Page 196 of Check & Chase
“Life’s funny that way.” His hand stills on my back. “Any regrets?”
I prop myself up to look at him properly, not liking the hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Not a single one. You?”
“Only that I didn’t find you sooner.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Remember that party?”
I feel my cheeks flush at the memory. “How could I forget?”
His eyes darken. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that night. I can’t believe you blew off my texts.”
I laugh softly. “Yeah, ‘Emma, it’s Chase.’ Very smooth.”
He winces. “You remember the exact message? Ouch.”
“Hard to forget. It was very… to the point.” I raise an eyebrow. “Not exactly Romeo-level romance.”
“I was nervous! Do you know how intimidating you are?”
“Me? Intimidating? To NHL superstar Chase Mitchell?”
“Absolutely.” His face turns serious. “You were different. Special. I just couldn’t figure out how to approach you properly.”
“Maybe we weren’t ready then,” I suggest, leaning into his touch. “Maybe we needed all that other stuff—the fake dating, the breakup, the professional distance—to get here.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I should have tried a better opening line.”
“That too,” I agree, earning a pinch to my side that makes me squeal.
I spend the rest of the afternoon with Chase’s parents, who’ve adopted me into their game-day routine with surprising ease. Pre-game meal at the hotel restaurant. Walk around the city to burn off nervous energy. Back to the hotel to change into game clothes—Bears jerseys for all of us now.
“Nervous?” Patricia asks as we ride to the arena.
“Terrified,” I admit, twisting the ring around my finger. “These games… they’re brutal to watch.”
“Tell me about it,” she sighs. “I’ve been doing this for over thirty years, and it never gets easier.”
The arena is hostile territory when we arrive, nothing but gold and purple with small pockets of Bears blue scattered throughout. I’ve barely taken my seat when my phone buzzes with a text.
Jackson:Watching tonight. Tell Mitchell to keep his head up in the neutral zone. Storm’s D is targeting him.
I smile at my brother’s grudging support, typing back.
Me:How’s the off-season training?
Jackson:Brutal. Focused on getting stronger for next year. Bears won’t have it so easy.
I slide my phone into my pocket just as the teams take the ice for warmups, and my attention immediately focuses on Chase, moving with the fluid grace that still makes my breath catch. He looks good, confident, no signs of tension as he goes through his routine.
But then I notice something—a slight hitch in his stride when he pushes off his left leg. The knee that caused so much trouble earlier in the season.
The knee I spent ages rehabilitating.
“Is he limping?” I ask, leaning forward in my seat.
Robert follows my gaze. “Don’t think so. Looks normal to me.”
But I know that body better than anyone. There’s a slight compensation pattern in his skating, a barely perceptible change in his weight distribution. As a PT, I’d recognize it anywhere.
When he circles the ice near our section, I study him more intently. His face reveals nothing, the mask of a professional athlete hiding any discomfort. But I know something’s wrong with the knee again.
