Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
C hase
I slammed my fist against the wall, ignoring the dull ache that shot through my knuckles. The pain was nothing compared to the constant throbbing in my knee, a constant reminder of how quickly everything could fall apart.
"Fuck," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. The clock on the wall mocked me, its hands creeping closer to the time of my therapy appointment. An appointment I had zero intention of keeping.
I limped over to the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment, staring out at the city skyline. It was a view that used to fill me with pride. Now, it just felt like a gilded cage.
My mind drifted back to that night, the night everything changed. The roar of the crowd, the scrape of skates on ice, the familiar weight of the stick in my hands. We were down by one in the third period of Game 7. The Cup was so close I could taste it.
I saw the opening, a clear path to the net. I took it, my body moving on instinct, years of training kicking in. And then... chaos. A body slammed into me from the side, sending me spinning. My skate caught on the ice, and I heard it before I felt it with a sickening pop that echoed through my body.
The memory made me wince, phantom pain shooting through my leg. I shook my head, trying to clear the images. It didn't matter now. What mattered was getting back on the ice, proving to everyone with my team, the fans, and myself that I wasn't finished.
My phone buzzed, dragging me back to the present. A text from that overly perky therapist. Trinity.
Looking forward to our session today! Don't forget your water bottle! :)
I rolled my eyes. Who the hell used smiley faces in professional texts? The temptation to ignore it and blow off the appointment, like I had the last two, was strong. But something made me hesitate. Maybe it was the memory of Dr. Frost's stern warning, or maybe it was just the growing desperation I felt every time I tried to bend my knee.
"Fuck it," I muttered, grabbing my keys. I'd go, but I'd be damned if I was going to make it easy for her.
I arrived at the clinic twenty minutes later, my mood souring further with each step. The receptionist gave me a wary look as I limped past, not bothering to check in. I knew where I was going.
Trinity was waiting in the treatment room, that annoyingly bright smile plastered on her face. "Chase! I'm so glad you made it."
I grunted in response, dropping onto the table with as much grace as a sack of potatoes. "Let's just get this over with."
She nodded, seemingly unfazed by my attitude. "Alright, how about we start with some light stretching? I've got a new routine I think might help with your range of motion. "
I snorted. "Yeah, because stretching is really gonna get me back on the ice."
Trinity's smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. "Actually, proper stretching is crucial for preventing further injury and improving flexibility. But if you'd rather, we could try something a bit more challenging."
That caught my attention. "Challenging how?"
She walked over to a cabinet, pulling out what looked like a balance board. "How about we test that famous Callahan coordination?"
I narrowed my eyes. "You trying to make me look stupid?"
Trinity laughed, and the sound caught me off guard. It wasn't mocking or condescending. It was warm. "Trust me, Chase, you don't need my help for that. This is about retraining your muscles and improving your stability."
Against my better judgment, I found myself intrigued. "Fine. But if I fall on my ass, I'm blaming you."
"Deal," she said, her eyes twinkling with something that looked suspiciously like triumph.
The next hour was a blur of sweat and frustration. Trinity pushed me harder than I expected, constantly adjusting the exercises to keep me on my toes, literally, sometimes. By the end, my leg was screaming, but there was also a familiar burn in my muscles that I hadn't felt in months.
"Not bad," Trinity said as I toweled off. "You've got more strength in that knee than you give yourself credit for."
I grunted, not willing to admit that she might be right. "Whatever. We done here?"
She nodded, making some notes in my file. "For today. But I want to see you back here on Friday. We can build on what we did today."
I opened my mouth to argue, but my phone chose that moment to buzz. I glanced at the screen and swore under my breath. My agent.
"I gotta take this," I muttered, already heading for the door.
Trinity called after me, "Don't forget to ice that knee tonight!"
I waved her off, answering the phone as I stepped into the hallway. "Yeah, what?"
"Chase, my man!" My agent's voice was too loud, too cheerful. It set my teeth on edge. "How's the rehab going? You back on skates yet?"
I leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling exhausted. "Not yet. It's... it's taking longer than we thought."
There was a pause, and I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. "Look, Chase, I don't want to pressure you, but the team's getting antsy. They're starting to talk about bringing up some kid from the minors to fill your spot."
My stomach dropped. "They can't do that. I just need a little more time."
"Time isn't something we have a lot of, buddy. The season starts in six weeks. If you're not ready by then..." He trailed off, leaving the threat unspoken.
I closed my eyes, fighting back a wave of panic. "I'll be ready. Just keep them off my back, alright?"
"I'll do what I can. But you gotta give me something to work with here, Chase. I need timelines, progress reports. Something to show them you're serious about coming back."
"Yeah, yeah. I got it. I'll send you an update by the end of the week."
We said our goodbyes, but I barely heard them. My mind was racing, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. Six weeks. It might as well have been six days.
I pushed off the wall, intending to head straight for the exit, but something made me pause. Through the half-open door of the treatment room, I could see Trinity, her head bent over my file as she scribbled notes. For a moment, I considered going back in, asking her if she really thought I could be ready in time.
But pride won out. I turned away, limping towards the elevator. I'd figure this out on my own. I had to. Because the alternative... well, that wasn't something I was ready to face.
As the elevator doors closed, I saw my reflection in the polished metal. I barely recognized the man staring back at me. Tired eyes, stubble that was edging towards unkempt, a scowl that seemed permanently etched on my face.
"Get it together, Callahan," I muttered to myself. "You're not done yet."
But as the elevator descended, I couldn't shake the nagging doubt that had taken root in my gut. What if I was? What if this was it, the beginning of the end?
I shook my head, pushing the thought away. No. I couldn't think like that. I was Chase fucking Callahan. I'd fought my way up from nothing, proved everyone who'd ever doubted me wrong. This was just another obstacle to overcome.
As I stepped out into the late afternoon sun, I made a decision. I'd go home, ice my knee like Trinity had said, and then I'd hit the gym. Maybe I couldn't skate yet, but I could work on my upper body strength, my core. Anything to feel like I was making progress.
My phone buzzed again as I reached my car. Another text from Trinity.
"Great work today, Chase. Remember, recovery isn't just physical. Mental preparation is key. See you Friday!"
I stared at the message for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the delete button. But something stopped me. Instead, I saved her number to my contacts .
Just in case, I told myself. It meant nothing.
As I drove home, the city blurring past my windows, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted today. It wasn't a big change, nothing earth-shattering. But for the first time in months, I felt a tiny spark of something that felt dangerously like hope.
I pulled into the underground parking of my building, wincing as I climbed out of the car. The session with Trinity had taken more out of me than I wanted to admit. Maybe hitting the gym tonight wasn't such a good idea after all.
The elevator ride up to my apartment felt longer than usual, each ding of a passing floor grating on my nerves. When I finally stumbled through my front door, I made a beeline for the freezer, grabbing an ice pack and collapsing onto my couch.
As I pressed the ice to my throbbing knee, I let my gaze wander around the room. Everywhere I looked, there were reminders of my life before the injury. Trophies glinted on shelves, framed jerseys hung on the walls, and a stack of fan mail sat unopened on the coffee table.
My eyes landed on a photo on the mantle. It was from last season's All-Star game. There I was, grinning like an idiot, surrounded by the best players in the league. I remembered feeling invincible that night, like nothing could ever touch me.
"What a fucking joke," I muttered, turning away from the photo.
My phone buzzed again, and I groaned. If it was my agent again, I swear to God...
But it wasn't. It was a number I didn't recognize.
Hey Chase, it's Dr. Ramirez. Heard you finally made it to a session with Trinity. She's good, isn't she? Give her a chance. She might surprise you.
I stared at the message, a mix of emotions churning in my gut. Annoyance that Trinity had apparently been talking about me. Embarrassment that my reputation for being difficult had clearly spread. But also, a grudging respect. Few people would take on a case like mine, knowing my history.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I fired off a reply.
She's alright. Don't go spreading that around though.
Dr. Ramirez's response came almost immediately. Your secret's safe with me. Keep at it, Chase. You've got this.
I tossed the phone aside, leaning back and closing my eyes. The cold from the ice pack was numbing my knee, providing a brief respite from the constant ache.
As I sat there, my mind drifted back to the therapy session. Trinity's patient explanations, the way she'd pushed me just enough without going too far. The flash of triumph in her eyes when I'd held my balance on that damn board.
For a moment, just a moment, I allowed myself to imagine a future where I was back on the ice. The roar of the crowd, the familiar weight of my gear, the rush of adrenaline as I lined up for a face-off.
But then reality came crashing back. Six weeks. The clock was ticking, and I was nowhere near ready.
I opened my eyes, staring up at the ceiling. "Come on, Callahan," I muttered to myself. "You've come back from worse than this."
But even, a part of me wondered if that was true. I'd had injuries before, sure. But nothing like this. Nothing that had kept me off the ice for so long, nothing that had made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.
My gaze drifted to the gym bag sitting by the door. I should get up, and should at least try to do something productive. But the couch seemed to suck me in, my body heavy with a fatigue that went beyond physical exhaustion.
Just five more minutes, I told myself. Five minutes, and then I'd get up. I'd ice my knee, do some stretches, maybe even try those exercises Trinity had shown me.
But as the minutes ticked by, I sank deeper into the couch, my eyes growing heavy. The last thing I saw before sleep claimed me was that damn All-Star photo, my younger self grinning back at me, blissfully unaware of what the future held.
In my dreams, I was back on the ice. But something was wrong. My skates felt too heavy, my stick unwieldy in my hands. I tried to call out to my teammates, but no sound came out. And there, at center ice, stood Trinity, clipboard in hand, shaking her head in disappointment.
I woke up with a start, my heart pounding. The room was dark, the only light coming from the city beyond my windows. My knee throbbed, the ice pack long since melted into a puddle on the floor.
As I struggled to sit up, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles, my phone lit up with a notification. Another text from Trinity.
Hope you're icing that knee! Don't forget, visualization exercises can be just as important as physical ones. Try picturing yourself back on the ice tonight. See you Friday!
I stared at the message, a mix of emotions swirling in my chest. Annoyance at her constant perkiness. Grudging appreciation for her dedication. And something else, something I wasn't quite ready to name.
With a groan, I hauled myself off the couch. My knee protested, but I ignored it, limping towards the bedroom. As I passed the mantle, I paused, looking at that All-Star photo one more time.
"Alright," I muttered to my younger self. "Let's see what you've got left in the tank."
I didn't know if I'd ever be that guy again, the one with the cocky grin and the world at his feet. But maybe I could be someone even better. Someone who knew what it meant to fall and get back up again.
As I crawled into bed, I did what Trinity had suggested. I closed my eyes and pictured the ice, the familiar chill in the air, the sound of skates cutting through fresh ice. And for the first time in months, the image didn't fill me with dread.