Page 29 of Check & Chase
“Duke University, with a specialization in sports medicine and lower extremity injuries.” I adjust his form slightly. “I did my clinical rotations with several professional teams.”
“But not hockey teams?”
I hesitate. “No, not hockey.”
“Yet here you are, working for the Bears.”
“It was the only position available,” I explain. “And despite what my brother thinks, the Bears are a respected organization with excellent facilities.”
“Your brother really hates us, huh?”
I can’t help but smile. “He’s captain of your biggest rival. It’s practically in his job description.”
“Fair point.” Chase watches me adjust the resistance band. “How long has he been with the Wolves?”
“Eleven years. He was drafted right out of college.”
“And you followed him into sports medicine?”
“Actually, I was the athlete first,” I admit. “Figure skating. Jackson didn’t start hockey until after I was already competing.”
Chase’s eyes widen with interest. “Figure skating? That explains a lot.”
“Does it?”
“Your reaction to the ice yesterday. The panic attack after you helped me.” His gaze is too perceptive, too knowing. “Something happened to you on the ice, didn’t it?”
I focus on arranging the next exercise, avoiding his eyes. “We’re not here to discuss my past.”
“No, we’re here to fix my knee. But I think I deserve to know why my physical therapist has a panic attack at the mere thought of being on ice.”
“It doesn’t affect my ability to treat you.”
“It might affect my trust in your expertise.”
That stings. I look up sharply, meeting his gaze. “My personal history has nothing to do with my qualifications as a physical therapist.”
“Maybe not. But it has everything to do with why you ran onto the ice for me yesterday, despite being terrified, and then needed your friend to practically carry you off.”
“I did my job,” I say stiffly. “That’s all that matters.”
Chase studies me for a long moment, then nods. “For now.”
The implied threat that he’ll continue pushing for answers hangs between us as we complete the rest of the session.
By the end, Chase is showing signs of fatigue, his movements less precise, his jaw tight with suppressed pain. I notice, but don’t comment, silently adjusting the intensity of the last few exercises.
“That’s enough for today,” I declare after the final set. “You did well, especially for the first session post-injury.”
“Thanks.”
“Ice for twenty minutes, then rest with your leg elevated.” I pack up my equipment. “I’ll be back tomorrow at the same time. We’ll progress the exercises if your knee responds well overnight.”
“Looking forward to it,” he admits, and despite everything, I think he means it.
I help him position the ice pack around his knee, acutely aware of the way his breath catches when my fingers brush a sensitive area.
“This should be secure enough.” I step back, removing the gloves and dropping them in my bag. “Remember, no weight-bearing unless absolutely necessary, and use the crutches if you have to move around.”
