.”
“You have no idea.” She places a hand on my knee, back to business. “I’m going to test your range of motion now. Tell me when you feel pain.”
I watch her face as she works, noting the concentration in her eyes, the slight furrow between her brows. There’s something captivating about seeing her in her element, confident and focused.
“So, why the Bears?” I ask as she manipulates my leg. “If your brother hates us so much, why come work here?”
She shrugs without looking up. “It was the only position available, and I needed a job.”
“And it has nothing to do with unfinished business?” I press.
That gets her attention. Her eyes snap to mine. “I told you, what happened at that party was a mistake. A one-time thing that won’t be repeated.”
“You keep saying that, but you haven’t explained why. We had chemistry, Emma. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it.”
Her hands still on my leg. “Chemistry doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m your physical therapist now, and anything beyond a professional relationship would be inappropriate and unethical.”
“Would be,” I repeat, noting her choice of words. “But it wasn’t when we met at the party.”
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Can we please focus on your knee?”
“My knee’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” she counters, pressing on a particularly tender spot that makes me wince. “Your MCL has a Grade 1 sprain, and you’ve been making it worse by continuing to play. If you don’t take this seriously, you could end up with a full tear and surgery.”
“Fine. How long?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
“One to three weeks off the ice.”
“Games,” I clarify. “How many games will I miss?”
She studies me for a moment. “If you follow my treatment plan exactly, and I mean exactly, you could be back on the ice for light skating in three weeks. But for games it would be five or six.”
Five or six weeks. A month and a half of the season. Impossible.
“Not happening,” I tell her flatly. “I’m playing Friday.”
“Then you’ll tear your MCL completely, require surgery, and miss the entire season instead of just part of it.” Her tone leaves no room for argument. “Your choice, Chase.”
The use of my first name catches me off guard. It’s the first time she’s said it since walking into the room, and despite the circumstances, I like how it sounds on her lips.
We stare at each other, locked in a battle of wills. Her green eyes are unwavering, challenging me to argue. And for the first time in mymedical history, I find myself considering actually following a therapist’s orders.
Because she’s not just any therapist. She’s Emma. The woman who’s been lingering in the back of my mind for a year. The one who got away.
“Fine,” I concede, surprising us both. “Three weeks. But then I’m back on the ice.”
A smile, a real one this time, curves her lips. “We’ll see how your recovery progresses.”
I nod agreeably while thinking that I’ll be back on the ice in a week, maybe less. I’m just telling her what she wants to hear. No way am I sitting out for three weeks. But she doesn’t need to know that.
As she turns away to make notes in my chart, I find myself more intrigued than ever. Emma Anderson is a puzzle I can’t quite figure out. The passionate woman from the party and this composed professional seem like two different people.
I want to know which is the real her. Or if maybe, just maybe, both are.
One thing’s for certain though. These PT sessions just got a lot more interesting than I expected. And I intend to make the most of every minute.
