Icing the Grump (Ice Hearts)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER

SIX

C hase

I glided across the ice, my blades cutting through the fresh surface with a satisfying hiss. The familiar chill of the rink nipped at my cheeks, but I barely noticed it. All I could focus on was the puck in front of me, the goal ahead, and the burning desire to prove I still had what it took.

"Looking good, Callahan!" Trinity's voice echoed from the sidelines, sending a jolt through my system that had nothing to do with the cold.

I turned, catching sight of her standing at the boards, clipboard in hand and a proud smile on her face. For a moment, I forgot about the puck, the goal, everything except the way her eyes lit up when she looked at me.

Shaking my head to clear it, I circled back, scooping up the puck with my stick. "You ain't seen nothing yet," I called back, unable to keep the grin off my face.

I set up for a shot, my muscles tensing as I wound up. This was it. The moment of truth. I'd been working towards this for months, pushing through the pain, the doubt, the fear. And now, with Trinity watching, I was determined to show her and to show everyone that Chase Callahan was back.

The puck left my stick with a satisfying thwack, sailing through the air in a perfect arc. Time seemed to slow as I watched it fly, my heart pounding in my chest. And then...

The red light flashed. Top shelf, where mama hides the cookies.

"Yes!" I yelled, pumping my fist in the air. The rush of adrenaline was intoxicating, bringing back memories of game-winning goals and roaring crowds.

Before I knew it, I was skating towards Trinity, my body moving on autopilot. She met me at the boards, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Chase, that was incredible!" she exclaimed, her professional demeanor slipping for a moment. "Your form was perfect, and the power behind that shot. I can't believe how far you've come."

I leaned against the boards, my face inches from hers. "Couldn't have done it without you, Trin," I said softly, my voice low and husky.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, the air between us crackling with tension. I could see the conflict in her eyes, the battle between professional distance and something more. Something that made my heart race and my palms sweat in a way that had nothing to do with physical exertion.

Trinity cleared her throat, taking a small step back. "We should, um, we should head back to the clinic. I want to check your knee after that workout."

I nodded, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment in my chest. "Whatever you say. You're the boss."

The drive back to the clinic was quiet, filled with a tension that seemed to grow with every passing mile. I kept stealing glances at Trinity, watching the way her hands gripped the steering wheel, the furrow of concentration between her brows. God, she was beautiful. And so far out of bounds it wasn't even funny.

Back in the treatment room, Trinity's hands were gentle but professional as she examined my knee. But I couldn't help but notice the slight tremor in her fingers, the way her breath caught when our eyes met.

"Well," she said, her voice a little too bright, "everything looks good. Your range of motion has improved significantly, and there's no sign of swelling. I think we can start ramping up your on-ice training."

I grinned, as a surge of hope covered me. "Yeah? You think I might be ready for contact drills soon?"

Trinity bit her lip, and I had to force myself not to stare. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We need to take this one step at a time, Chase. But yes, I think we're getting close."

Without thinking, I reached out, taking her hand in mine. "Trinity, I can't thank you enough. For everything. You've believed in me when I couldn't believe in myself."

She looked down at our joined hands, her cheeks flushing. "Chase, I..."

I don't know what possessed me at that moment. Maybe it was the high from my successful practice, or the way she was looking at me with those big brown eyes. But before I could talk myself out of it, I was leaning in, my free hand coming up to cup her cheek.

Trinity's eyes widened, but she didn't pull away. I could feel her breath on my lips, and could almost taste the mint of her toothpaste. Just a little closer...

The sharp ring of my phone shattered the moment. We sprang apart like guilty teenagers, Trinity busying herself with my file while I fumbled for my phone.

"Callahan," I barked into the receiver, my voice rougher than usual.

"Chase, my man!" My agent's voice boomed through the speaker. "I've got great news. The team's been asking about your progress. They're talking about you suiting up for a game in the next couple of weeks. How's that knee feeling?"

I blinked, trying to process his words. A game. In a couple of weeks. It was everything I'd been working towards, everything I'd dreamed of for months.

So why did I suddenly feel like I'd been punched in the gut?

"That's great, Steve," I managed, my eyes drifting to Trinity. She was studiously avoiding my gaze, but I could see the tension in her shoulders. "The knee's feeling good. Really good."

"Fantastic! Listen, I need you to focus, okay? No distractions. This is your shot at a comeback, Chase. We can't afford any slip-ups. I need you eating, sleeping, and breathing hockey. Got it?"

I swallowed hard, a cold weight settling in my stomach. "Yeah, got it. No distractions."

As I hung up, Trinity finally looked at me, her expression unreadable. "Good news?"

I nodded, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah, uh... the team's talking about me playing in a couple of weeks. Steve says I need to focus, you know? No distractions."

Something flickered in Trinity's eyes with disappointment? Relief? I couldn't tell. "That's wonderful, Chase. You've worked so hard for this. You should be proud."

"Yeah," I said, my voice hollow. "I guess I should be."

An awkward silence fell between us, heavy with all the things we couldn't say. I wanted to tell her she wasn't a distraction, that she was the reason I'd made it this far. That the thought of her smile motivated me more than any pep talk from my agent ever could.

But I didn't. Because I knew that if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop. And we both had too much to lose.

"I should go," I said finally, grabbing my bag. "Got a lot of training to do, you know? "

Trinity nodded, her professional mask firmly back in place. "Of course. Don't forget to ice your knee tonight, and I want you to double up on those stability exercises we talked about."

I paused at the door, looking back at her. She stood there, clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield, and I felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to cross the room and take her in my arms. To tell her that none of this with the comeback, the game, any of it mattered as much as she did.

Instead, I forced a smile. "Thanks, Trin. See you next session?"

"See you next session," she echoed, her voice soft.

As I walked out of the clinic, my phone buzzed with a text from Steve. Remember, Callahan. Eyes on the prize. No distractions.

I stared at the message, feeling like I was being torn in two. On one side was everything I'd worked for my entire life for my career, my comeback, my identity as a hockey player. On the other was Trinity, with her warm smile and gentle hands, who had somehow become more important to me than I ever thought possible.

I climbed into my car, my head spinning. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I caught sight of Trinity leaving the clinic, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. For a moment, I thought about turning around, about telling her everything I was feeling.

But Steve's words echoed in my head. No distractions.

With a heavy heart, I turned onto the main road, leaving Trinity and the clinic behind. I had a choice to make, and it felt like no matter what I decided, I was going to lose something precious.

As I drove home, my mind raced with possibilities. Should I listen to Steve and focus solely on my comeback? It was everything I'd been working towards, the reason I'd pushed myself so hard in rehab. But the thought of distancing myself from Trinity made my chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with physical pain.

And what about Trinity herself? The way she looked at me, the electricity that crackled between us whenever we were close. It was intoxicating. But she was my physical therapist. Any relationship beyond the professional could jeopardize her career, everything she'd worked for.

I pulled into my parking spot, my head pounding with the weight of my dilemma. As I made my way up to my apartment, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was standing at a crossroads. Whatever decision I made next would change everything.

I unlocked my door, tossing my keys onto the counter with a sigh. My phone buzzed again, and I pulled it out, half-expecting another lecture from Steve. Instead, it was a text from Mike.

Heard the good news, man! Team's buzzing about your return. Drinks to celebrate?

I stared at the message, my stomach churning. Celebration. Right. Because this was what I wanted, wasn't it? To get back on the ice, to prove to everyone - myself included - that I wasn't finished.

So why did it feel like I was about to lose something far more important?

I collapsed onto my couch, wincing as my knee twinged. Almost automatically, I reached for the ice pack Trinity had insisted I keep nearby. As I pressed it to my knee, I couldn't help but smile, remembering her stern instructions and the way her eyes had softened with concern.

God, I was in deep.

I closed my eyes, letting my head fall back against the couch. Images from the day flashed through my mind with the exhilaration of that perfect shot, the pride in Trinity's eyes, the way her breath had hitched when I leaned in close.

And then Steve's voice, cutting through it all. No distractions.

I groaned, running a hand over my face. What the hell was I supposed to do? Hockey had been my whole life for as long as I could remember. It was all I knew, all I'd ever wanted. The thought of giving it up, of not fighting for my comeback with everything I had, was almost physically painful.

But then I thought about Trinity. About her unwavering belief in me, even when I'd been at my lowest. About the way she challenged me, pushed me to be better not just as an athlete, but as a person. About the warmth that spread through my chest every time she smiled at me.

My phone buzzed again, this time with a text from Trinity. Great session today, Chase. Remember to ice and elevate. Proud of you.

I stared at the message, my heart racing. Simple words, completely professional. So why did they make me feel like I could take on the world?

As I sat there, ice pack slowly numbing my knee, I realized I had a choice to make. And whatever I decided, there was no going back.

I could do what Steve wanted and focus entirely on my comeback, push Trinity to the back of my mind, and throw myself into training with single-minded determination. It was the safe choice, the expected choice. The choice that the old Chase Callahan would have made without hesitation.

Or I could take a risk. I could tell Trinity how I felt, consequences be damned. I could see if this thing between us was as real and powerful as it felt. It would be complicated, messy, and potentially disastrous for both our careers. But it could also be the best thing that ever happened to me .

I picked up my phone, my thumb hovering over Trinity's name. One text, one call, and everything could change.

But as I sat there, poised on the edge of decision, a new thought struck me. What if there was a third option? What if I could find a way to have both my career and Trinity?

It wouldn't be easy. We'd have to be careful, professional in public while we figured out what this thing between us really was. I'd have to work twice as hard to prove that my feelings for her weren't affecting my recovery or my performance on the ice.

But if it meant I got to keep Trinity in my life, to explore this connection that had blindsided us both, well, maybe it was worth the risk.

I took a deep breath, my mind made up. Tomorrow, I'd talk to Trinity. We'd figure this out together, navigate these uncharted waters without sinking both our careers.

As I finally typed out a reply to Mike - Thanks, man. Rain check on those drinks? Got some things to sort out first . I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. For the first time in months, maybe years, I felt like I was deciding for myself, not for my career or my image or anyone else's expectations.