Page 73 of Check & Chase
“So what are you really afraid of? That he’ll hurt you like Tyler did? Or that he won’t, and then you’ll have to admit you were wrong about keeping your heart locked away?”
I hate how well she knows me. “Both. And neither. It’s all happening so fast.”
She wraps an arm around my shoulders, giving me a quick squeeze before grabbing her bag for work. “Just be careful, okay? Not because I don’t trust Chase, but because I know how hard it was for you to put yourself back together after Tyler.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“You better. Because that boy looks at you like you’re the Stanley Cup, the Olympic gold medal, and the last slice of pizza all rolled into one.”
With that parting shot, she leaves for her shift, leaving me alone with thoughts too jumbled to sort through before my first PT session of the day.
Which, of course, is with Chase.
“Thirty more seconds,” I instruct, watching Chase hold a wall sit. “Focus on keeping your weight evenly distributed.”
Sweat beads on his forehead, his jaw clenched as he fights to maintain the position. We’re three weeks into his recovery, and while he’s made remarkable progress, he’s still pushing harder than he should.
“Time,” I announce, and he straightens, exhaling heavily. “Good. Now, gentle stretching like I showed you.”
“Can we add weight to the leg extensions today?” he asks, toweling off his face.
I study him, noting the slight tremor in his left leg. “No. You’re still compensating with your right side more than you realize.”
“Come on, Blondie. I know my body. I can handle more.”
“And I know knee injuries. Stick to the protocol,Chase.”
Something flickers in his eyes—frustration, impatience—before he nods. “Fine. You’re the doctor.”
“Physical therapist.”
“Same thing. You both torture people and call it healing.”
Despite the tension between us, I smile. “If you think this is torture, wait until we get to balance exercises next week.”
He groans dramatically, but there’s a glint in his eye. This is our normal now. The professional boundaries, the charged awareness beneath. Since our kiss, we’ve been circling each other carefully, neither bringing it up but both acutely conscious of the shift.
“How’s the pain today? And don’t bullshit me.”
“Five out of ten. It was worse this morning. Stiff.”
I frown. “Did you ice it last night like you were meant to?”
His hesitation gives me the answer. “I got distracted.”
“Chase—”
“I know. Ice, elevation, compression. The holy trinity of knee recovery. I had some stuff to deal with when I got home. Lost track of time.”
I bite back the lecture forming on my tongue. “The protocol only works if you follow all of it. Not just the parts that are convenient.”
Our session continues with Chase pushing, me reining him in. By the time we finish, we’re both on edge.
“Same time Thursday?” he asks as he pulls his sweatshirt back on.
“Yes. And ice that knee tonight. Twice. Twenty minutes each time.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gives me a mock salute, then catches my hand as I turn to leave. “Emma. About last night—”
