Page 22 of Check & Chase
“Your actual family checking in too?”
I shake my head. “Parents are traveling in Europe. Some river cruise thing. They’ll find out when they get back.”
“You’re not going to tell them?”
“And have my mother on the next flight back, fussing over me like I’m ten years old with a skinned knee? No thanks.”
Emma frowns. “She’d want to know.”
“Probably,” I concede. “But there’s nothing she can do, so why ruin their trip?”
A pause.
“What about your dad?”
My jaw clenches before I can stop it.
I keep my voice flat. “He’s not exactly the comforting type.”
She doesn’t push it, just turns onto my street—a quiet neighborhood of upscale homes on the outskirts of Pinewood, where most of the Bears players live.
“Nice place,” she comments as we pull into the driveway of my modern craftsman-style house.
“Thanks. Just moved in last month.” I don’t mention that the house feels too big, too empty when I’m the only one in it.
Emma helps me out of the car, her small frame surprisingly strong as she supports my weight. The crutches are awkward, and I haven’t quite mastered the balance yet, especially with the pain medication making me slightly fuzzy.
“Keys?” she asks when we reach the front door.
I fish them from my pocket, our fingers brushing as I hand them over. The brief contact sends a spark through me.
If Emma feels it too, she doesn’t show it, just unlocks the door and helps me inside.
My living room is spacious but sparsely furnished. There’s a massive TV, a comfortable sectional sofa, a coffee table, and not much else besides from some hockey memorabilia lining the walls.
“Typical bachelor pad,” Emma observes, guiding me to the couch.
“I prefer ‘minimalist aesthetic,’” I counter, sinking onto the cushions. The journey from car to couch has left me exhausted and sweating, my knee throbbing despite the medication.
She notices. “Pain scale, one to ten?”
“Four,” I lie.
“Try again, honestly this time.”
I meet her steady gaze and relent. “Seven. Maybe eight.”
She nods, satisfied with my answer. “Where are your pillows? You need to elevate that knee.”
“Bedroom. Down the hall, first door on the right.”
While she goes to some, I stretch out on the couch, feeling the full weight of today’s events crash down on me. The season I’d been preparing for all summer, now in jeopardy because of one bad cut during a routine practice.
She returns with two pillows and an ice pack she must have found in my freezer. “Lift your leg,” she instructs, arranging the pillows beneath my knee when I comply.
The elevation helps immediately, some of the throbbing subsiding. Emma wraps the ice pack around my knee like she’s done it a hundred times.
“Better?” she asks.
