Page 34 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

The medication makes him drowsy, and I find myself studying his face as he drifts toward sleep. Without the animation of consciousness, the full extent of his injuries becomes stark—the way the bruising extends down his neck, the careful way he holds his head to avoid aggravating the concussion.

“Now that they are gone, though. I have a question to ask you. Emma Anderson, will you be my very real, not-at-all-fake girlfriend? With all the complications and difficulties that entails?”

He says it lightly, but I hear the genuine question beneath. We’ve acknowledged our feelings, but not what comes next.

“Peterson called while you were being discharged,” I explain instead of answering directly. “He’s granted me leave to focus on your recovery. Said it was the only way to ‘maintain ethical boundaries’ now that our relationship is… what it is.”

Chase’s expression turns serious despite the medication clouding his thoughts. “I never wanted to jeopardize your career. ”

“Stop.” I press my fingers to his lips, feeling the warmth of his breath against my skin. “I made my choice the moment I ran onto that ice for you. I’m not backing out now.”

The relief that floods his face is immediately followed by a dopey smile that I suspect is partly the pain medication. “So that’s a yes to being my girlfriend?”

I roll my eyes, but can’t suppress my smile. “Yes, Chase. God help me. Now, lets get you to bed.”

Moving him to his bedroom becomes a careful choreography of supporting his weight while navigating the hallway’s narrow confines.

The room reflects Chase’s personality more than any other space in the house—team photos scattered across the dresser, books stacked haphazardly on the nightstand. It’s lived-in in a way the rest of the house isn’t, personal in a way that makes my presence here feel significant.

By the time we reach the bed, he’s pale and sweating from exertion, the simple journey from living room to bedroom having cost him more than either of us expected.

“This was a mistake,” I fret, easing him onto the mattress with movements learned from years of treating injured athletes. “I should have let you sleep on the couch.”

“Worth it.” He sinks into the pillows with a groan of relief. “Now I get to see you in my bed.”

I shake my head, fighting a smile as I help him out of his sweatpants and into more comfortable shorts. The sight of his muscular legs, one still bearing the signs of recent surgery, reminds me of how fragile human bodies can be despite their apparent strength.

I shower quickly in his en-suite bathroom, the space another window into his personality. Expensive products line the shelves, but everything is practical rather than ostentatious. The shower is large enough for two, a detail that makes me blush despite the innocent nature of my current visit.

When I emerge from the bathroom, he’s already asleep, his breathing deep and even .

Slipping under the covers beside him feels simultaneously natural and surreal. Even in sleep, Chase instinctively makes room for me, his body curving toward mine like we’ve done this a hundred times before.

Sleep claims me before I can dwell on what tomorrow will bring.

The nightmare comes with vivid intensity, dragging me back to the ice where blood spreads in a crimson halo around Chase’s motionless body. In the dream, I try to reach him, but can’t move, my feet frozen in place while the ice begins to crack beneath me.

“You did this,” Tyler says, materializing beside me. “You brought him here.”

The cracks widen. Chase’s body begins to sink, the ice swallowing him while I stand helpless, paralyzed by fear and guilt.

“Emma!”

I jolt awake with a gasp, heart pounding painfully against my ribs. The bedroom is dark, illuminated only by moonlight filtering through the blinds, casting everything in silver and shadow. Chase is propped on one elbow beside me, his face etched with concern.

“Hey,” he soothes softly, brushing hair from my damp forehead with gentle fingers. “You were having a nightmare.”

“You were…” I swallow, the dream still too vivid, too real. “The ice broke. I couldn’t reach you.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he gathers me against him, ignoring his own injuries to offer comfort. His chest is warm and solid beneath my cheek, his heartbeat steady and reassuring.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against my hair. “Let it out. ”

All the fear and tension I’ve been holding since watching him collapse pours out in heaving sobs against his chest. Chase holds me through it, his strong arms anchoring me to the present, to safety, to him.

“Sorry,” I hiccup when I can finally speak again. “I shouldn’t be falling apart on you. You’re the injured one.”

“Pretty sure there’s no rule about who gets to fall apart.” His thumb brushes away tears from my cheek with infinite tenderness.

We lie together after that, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on my back. The moonlight continues its slow journey across the ceiling while the world outside sleeps.

“Never thought I’d end up here,” I murmur, half to myself.

“In my bed?”

“In love with a hockey player. After Tyler, I swore I was done with your entire species.”

“We’re not all assholes, you know.”

“No, just most of you.”

His hand continues its stroking along my spine, the repetitive motion as soothing as a lullaby. “For what it’s worth, I never thought I’d end up with a physical therapist. Not after Amber.”

The name hangs between us, a reminder of his own past trauma, his own reasons for avoiding emotional entanglement.

“Guess we both broke our own rules.”

“Worth it,” he says, and I feel the words vibrate through his chest.

The blaring of a phone jolts me awake the next morning. Chase groans beside me. “Make it stop.”

I fumble through the covers, locating his phone half-buried under a pillow. Jackson’s name flashes on the screen, making me hesitate .

“It’s my brother,” I tell Chase, who cracks one eye open.

“Answer it. Might be important.”

I swipe to accept the call, putting it on speaker. “Jackson? It’s Emma.”

A brief pause. “Oh. Uh, hey, Em. Is Mitchell there?”

“Right here, Anderson,” Chase calls, voice rough with sleep. “What’s up?”

Another pause, longer this time. “Just checking how you’re doing, man. After… you know.”

“Still have all my brain cells, I think,” he replies. “Knee’s messed up again, though.”

“Yeah, about that.” Jackson clears his throat. “The team wanted me to tell you… we’re covering your medical expenses. All of them. And the Wolves organization is making a formal statement condemning West’s actions.”

“Whoa.” Chase struggles to sit up, wincing. “That’s… unexpected.”

“You took a hit meant for me,” Jackson says simply. “We protect our own.”

“I’m not one of yours, Anderson.”

“You’re dating my sister,” Jackson replies. “Close enough.”

I can’t help the warmth that spreads through me at the casual acceptance in my brother’s voice.

“Appreciate it,” he says, genuine gratitude in his tone. “Though the Bears’ insurance is pretty solid.”

“Still. It’s the principle.” Jackson pauses. “And Mitchell? What you did… that was freaking incredible. Stupid as hell, but incredible.”

A grin spreads across Chase’s battered face. “Does this mean we’re friends now, Anderson?”

“Don’t push it,” Jackson growls, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Just focus on healing that thick skull of yours. And take care of my sister.”

“Planning on it.”

“Good. Because if you hurt her… ”

“You’ll destroy me, I know.” His hand finds mine, squeezing gently. “Not going to happen.”

After the call ends, I stare at Chase in bewilderment. “Did my brother just give you his blessing?”

“Think so.” He looks equally stunned. “That might be the most surreal part of this whole situation.”

Before I can reply, the doorbell rings, followed by knocking that sounds suspiciously like Maya’s characteristic rapid-fire pattern. I slip from the bed, pulling on sweatpants I find draped over a chair.

She stands on the doorstep, armed with coffee and breakfast pastries, her presence bringing the outside world crashing back into our intimate bubble.

“You’re alive!” she exclaims, shoving the food into my arms to hug me. “I was starting to think you’d fallen into a sex coma or something.”

“Maya!” I glance nervously over my shoulder. “He has a concussion. There’s been no… that.”

“Uh-huh.” She follows me inside, kicking the door shut behind her. “And you’re wearing his clothes because…”

“Because I didn’t exactly pack an overnight bag before rushing to the hospital.” I set the food on the kitchen counter, gratefully accepting the coffee she offers. “How did you know I was here?”

“Where else would you be?” She hops onto a barstool, studying me. “You’ve been attached at the hip since he went full Prince Charming and saved your brother from certain doom.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Tell that to social media. You two are trending, by the way. ‘#HockeyLoveStory’ is the hashtag.”

I groan, dropping my head to the counter. “I hate everything.”

“But seriously, how is he? And how are you?”

“He’s better than expected, given the injuries. His parents came by yesterday. Dad’s a piece of work.”

“And you?” Her expression turns serious. “Because you look different, Em. Like, fundamentally changed. ”

The observation hits startlingly close to home.

“We said we love each other,” I blurt out. “In the hospital. And he meant it, Maya. And so did I.”

Her eyes widen, coffee cup freezing halfway to her mouth. “Holy shit.”

As we talk, Chase’s voice calls from the bedroom, and Maya waggles her eyebrows at me.

“Domestic bliss already. You’re so screwed, Em.”

And the thing is, she’s right. I am screwed, completely, utterly, hopelessly committed to this path we’re on. Because somewhere between fake dating and real love, Chase Mitchell became essential to me. As necessary as breathing, as fundamental as gravity.

“Yeah,” I agree softly. “I really am.”

And for once, the admission brings not panic but peace.