Page 87 of Check & Chase
My fingers move automatically—pull, tighten, loop, cross—while my mind races with anticipation and fear. What if my knee isn’t ready? What if I step onto the ice and it buckles?
I push the thoughts away, focusing on the rhythmic tightening of my laces.
Emma is speaking with the assistant coach when I enter the rink area, her hands moving emphatically as she explains the parameters of my test skate. The coach nods, glances my way, then returns to Emma with a frown.
He’s not ready.
I’ll show them both just how ready I am.
The rink is empty save for a single attendant resurfacing ice. Emma meets me at the boards, her face tinged with worry.
“Remember the rules. Gentle strokes, no crossovers, no quick stops. Just a smooth glide to test stability.”
“I remember.” I reach for her hand, squeezing it despite the coach’s curious gaze. “It’ll be fine.”
She doesn’t look convinced but steps aside, clipboard ready.
I take a deep breath, facing the expanse of ice. The first step is the hardest—transferring weight from solid ground to blade. My injured leg trembles slightly but holds. The second step is easier, muscle memory taking over.
And then I’m on the ice, gliding forward with cautious strokes, the familiar whisper of steel against frozen surface filling my ears. My body remembers this, craves it, even as my mind catalogs every sensation in my healing knee.
Tightness, but no pain. Pressure, but no instability.
I complete a slow lap, confidence building with each stroke. Glancing toward the boards, I catch Emma watching, her knuckles white around her clipboard.
As I complete a second lap, I notice her posture growing rigid, her gaze fixed on the ice with intensity that seems odd. She’s not anxious about my knee. She’s fighting her own demons, her PTSD triggering as she watches me skate.
Without hesitation, I glide toward her, stopping with a gentle snowplow.
“Hey,” I say softly, reaching across to touch her arm. “You okay?”
She startles, pulled from deep thoughts. “Fine. How’s the knee?”
“Knee’s good. You’re not.” I lower my voice. “You don’t have to stay if it’s too much.”
“I’m fine. It’s my job to monitor you.”
“Your job doesn’t require you to trigger your own trauma.”
“No.” The word comes out forcefully. “I need to do this. For both of us.”
The double meaning isn’t lost on me. She needs to face her fear just as I need to test my knee.
“Okay. But I’m cutting this short. Five minutes is enough for today.”
“Chase—”
“My knee feels good, but not great,” I lie, knowing she’ll insist I continue if I admit the truth. “Better to ease into it.”
Relief flickers across her features. She’s about to respond when movement near the entrance catches our attention.
Carina stands in the doorway, her expression thunderous as she spots us together.
“Shit,” I mutter, immediately moving toward the gate. The last thing Emma needs is a confrontation while she’s already struggling.
“Is that—?” Emma begins.
“Yup.” I step off the ice as Carina begins stalking toward us. “Let me handle this.”
