Page 32 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

For me. She did it for me.

“Emma,” I whisper. “I heard you. In the ambulance. What you said.”

Color floods her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. You were unconscious.”

“I heard it.” I tighten my grip on her hand. “Did you mean it?”

The monitor beside my bed betrays my racing heart, the steady beep accelerating as I wait for her answer. Emma glances at it.

“Your heart rate…”

“ Fuck my heart rate. Did you mean it?”

She takes a deep breath. “Yes.”

One syllable. Three letters. It changes everything.

I try to sit up, needing to be closer to her, but pain explodes through my skull and Emma immediately pushes me back down.

“Don’t you dare. You have a severe concussion and facial fractures. Stay still.”

“Then you come here,” I growl, tugging on her hand. “Because I need to kiss you right now, and I can’t get up to do it.”

For a moment, she looks torn between medical responsibility and desire. Then, with a soft, defeated sound, she leans down, careful to avoid the IV and monitors, and brushes her lips against mine.

It’s the gentlest of kisses. Just the soft press of her mouth against mine, mindful of my injuries, yet containing more emotion than any kiss we’ve shared before.

Because it’s real. Not part of our charade, not driven by jealousy or pretense. Just Emma and me, finally acknowledging what’s been growing between us for weeks.

When she pulls back, her eyes are suspiciously bright. “I would’ve told you properly when you woke up. But then the doctors came in, and Donovan…”

“Tell me now,” I interrupt, needing to hear it while I’m fully conscious.

She hesitates, then cups my cheek gently, avoiding the stitches and swelling. “I love you, Chase Mitchell. And it terrifies me.”

Joy bursts in my chest, so powerful it momentarily drowns out the pain in my skull. “Why terrifying?”

“Because loving you complicates everything. My job, your career, our futures. Because Tyler hurt me once, and this could hurt so much worse.”

“I’m not him.”

“I know.” Her thumb strokes my uninjured cheek. “If you were, you wouldn’t have gone over those boards for my brother.”

“I would do it again.”

“Don’t you dare,” she whispers fiercely. “My heart can’t take it.”

I hold her gaze, needing her to understand. “If you love someone, you protect what matters to them. Jackson matters to you. So I protect him too.”

Tears spill over, tracking silently down her cheeks. “When did you get so wise?”

“Brain damage,” I quip, earning a watery laugh. “Does wonders for my intelligence.”

Emma sniffs, wiping her eyes. “This is incredibly unprofessional.”

“I think we left professional behind when I jumped over the boards to save your brother.” I tug her hand, urging her closer. “Come here.”

She hesitates. “Your injuries…”

“Will hurt whether you’re over there or right here with me. Might as well give me something nice to focus on besides the pain.”

With careful movements, Emma perches on the edge of the hospital bed, mindful of tubes and wires. It’s not exactly the romantic setting I’d have chosen for this moment, but having her close feels right.

“I love you too,” I say, the words easier to speak than I’d expected. “In case that wasn’t clear. Have for a while now.”

“Since when? ”

I consider the question seriously, tracing back through the weeks of our fake relationship, trying to pinpoint the moment pretense became reality.

“Remember that day you had a panic attack near the rink? When I found you against the wall, struggling to breathe?” I wait for her nod. “That was the first time I admitted it to myself. But I think it started the night you wore my jersey to the game.”

A small smile touches her lips. “That possessive, are you?”

“You have no idea.” I reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, ignoring the pull of the IV. “Seeing my name across your back did things to me, Blondie.”

The familiar nickname makes her smile widen, though exhaustion still shadows her eyes.

“How long have you been here?” I ask, suddenly aware of how disheveled she looks. “Have you slept at all?”

“I dozed. I wanted to be here when you woke up.”

“You need rest. A real bed, not that torture device they call a chair.”

“I’m fine.”

“Emma.” I fix her with the sternest look I can manage. “Go home. Shower. Sleep. Come back tomorrow to bust me out of this place.”

She looks torn, clearly reluctant to leave. “What if something happens while I’m gone?”

“Then the highly trained medical staff will handle it. I’m stable, just concussed and in pain. Nothing sleep won’t help.”

Emma hesitates, then sighs. “Fine. But I’m coming back first thing in the morning.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She stands, gathering her purse and jacket, and I’m struck by how natural this feels. Her caring for me, me caring for her in return.

“Emma,” I call as she reaches the door. She turns, eyebrow raised. “This changes things, you know. Us. The fake relationship.”

“I know.” Her expression turns serious. “We have a lot to figure out. My job, your recovery…”

“Another day,” I cut her off gently. “We’ll figure it out another day. For now, just knowing you love me back is enough.”

The smile that spreads across her face is worth every moment of pain, every setback to my career, every complication we’ll face.

“I do,” she says simply, certainty in her voice. “Against all logic and professional ethics.”

“The heart wants what it wants,” I quote drowsily, the pain medication finally starting to pull me under. “Even when the brain knows better.”

“Rest,” she instructs, slipping back into PT mode. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I’m already drifting as the door closes behind her, but despite the pain and uncertainty about my future in hockey, a sense of peace settles over me.

Emma loves me.

Not the hockey star or the charming facade I present to the world, but me, the real Chase Mitchell, flaws and all. And whatever comes next—recovery, rehabilitation, rebuilding my career—I’ll face it with her by my side.