I moved across the kitchen to turn the oven on. “How was practice today?”
“Good. Hard. Tomorrow we’re in New York. Things are ramping up. Games are getting intense, especially teams still trying to make the playoffs.”
“You’re solid though.”
“Yeah, we are.”
“So what’s happening with your appointment at the Mayo Clinic? How long is it going to take to get in there?”
“Oh. Uh. I already went.”
“What?” I whirled around to face him. “When?”
“Last week. Wednesday.”
I stared at him, a little disoriented. How could this be? “You didn’t say anything.”
He shrugged. “It’s been crazy lately.”
I blinked. He’d had plenty of opportunities to tell me. Why hadn’t he? A sudden coldness gripped my core. Was it…bad? My mouth went dry, and I croaked, “What happened? Do you need more tests?” I lifted a hand to my mouth, pressing my fingertips to my lips as I waited for his answer.
“Nope.” He plucked a cherry tomato from the salad, popped it into his mouth, and chewed it, shaking his head. “He diagnosed me in the office.”
“What is it?” I clasped my hands, taking a couple of steps toward him, my eyes wide.
“He did a test, just pushed on a certain spot on my wrist and from that he could tell what the problem is. It’s a split ligament.”
I lowered my chin and waved a hand for him to continue.
“Usually when a ligament ruptures it detaches from the bone. But in this case, it’s still attached at both ends, it’s just split down the middle. He showed me pictures. That’s why they couldn’t see it on the MRI.”
I listened intently, my gaze fastened on his face. “So that’s good. Right?” My heart pitched unevenly.
“Yeah, I guess it’s good. At least we know what’s wrong now.”
“And they can fix it.”
“Yeah. Arthroscopic surgery. Ninety-five percent success rate. I guess that’s pretty high.”
Relief flooded through me, making my fingers and toes tingle and my knees go soft. “Oh thank God. I was so afraid you didn’t tell me because it was bad news. Those are excellent odds. And you’re young and fit. It will be perfect. So when do you have the surgery?”
“I don’t know.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I think I’ll wait until the season’s over. Then use the summer to recover.”
I sucked my bottom lip briefly between my teeth, thinking about what he’d been going through. “But…”
“I want to play. I can’t be off now. We have a chance to go all the way this year, but with so many guys out with injuries, I can’t let the team down.”
He was going to keep playing? With an injured wrist? What if he damaged it even more? Jeez, every time he played it hurt. He knew damn well it was affecting his game, and he hated that. Why would he put it off? “Are you afraid of the surgery? I know you said before you didn’t like the idea of it.”
“Bah. I’m not afraid of the surgery.” He swallowed some wine. “It doesn’t sound bad. It’s arthroscopic surgery, so they’re not going to be slicing my arm open to stitch up the ligament.”
I studied him. He said he wasn’t afraid, but I knew him now. I saw the tendons standing out in his neck, the movement of his Adam’s apple. If he wasn’t afraid of the surgery, what was he afraid of?
I moved over to the small table in the dining room adjacent to the kitchen and sank onto a chair, still watching him. “You have to have the surgery, Chase.”
“I don’t have to do anything.”
The sharpness of his words made me flinch. “What are you saying? Why is this even a question? There’s something wrong; they can fix it. What if you do more damage to it when you’re playing? What if that meant they couldn’t fix it? Is it worth risking your entire career to win the Cup right now?”
“That’s not going to happen. I’ll be fine.”
“Aaargh! How can you say that? You think you’re invincible?” My heart was really rollicking now, my fingers shaking.
He scowled. “I’ll be fine. Jesus. At this point in the season, probably two thirds of the guys are playing hurt.”
“Playing hurt. Sure. I get that. But playing injured…that’s different.”
His jaw tightened. He knew the difference.
“There’ll be other chances to win the Cup,” I added.
“We don’t know that. The team’s been playing well this year but every year is different.”
“You’re young. You have a lot of years left to play hockey. You have to do it, and you have to do it now.”
“No. I don’t.”
I slowly moved my head from side to side. “I don’t understand this.”
“It’s not that complicated.”
My lips parted and my eyes tightened. “I…I wish you’d told me.”
He rubbed his chest, breaking eye contact. “I was going to.”
“Oh yeah? When?”
“Maybe later tonight. I don’t know. We’ve barely seen each other.”
“Yes, we have! You were here two nights this week.” I shook my head. “This is crazy, Chase. I can’t believe you’re putting yourself at risk. You need to have that surgery.”
“And what if I don’t?” He lifted his chin.
I scrunched up my face. “What do you mean, what if you don’t? I just told you…”
“If I don’t have it, you’ll be pissed…right?”
“Um…”
“Yeah. You will.” His jaw tightened. He looked away from me, his mouth a tense line. I waited for his next words. I could see he was angry and figuring out what to say. “Look, you’re going to California next week, right?”
I nodded slowly, confused.
“If everything’s fine and you can sing again, you’re going to stay there, aren’t you?”
I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. This was what I’d wanted to tell him tonight, all excited to share my plans, but now…this wasn’t going how I’d pictured. I swallowed, my throat aching, but not because of my vocal cords. “I don’t know. I—”
“Shouldn’t have done this.” He shoved a hand into his hair and looked past me. The moment stretched out, a two-ton silence descending on us. Then he shook his head.
My mouth fell open. “Shouldn’t have done what?”
“Shouldn’t have gotten involved. I should’ve known better. Fuck.” He closed his eyes briefly and pushed out a sharp exhalation.
“With me? You shouldn’t have gotten involved with me? What are you saying?” My voice rose, my stomach going rigid, my heart thudding.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.” He shook his head again. “I should go.”
“Wait!” I jumped to my feet without thinking. “What the hell, Chase?”
“Shhh. Don’t yell. You’ll hurt your throat.”
I curved my fingers over my throat, staring at him, one part of me touched that he was concerned about my throat even in the middle of a heated argument, another part of me terrified.
He lowered his voice too. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure out what I have to do. You go back to California and get back to doing what you want to do. I know it’s been hard for you.”
My face contorted and I opened my mouth…but nothing came out. A cold, hard fist was squeezing my throat.
Then he turned and walked out, through my living room. I jumped up to follow him, my hands twisting together, my mind spinning. He stopped in the foyer to grab his jacket out of the closet, then turned. Standing in my living room, I wrapped my arms around myself, shaking everywhere.
“Bye, Jordyn.”
No. Nooooo. This wasn’t happening. He was leaving. A hot knife stabbed into my heart, and I nearly dropped to the floor, my legs shaking so much.
I thought he felt the same about me. Obviously I was wrong.
As the door closed, my world fell apart…again. Only this time there would be no Chase to help me put it back together.
LOS ANGELES
APRIL
“These songs are amazing, Jordyn.”
My heart warmed at Aaron’s words of praise.
Aaron and Malik were at my house and had just listened to some of the songs I’d been working on the last few months. Once I’d gotten started, things had flowed. I had more than enough for another album.