Page 31 of Check & Chase
He grins, not buying it for a second. “Sure, and I’m secretly Canadian royalty.”
“You’re ugly enough to be inbred.”
“Fuck you very much.” He taps his stick against the boards, his expression turning serious. “We’ll hold it down until you’re back. Just focus on healing up, yeah?”
I nod, swallowing the bitterness that rises in my throat. Donovan’s a good captain, but right now, his concern feels like pity, and I hate it.
“Any tips for Keller?” he asks, nodding toward my replacement.
“Tell him not to suck,” I reply, then relent at Donovan’s exasperated look. “Fine. Tell him to watch Anderson. Guy’s scary on the ice.”
“Will do.” Donovan gives me a nod before skating back to join the rest of the team.
I settle onto the bench, stretching my bad leg out in front of me. Even with the crutches, getting around is exhausting, and my arms and good leg are starting to feel the strain.
Movement beside me pulls me out of my head. Tyler West drops down onto the bench like he’s got nothing better to do, helmet in hand and that trademark smirk on his face.
“Mitchell,” he drawls, voice soaked in fake sympathy. “How’s the knee? Heard Emma’s taking real good care of you.”
The way he says her name makes my teeth clench. “Shouldn’t you be practicing? God knows you need it.”
He shrugs. “Coach ordered me to rest. Tight hamstring.”
Bullshit. He just doesn’t want to sweat through drills.
“Emma’s a talented therapist. Very hands-on.”
My grip tightens on the crutches resting against my knees. “Careful, West.”
“What? I’m speaking from experience. Three years of it, actually.” He leans in, lowering his voice. “Does she still make that little gasping sound when—”
I drop the crutches and lunge before I even register the pain. My hand fists the front of his practice jersey, dragging him forward.
“Finish that sentence,” I growl. “I fucking dare you.”
His eyes widen for a second—surprised, maybe—but then they narrow with satisfaction. He wanted this reaction.
“Mitchell!” Coach Barrett’s voice slices through the air. “Stand down! Now!”
I don’t let go immediately, holding West’s gaze.
Donovan’s suddenly there, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me back. “He’s not worth it, Chase. He’s just trying to get in your head.”
I shove West as I let go, the sudden motion sending another bolt of pain through my knee. I nearly go down before Donovan steadies me.
“West, get back to drills,” Coach snaps. “Mitchell, sit your ass down before you wreck that knee for good.”
West skates off without a backward glance, just as Donovan hands me my crutches with a tight frown. “What the hell was that about?”
I adjust them under my arms, jaw tight. “Nothing. West being West.”
“Well, save the murder for after the game. We need him on the ice tonight.”
“No promises.”
Coach gives me a warning look before returning to practice, and I sink back onto the bench, my knee throbbing. Emma would kill me if she knew I’d just put weight on it. Especially during a confrontation with her ex. One more thing to add to the list of shit I’m not telling my physical therapist.
As the players file off the ice toward the locker room after practice, a flash of blonde hair in the stands catches my eye. At first, I think it might be Emma, and my heart does a stupid little leap before I realize it’s Carina.
