Page 223 of Check & Chase
“That’s it, buddy,” Chase encourages as Ethan manages to stand momentarily without leaning his entire weight forward. “Find your center, just like that.”
Our son’s face screws up in concentration, a miniature version of Chase’s, before breaking into a delighted giggle. His dark brown hair peeks out from beneath a tiny Wolves hat, his green eyes—definitely mine—wide with excitement.
“He’s a natural!” Richard calls from the sidelines, where both sets of grandparents have gathered for this momentous occasion.
“Just like his parents,” Patricia agrees, camera clicking constantly.
Chase glances my way, that familiar grin spreading across his face. “Come on, Em. Get out here and show him how it’s done. He needs to see his mama’s skills.”
My stomach lurches at the thought of getting on the ice. “I’m good watching from here.”
“Ma!” Ethan declares, pointing excitedly in my direction. “Ma! Ice!”
“See? He wants you out here too,” Chase says, skating closer. “One quick skate around?”
I swallow against a fresh wave of nausea. “You’re doing great with him, babe. He doesn’t need me stumbling around out there.”
His eyebrows raise slightly. Emma Mitchell turning down ice time is like the sun rising in the west—theoretically possible but highly suspicious.
“Stumbling around?” he repeats. “Since when do you stumble on ice?”
Before I can respond, the backyard gate opens, bringing the sound of familiar voices. Jackson enters with Maya, both laden with packages.
“Are we late?” Jackson asks, making a show of checking his watch. “Someone insisted we couldn’t arrive empty-handed.”
Maya rolls her eyes dramatically. “What he means is, someone spent three hours having these custom-made when the store-bought ones weren’t ‘special enough’ for his nephew.”
Jackson steps up to me and offers a small gift wrapped in paper. “For the future Wolves champion.”
I unwrap the gift carefully, though the motion makes my stomach lurch slightly. Inside lies a pair of tiny white leather skates—real ones, not the double-bladed beginner ones Ethan is currently wearing.
“Jack,” I breathe, running my fingers over the small boots. “These are beautiful. But he won’t be ready for single blades for at least another year.”
“Something to grow into,” he shrugs. “Had them made with extra ankle support. Kid’s going to need all the help he can get with Mitchell genes weighing him down.”
“I can hear you!” Chase calls from the ice, though his mock offense is belied by his genuine smile.
Jackson steps onto the ice carefully, crossing to where Chase still supports Ethan’s uncertain balance.
“Look what Uncle Jackson brought you, buddy.” Chase nods toward the skates. “For when you’re a big boy skater.”
Ethan reaches for the shiny white boots with acquisitive enthusiasm, nearly toppling over in the process. “Mine!”
“Soon,” Jackson promises, crouching to eye level. “But first you need to learn the basics.”
“Speaking of…” Chase turns back to me. “Come on, babe. Get on this ice with us.”
The suggestion makes my stomach flip dangerously. “I’m really okay watching—”
“Ma ice! Ma ice!” Ethan calls again, more insistently. “Ma come! Please!”
“You heard the boss,” Chase grins, holding out his hand. “Come on. Just for a few minutes.”
I can feel both mothers watching me now—Patricia with growing suspicion, and Mom with the kind of gentle concern that comes from knowing your child better than anyone.
“I don’t feel like skating today,” I say, the words coming out sharper than I intend.
Chase’s expression shifts from playful to concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
