Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
T rinity
I stood in the therapy room, my hands shaking as I stared at Chase's file. The words on the page blurred together, but one phrase stood out in stark clarity: Cleared for full contact practice.
My heart raced, a mix of pride and something that felt dangerously close to loss. I'd worked so hard to get Chase to this point, pushed him when he wanted to give up, believed in him when he couldn't believe in himself. And now...
The door swung open, and Chase strode in, his face set in hard lines I hadn't seen since our first few sessions together. Gone was the warmth, the easy smile that had become so familiar. In its place was a mask of cool professionalism that made my stomach churn.
"Chase," I said, hating how breathless I sounded. "I was just looking at your file. Congratulations on being cleared for?—"
"Thanks," he cut me off, his voice clipped. "Let's just get this over with, alright? I've got a team meeting in an hour."
I blinked, taken aback by his brusque tone. "Of course. Um, why don't you hop up on the table and we'll do a final assessment?"
Chase complied silently, his jaw clenched tight as I began my examination. As my hands moved over his knee, I couldn't help but remember the last time we'd been this close. The almost-kiss that his agent's call had interrupted. Had that really been just a few days ago?
"Range of motion looks good," I murmured, more to fill the uncomfortable silence than anything else. "Any pain or stiffness?"
"Nope," Chase replied, popping the 'p' with an air of impatience. "Look, Trinity, is this really necessary? The team doctors have already cleared me."
I stepped back, stung by his dismissive tone. "I just want to make sure you're fully prepared for the increased intensity of practice. We've worked so hard to get you here, Chase. I don't want to see you?—"
"You've done your job," he interrupted, sliding off the table. "I'm good to go. Thanks for everything, but I think we're done here."
My chest tightened, a lump forming in my throat. "Chase, what's going on? Did I do something wrong?"
For a moment, I saw a flicker of the Chase I knew as vulnerable, conflicted. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, replaced by that cold mask.
"Nothing's going on," he said, his voice flat. "I'm cleared to play, which means our professional relationship is over. Simple as that."
I shook my head, anger and hurt, warring for dominance. "Bullshit. This isn't like you, Chase. Talk to me. Whatever's going on, we can figure it out together."
Chase's eyes flashed with a hint of the fire I'd grown to love. "There is no we , Trinity. There can't be. You're my physical therapist, I'm your patient. That's all this ever was, all it ever could be. "
His words hit me like a physical blow, and I stumbled back, catching myself against the treatment table. "You don't mean that," I whispered, hating the tremor in my voice.
For a split second, Chase's mask slipped, and I saw the pain etched in every line of his face. But then he straightened, squaring his shoulders like he was preparing for a hit on the ice.
"I do mean it," he said, his voice low and final. "We both knew this was temporary. You've got your career to think about, and I've got mine. It's better this way."
Before I could respond, he was gone with the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that echoed in the sudden silence of the room.
I stood there, frozen, for what felt like hours. My mind raced, replaying every moment, every touch, every shared laugh. Had I imagined it all? The connection between us, the way his eyes softened when he looked at me, the electricity that crackled in the air whenever we were close?
A knock at the door startled me out of my daze. I hastily wiped at my eyes, praying I didn't look as wrecked as I felt.
"Come in," I called, wincing at how shaky my voice sounded.
The door opened, and Dr. James Andrews aka Dr. Handsome, as the nurses had taken to calling him, stepped in, his brow furrowed in concern.
"Trinity? Are you alright?" he asked, taking in my disheveled appearance. "I saw Callahan storm out of here like the building was on fire."
I forced a smile, but it felt brittle on my face. "I'm fine. Just... a difficult session."
James stepped closer, his green eyes searching mine. "You don't look fine. Do you want to talk about it?"
For a moment, the temptation to spill everything, to let someone else carry the weight of this hurt for a little while, consumed me. To spill everything, to let someone else carry the weight of this hurt for a little while. But I couldn't. Not here, not now, and certainly not to a colleague.
"Thanks, but I'm okay," I said, straightening my shoulders. "Was there something you needed?"
James hesitated, then nodded. "Actually, yes. I was wondering if you'd given any more thought to my dinner invitation? I know a great little place that just opened up downtown. Totally casual, of course. Just two colleagues discussing work over a meal."
I stared at him, my mind whirling. James was everything I should want with a handsome, successful, uncomplicated man. There were no ethical dilemmas, no career-threatening consequences to consider. And yet...
"I... I don't know," I stammered, buying myself time. "Things have been pretty hectic lately."
James smiled, that dazzling grin that had half the clinic swooning. "No pressure. The offer stands whenever you're ready. But Trinity?"
I looked up, meeting his gaze. "Yes?"
"Whatever happened with Callahan... don't let it dim your light. You're too brilliant for that."
With a final encouraging smile, James left, closing the door softly behind him.
I sank into my chair, my head spinning. Chase's cold dismissal, James's warm invitation, was all too much. I needed to think, to breathe, to find some way to make sense of the emotional whiplash of the past hour.
By the time I made it home that night, I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. I trudged up the stairs to my apartment, each step feeling like it took monumental effort. As I fumbled with my keys, I couldn't shake the image of Chase's face in that fleeting moment when his mask had slipped, revealing a pain that mirrored my own.
I pushed open the door, dropping my bag and kicking off my shoes with a sigh of relief. The silence of my apartment, usually a welcome respite after a long day, now felt oppressive. I moved to the kitchen on autopilot, pulling out a bottle of wine I'd been saving for a special occasion.
"Well," I muttered to myself, pouring a generous glass, "this is special, alright. Spectacularly shitty."
I curled up on the couch, wine in hand, and let the events of the day wash over me. Chase's icy demeanor, the harsh words that felt so at odds with the man I'd grown to care for. Had I really misread things so badly? Had I let my own feelings cloud my judgment?
My phone buzzed, and for a wild moment, my heart leapt. But it wasn't Chase. It was a text from James.
Hope you're feeling better. The offer for dinner still stands. No pressure, just good food and good company if you need it.
I stared at the message, conflicted. James was nice. More than nice—he was kind, successful, and unquestionably interested in me. In another world, in another time, I might have jumped at the chance.
But all I could think about was Chase. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The determined set of his jaw when he pushed through a hard exercise. The softness in his voice when he thanked me for believing in him.
I set my phone down without replying, taking a long sip of wine. What was I supposed to do now? Chase had made it clear he wanted nothing more to do with me. Maybe I should take him at his word, move on, give James a chance.
But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't simple. The connection I'd felt with Chase wasn't something I could just switch off, no matter how much easier it would make things.
I closed my eyes, leaning back against the couch cushions. In my mind, I saw Chase as he'd been just a few days ago as smiling, open, looking at me like I was something precious. What changed? What could have made him pull away so suddenly, so completely?
The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. Chase wasn't the type to play games. If he'd lost interest, he would have said so. No, something else was going on. Something had spooked him, made him push me away.
My eyes snapped open as a realization hit me. The phone call from his agent. The sudden pressure to focus solely on his comeback. Chase's words echoed in my mind: You've got your career to think about, and I've got mine.
He was trying to protect me. To protect both of us.
A surge of determination cut through the haze of hurt and confusion. I set down my wine glass, reaching for my phone. I would not let Chase push me away, not without a fight. Not when I knew, deep in my bones, that what we had was worth fighting for.
My thumb hovered over Chase's name in my contacts. What would I even say? How could I make him see we could figure this out together, that we didn't have to choose between our careers and our feelings?
Just as I was about to hit call , another text from James came through.
No pressure, but I've got reservations at Bella Notte for tomorrow night at 8. If you're free, I'd love to take your mind off things for a while. If not, no worries. Just know that you've got people in your corner, Trinity.
I stared at the message, my resolve wavering. James was offering a simple solution. A chance to forget about Chase, to focus on my career, to avoid the complicated mess of feelings I'd gotten myself into.
It would be so easy to say yes. To let Chase go, to embrace the uncomplicated potential of a relationship with James. No ethical dilemmas, no risk to my professional reputation. Just dinner with a handsome, successful man who was clearly interested in me .
But as I looked at James's text, all I could think about was Chase. My heart raced when he smiled at me. The electricity that sparked between us with every touch. The depth of understanding we'd built over months of working together, pushing each other to be better.
I set my phone down with my decision made. I couldn't give up on Chase, not without at least trying to understand what had happened. Not when I knew, with a certainty that surprised even me, that what we had was worth fighting for.
Tomorrow, I decided. Tomorrow, I'll confront Chase. I'd make him talk to me, make him explain why he was pushing me away. And if he still insisted on ending things... well, at least I'd know I'd tried.
I picked up my phone again, this time to text James.
Thanks for the invitation, James. I really appreciate it. But I've got some things I need to sort out first. Rain check?
His reply came almost immediately: Of course. Take all the time you need. I'll be here when you're ready.
I smiled softly, grateful for his understanding. Then, taking a deep breath, I pulled up Chase's contact information. My thumb hovered over the call button for a long moment before I switched to text instead.
We need to talk. Tomorrow, after your practice. Please, Chase. Give me a chance to understand.
I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then set my phone aside. Whatever happened tomorrow, at least I'd know I'd done everything I could.
As I got ready for bed that night, my mind raced with possibilities. What would I say to Chase? How could I make him see we were stronger together than apart? And what if... what if I was wrong? What if he really had decided I wasn't worth the risk?
I climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. As I drifted off to sleep, I replayed every moment with Chase, searching for clues, for reassurance that what we had was real.
My dreams that night were a jumbled mess of images with Chase smiling at me across the treatment room, James offering me a glass of wine, Chase turning his back on me and walking away. I woke up feeling more exhausted than when I'd gone to bed, my heart heavy with the weight of uncertainty.
As I got ready for work, I checked my phone obsessively, hoping for a response from Chase. But there was nothing. Just a cheerful good morning text from James and a reminder about a staff meeting later that day.
I went through the motions at the clinic, my mind a million miles away. Every time the door opened, my heart leapt, hoping it would be Chase. But he never came.
By the time my last appointment ended, I was a bundle of nerves. I knew Chase's practice would finish soon. It was now or never.
I gathered my courage and headed for the ice rink, my heart pounding with each step. As I approached, I could hear skates on ice, the thwack of sticks against pucks. I paused at the entrance, taking a deep breath to steady myself.
And then I saw him.
Chase was on the ice, his movements fluid and powerful as he weaved between his teammates. Even from a distance, I could see the intensity in his eyes, the fierce determination that had drawn me to him from the start.
For a moment, I hesitated. He looked so focused in his element. Who was I to disrupt that? To potentially jeopardize everything he'd worked so hard for?
But then he turned, his eyes scanning the stands, and for a split second, our gazes met. I saw the flash of recognition, the flicker of something that looked like longing before his expression hardened once more .
That was all I needed. I squared my shoulders and stepped into the rink, ready to fight for what we had. Ready to show Chase that some things were worth the risk.
As I made my way to the bench, I caught sight of James entering the rink from the other side. He waved, a questioning look on his face, but I just shook my head slightly. This wasn't the time for explanations or pleasantries.
I had a heart to mend and a stubborn hockey player to knock some sense into. And I was determined to succeed, no matter what it took.