Page 197 of Check & Chase
The game starts at a frenetic pace, both teams understanding the stakes. Chase’s first shift seems normal—fast, physical, creating a scoring chance. But when he returns to the bench, I catch the grimace as he sits, the subtle stretch of his left leg when he thinks no one’s watching.
By the second period, it’s more noticeable, at least to my trained eye. He’s still playing brilliantly, setting up the Bears’ first goal with a perfect pass to Donovan, but the compensation pattern is increasingly evident.
“Something’s wrong with his knee,” I whisper to Patricia during intermission. “He’s hiding it, but I can see it.”
Her expression tightens. “Are you sure? He hasn’t mentioned anything.”
“He wouldn’t,” I say, frustration building. “Not during the Finals. But I know that knee, and something’s definitely off.”
The third period confirms my suspicions. Chase’s ice time decreases slightly, Coach Barrett sheltering him from certain matchups. With five minutes left, he intercepts a clearing attempt at the blue line, dangles past one defender, then threads a perfect pass to Donovan for the go-ahead goal.
The final minutes are agony, the Storm pressing for the equalizer. Chase blocks a shot with his left leg in the final minute, dropping to the ice momentarily before scrambling to his feet, clearly in pain but refusing to leave.
Final horn. Bears win 2-0. Series lead 3-1, heading back to Pinewood with a chance to win the Cup.
Unlike after previous games, he doesn’t come find me immediately. A text explains it.
Chase:Treatment with med staff. Meet you at the hotel. I love you.
Back at the hotel, I pace the room, waiting for Chase to return. When he finally appears, nearly two hours after the game, the set of his jaw tells me everything I need to know.
“How bad is it?” I ask as he closes the door behind him.
He doesn’t bother denying or deflecting. “Bone bruise. Maybe a minor meniscus tear. Nothing structural.”
“Bullshit,” I state flatly, crossing my arms. “Your meniscus was compromised from the previous injury. Any tear, no matter how ‘minor,’ is serious. Let me see.”
He sighs but sits on the bed, rolling up his pant leg to reveal the knee, already swollen, an angry red line where fresh scar tissue meets older damage.
My heart sinks as I kneel before him, hands automatically going to the joint. The swelling is significant, the joint warm to the touch. When I gently test the range of motion, Chase can’t fully extend or flex without pain.
“This isn’t nothing, Chase. This needs aggressive treatment, possibly an MRI to rule out further damage.”
“Already had the MRI,” he admits, wincing as I probe a tender spot. “After game three. It’s just a bone bruise and minor meniscus fraying. Nothing that can’t wait until after the Finals.”
Anger flares, hot and sudden. “You’ve been hiding this for days? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you’d react exactly like this,” he counters, frustration evident. “It’s the Stanley Cup Finals, Emma. One game away from a championship. There isn’t a player in the league who’d sit out with this kind of injury.”
“I’m not asking you to sit out. I’m asking for honesty. I’m your fiancée, Chase. And a physical therapist. If anyone would understand the balance between competitive drive and medical caution, it’s me.”
He has the grace to look ashamed. “You’re right. I should have told you. I just didn’t want you to worry.”
“So instead you let me find out by watching the game? Do you have any idea how that felt? Seeing you in pain and knowing you were hiding it?”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly. “Really. I trust you more than anyone. Me not telling you was about not wanting to put that burden on you.”
“That’s not how partnerships work,” I remind him. “We carry each other’s burdens. That’s the whole point.”
He nods, reaching for my hand. “You’re right. No more secrets, medical or otherwise. I promise.”
I let him pull me closer, the anger receding. “What’s the treatment plan?”
“Aggressive anti-inflammatories, ice, compression between now and the next game. Possible cortisone injection pre-game, depending on swelling.”
The PT in me cringes at the mention of cortisone—a short-term solution that often creates longer-term problems. But I understand the stakes.
“Let me help. My therapy techniques will be more effective than just ice and compression.”
