Page 4 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)
A small, tight smile plays at her lips. “Life is full of surprises, Mr. Mitchell.”
Don’t I know it. Finding Emma again after a year of wondering what happened to her is definitely a surprise. One I intend to make the most of.
“Flex your knee, please,” she instructs, her clinical tone at odds with the slight catch in her breath when her fingers brush against my skin.
I obey, watching her face carefully. “You know, I tried to contact you. After the party.”
Her hands pause momentarily before continuing their assessment. “I’m aware.”
“You blocked my number.”
“This isn’t relevant to your treatment, Mr. Mitchell.”
“Chase,” I correct her. “If we’re going to be spending time together, you might as well use my first name.”
She straightens up. “What happened between us a year ago has no bearing on your treatment.”
“And if I disagree?”
She crosses her arms, fixing me with a stern look that, frankly, I find hot as hell. “Then you’re welcome to request another therapist. Though I should warn you, Peterson mentioned that I’m your last chance before they bench you.”
She’s got me there.
“Touché, Blondie.”
She winces at the nickname. “Don’t call me that here.”
“What should I call you then? Ms. Anderson seems so formal for someone who’s had their tongue in my mouth.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
I grin. “Doing what? ”
“Trying to rattle me. It won’t work.”
But it already is. The flush on her cheeks, the tension in her shoulders—she’s not nearly as unaffected as she wants me to believe.
“I’m just reminiscing about old times,” I reply innocently. “Good times, if I recall correctly. Though things did end rather abruptly.”
She turns away, making a show of reviewing her notes. “I need to do some range of motion tests. Please lie back on the table.”
I comply, enjoying the view as she moves around the treatment room gathering supplies.
“So, your brother plays for the Wolves. Anyone I would know?”
She hesitates, then sighs. “Jackson Anderson.”
I nearly choke. “Anderson? Your brother is Jackson Anderson? The captain of the Wolves? The guy who tried to take my head off when we last played them?”
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “That’s the one.”
“Christ.” I run a hand through my hair. “Does he know you’re working for the enemy now?”
“He’s not thrilled about it.”
“I bet.” Jackson Anderson is notorious for his hatred of the Bears. “That must make family dinners interesting.”
“You have no idea.” She places a hand on my knee, back to business. “I’m going to test your range of motion now. Tell me when you feel pain.”
I watch her face as she works, noting the concentration in her eyes, the slight furrow between her brows. There’s something captivating about seeing her in her element, confident and focused.
“So, why the Bears?” I ask as she manipulates my leg. “If your brother hates us so much, why come work here?”
She shrugs without looking up. “It was the only position available, and I needed a job.”
“And it has nothing to do with unfinished business?” I press .
That gets her attention. Her eyes snap to mine. “I told you, what happened at that party was a mistake. A one-time thing that won’t be repeated.”
“You keep saying that, but you haven’t explained why. We had chemistry, Emma. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it.”
Her hands still on my leg. “Chemistry doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m your physical therapist now, and anything beyond a professional relationship would be inappropriate and unethical.”
“Would be,” I repeat, noting her choice of words. “But it wasn’t when we met at the party.”
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Can we please focus on your knee?”
“My knee’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” she counters, pressing on a particularly tender spot that makes me wince. “Your MCL has a Grade 1 sprain, and you’ve been making it worse by continuing to play. If you don’t take this seriously, you could end up with a full tear and surgery.”
“Fine. How long?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
“One to three weeks off the ice.”
“Games,” I clarify. “How many games will I miss?”
She studies me for a moment. “If you follow my treatment plan exactly, and I mean exactly, you could be back on the ice for light skating in three weeks. But for games it would be five or six.”
Five or six weeks. A month and a half of the season. Impossible.
“Not happening,” I tell her flatly. “I’m playing Friday.”
“Then you’ll tear your MCL completely, require surgery, and miss the entire season instead of just part of it.” Her tone leaves no room for argument. “Your choice, Chase.”
The use of my first name catches me off guard. It’s the first time she’s said it since walking into the room, and despite the circumstances, I like how it sounds on her lips.
We stare at each other, locked in a battle of wills. Her green eyes are unwavering, challenging me to argue. And for the first time in my medical history, I find myself considering actually following a therapist’s orders.
Because she’s not just any therapist. She’s Emma. The woman who’s been lingering in the back of my mind for a year. The one who got away.
“Fine,” I concede, surprising us both. “Three weeks. But then I’m back on the ice.”
A smile, a real one this time, curves her lips. “We’ll see how your recovery progresses.”
I nod agreeably while thinking that I’ll be back on the ice in a week, maybe less. I’m just telling her what she wants to hear. No way am I sitting out for three weeks. But she doesn’t need to know that.
As she turns away to make notes in my chart, I find myself more intrigued than ever. Emma Anderson is a puzzle I can’t quite figure out. The passionate woman from the party and this composed professional seem like two different people.
I want to know which is the real her. Or if maybe, just maybe, both are.
One thing’s for certain though. These PT sessions just got a lot more interesting than I expected. And I intend to make the most of every minute.
Because while Emma might be determined to keep things strictly professional, I’ve never been very good at following the rules. Especially when it comes to something, or someone, I want.
And I definitely want Emma Anderson.