Page 48 of Thrown for a Loop
The honesty startles me. “Right this way, then.”
We move a little closer to the journalists so they can hear what I’m saying. And while they watch us like we’re monkeys at the zoo, I explain my theory of rapid acceleration.
To my surprise, Chase listens closely to every word I say, then practices each new motion with as much dedication as his captain had.
Somehow the minutes tick down until most of our time is gone. “Look, before this is over, I need to see you at top speed. Down the ice and back.”
Something complicated flickers through his gaze. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Stay nice and straight down center ice.” I make an exaggerated arm movement, like those guys at the airport who tell airplanes where to park. “I’m interested in the symmetry of your gait.”Or lack thereof.
“Yes, Coach Carson,” he says flatly. But then he springs forward in a speedy takeoff, and I don’t have any time to be annoyed. I’m too busy watching the motion of a great athlete at work. There’s somuch natural power. It’s the stride of someone who figured out the physics of steel on frozen water before he was old enough to read.
And yet there’ssomethinga little off with the way he transitions from his right leg to his left. It’s not my imagination.
I make him do it three times, and when he’s finished, I put plenty of distance between the journalists and myself and wave him over for a private chat. “Do you have any joint pain in your hips or knees that’s not in your chart? Any injuries at all besides that shoulder you treated a year ago?”
He frowns. “You’re not the first one to ask. My hips have been a little stiff, especially on the right side. But it’s the kind of stiffness that goes away when I warm up.”
“Does it feel stiff right now?” I press.
He shakes his head.
“Do you remember when this stiffness began?”
“Um…” He crosses his arms. “Just as the regular season got underway. Maybe six weeks ago?”
“And did you take any big hits around then?”
He snorts. “I take a big hit in every freaking game. Big hits are just… Wednesday.”
“Right, sorry. But tell me—how did your stridefeelto you just now, when you were sprinting?”
He rubs his jaw, and the gesture is so familiar that I want to cry. “Well… it’s janky. But it’s hard to say why.”
I knew it.“Now can you stand with your feet hip-width apart, skates parallel, shoulders down and back?”
Without asking why, he takes the stance I ask for.
“Great.” I clear my throat and sink into a crouch so I’m eye level with his pelvis. “Now, uh, lift your shirt a few inches so I can see your waist.”
His eyes narrow. But he lifts his shirt, and…Holy mother of God.It’s not the same view I got all those years ago. I’ve never seen a body that hard. It’s practically indecent.
“Zoe, if you’re trying to get me naked, this is a weird-ass way to do it,” he grumbles.
“I’m aware,” I say, squinting at the rippling geography of his midsection. And if I’m not mistaken, I can hear the cameras firing, too. I stand straight again, and he drops his shirt. “Do you ever see a chiropractor?”
“I have, but not recently. Why?”
“Well, I have this theory…” I brace myself for his skepticism. Because it’s going to sound a little bonkers.
He lifts his eyebrows, giving me an ocean-blue flash of wariness. “Well, don’t keep the sports news media in suspense,” he says, gesturing toward the onlookers, who are probably getting bored right about now.
“Okay, look—it’s possible that your pelvis is a little out of joint. There’s some asymmetry in your stride, and it might be due to an issue with…” I swallow. “Pelvic alignment.”
“Pelvic alignment, huh?” The corners of his mouth twitch. “Oh, baby.”
“Stop it,” I hiss. “I’m not kidding.”
