Page 39 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

Emma

Chapter Twenty-Three

T he drive to Calgary normally takes about four hours from Pinewood, but with the storm-affected roads, I estimate at least six. Chase doesn’t question the journey; he just settles in for the long haul.

“We should stop for gas soon,” he notes as we pass the first hour mark. “And maybe grab some food. It’s going to be a long drive.”

I nod, my focus still primarily on the road ahead. While the highways have been plowed, they remain slick and challenging, requiring my full attention. Chase keeps up a steady stream of conversation, clearly trying to distract me from spiraling thoughts.

“Tell me about where your mom lives,” he prompts when we stop at a gas station, him pumping while I run in for snacks and coffee.

“Small house on the outskirts of Calgary,” I explain as we merge back onto the highway. “Dad built it himself, which is why she refuses to sell it. She says she feels close to him there.”

Chase nods. “That’s why you didn’t want her to move closer to you or Jackson.”

“We’ve tried. After she retired from teaching last year, we thought maybe she’d consider it. But she’s stubborn. ”

“Wonder where you get that from,” Chase teases, earning a reluctant smile.

“I prefer to call it determination.”

Three hours in, we hit a particularly rough stretch of road, visibility dropping as wind kicks up loose snow. I grip the steering wheel tightly, reducing our speed to a crawl.

“You’re doing great,” he says quietly, noticing my tension. “We can pull over if you need a break.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, though my shoulders have begun to ache from the strain. “We need to keep going.”

He doesn’t push, just rests his hand on my thigh. The simple touch anchors me, reminding me I’m not alone.

By the time we reach the outskirts of Calgary, nearly five and a half hours have passed.

The storm has largely dissipated here; roads are clearer, though still showing evidence of significant snowfall.

I follow familiar routes to my mother’s neighborhood, tension gradually easing as we near our destination.

My mother’s house comes into view—a modest, single-story home with forest green shutters and a wide front porch currently dusted with snow. Jackson’s truck sits in the cleared driveway.

We park behind his truck, and I’m out of the car almost before the engine stops, hurrying up the salted walkway with Chase following at a slower pace, mindful of his injuries and the slippery surface.

The front door opens before I reach it, Jackson appearing with an exasperated expression. “Took you long enough,” he grumbles, though there’s relief in his eyes. “She’s been asking for you every hour.”

“Roads were a nightmare,” I reply. “How is she?”

“Milking it for all it’s worth,” he answers with an eye roll. “Ankle’s wrapped, nothing broken. Doc already came and went.”

I push past him into the warm house, the familiar scent of my mother’s cinnamon potpourri washing over me. “Mom?”

“In here, sweetheart!” Her voice calls from the living room, strong and cheerful, immediately easing some of my anxiety .

I find her on the couch, right ankle propped on pillows, looking perfectly fine save for the bandage. “Emma! You didn’t need to drive through a blizzard, darling.”

“It wasn’t a blizzard,” I say automatically, crossing to kiss her cheek. “Just some snow. What happened?”

“Slipped on those darn steps. Should have waited for Jackson to check the mail, but you know how impatient I get.” She pats the couch beside her. “Sit, sit. You look frazzled.”

“I thought…” I swallow hard, the fear that gripped me earlier trying to resurface. “When Jackson said you fell, I remembered Dad…”

“Oh, sweetheart. Nothing like that. Just your clumsy mother not watching her step.”

Tears press hot behind my eyes, relief making me lightheaded now that I can see she’s truly okay. “You need to be more careful.”

“I will,” she promises, squeezing my hand. “Now, is that your handsome hockey player I hear in the hallway?”

Sure enough, Chase’s voice mingles with Jackson’s, their tones surprisingly cordial given their history.

“Yes,” I confirm, wiping discreetly at my eyes. “Chase drove with me. He insisted, actually.”

“Good man,” my mother approves. “Bring him in! I want a proper introduction this time, not just that quick video chat.”

I go to the hallway, finding the two men engaged in what appears to be an amicable conversation about road conditions. “Mom wants to meet you,” I tell Chase. “Officially.”

His smile is instant, genuine. “Lead the way.”

I watch with a strange mixture of anxiety and pride as Chase enters the living room, presenting himself to my mother with the same charm he uses on everyone. But there’s an underlying sincerity that can’t be faked.

“Mrs. Anderson,” he greets, balancing on his good leg to lean down and offer his hand. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you properly.”

“Diane, please,” my mother insists, ignoring his hand to pull him down for a hug that clearly surprises him. “Anyone who drives for hours through a snowstorm to check on a woman with a twisted ankle is family as far as I’m concerned.”

Chase recovers quickly, returning the hug. “I’d have come even without the ankle. Emma speaks very highly of you.”

“Charmer,” my mother accuses with a wink. “Sit, sit, before that knee gives out.”

The next hour flies by, my mother getting Chase’s entire life story out of him. She’s good at this—spending half her life teaching means she knows how to get people talking.

He responds with good humor and surprising openness, detailing his childhood, his early hockey career, even the difficult dynamics with his father.

Jackson joins us eventually, bringing mugs of hot chocolate “fortified” with a splash of whiskey he keeps at Mom’s house.

The scene is surreal—my brother and Chase sitting across from each other without any hostility, my mother holding court from her injured position on the couch, me watching it all unfold like I’m dreaming.

“You’ll stay for dinner, of course,” my mother announces when the conversation hits a natural lull.

“We couldn’t impose…” I begin.

“Nonsense!” she interrupts. “You’re both probably hungry, plus I want time with both my children and this delightful young man who’s stolen my daughter’s heart.”

Heat floods my cheeks at the phrasing, but Chase just grins, clearly pleased by the description. “I’d be honored, Diane. Though I should warn you, I’m a terrible kitchen assistant.”

“That’s what Emma’s for,” my mother says with a wink. “She’s quite handy with a potato peeler.”

And just like that, I find myself in my childhood kitchen, preparing dinner with my family and Chase as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jackson mans the grill despite the snow, refusing to let a mere blizzard interfere with his cooking. Chase sits at the counter, unable to help much with his knee but offering commentary and company while I prep vegetables and my mother supervises from her perch on a high stool.

Dinner itself is a lively affair, conversation flowing easily despite the unusual combination of personalities.

Chase fits seamlessly into our family dynamic, matching Jackson’s dry humor, appreciating my mother’s stories, shooting me soft glances that make my heart stutter when he thinks no one’s looking.

“You’ll stay the night,” my mother declares as we finish dessert, apple crumble that Chase praises with such enthusiasm that my mother practically preens. “The guest rooms are all made up.”

Jackson’s eyebrows rise at the plural, but he says nothing. Chase defers to me with a look.

“Maybe we should head back,” I say, suddenly nervous about sleeping under my mother’s roof with the man who went down on me just this morning. “Chase has PT exercises to do, and…”

“Those can wait one night,” Chase interrupts smoothly. “If you’re comfortable staying, I am too.”

And that’s how I find myself preparing for bed in my childhood room, Chase settled in the guest room across the hall at my insistence despite his suggestive eyebrow waggling.

“Behave yourself,” I’d hissed as I showed him to his room. “My mother is twenty feet away.”

“I’m always a perfect gentleman, Emma,” he’d replied with exaggerated innocence, then ruined it by adding, “Though this morning might suggest otherwise.”

I’d shut his door in his laughing face, cheeks burning.

Now I sit on my old bed surrounded by remnants of my teenage self—skating trophies, framed medals, photos of competitions long past. It’s strange being here with Chase under the same roof, worlds colliding in ways I never anticipated.

A soft knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. My mother enters at my invitation, moving carefully with her bandaged ankle .

“You should be resting that,” I chide gently, making room for her on the bed.

“It’s fine,” she dismisses, settling beside me. “Wanted to check on you before I turn in. It’s been quite a day.”

“You gave us a scare,” I say. “Jackson too, with his cryptic messages.”

“Your brother has always had a flair for drama.” She pats my hand. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“No?”

“No.” She glances toward the door, ensuring it’s closed, then lowers her voice. “I wanted to talk about Chase.”

“What about him?”

“He loves you,” she declares simply, as if stating that the sky is blue. “It’s written all over his face.”

I swallow hard, uncertain how to respond. “I know… but it’s complicated.”

“Love usually is.” Her eyes grow distant, remembering. “Your father and I had our complications too. Different backgrounds, my parents’ disapproval. Didn’t matter in the end.”

“This is different,” I insist, though I’m not entirely sure how. “My job, his career.”

“Excuses,” my mother counters gently. “What I want to know is how you feel about him.”

The direct question catches me off guard. I open my mouth to deflect, then close it. If I can’t be honest with my mother, who can I be honest with?

“I love him,” I admit quietly, the words surprisingly easy to say. “I do love him, Mom. Really. And he loves me too, but it’s so complicated.”

She smiles. “The best things usually are.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?” The fear that’s been lurking beneath the surface finally emerges. “What if I give up everything—my professional reputation, the career I’ve built—and it falls apart?”

“And so what if it does?” she counters. “What if this is your only chance at the kind of relationship I had with your father? ”

The comparison steals my breath. My parents’ relationship has always been the gold standard in my mind—loving, supportive, built on mutual respect and genuine friendship.

“He looks at you as if you hung the moon, Emma,” my mother continues, her eyes misty. “Like every word you speak is fascinating, every gesture worthy of memorizing. I’ve only seen that kind of look once before in my life.”

“Dad,” I whisper.

She nods. “Your father looked at me exactly the same way, right up until the day he died.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “I’m scared, Mom.”

“Of course you are.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close like she did when I was small. “Love is terrifying. It’s also the bravest, most worthwhile thing you’ll ever do.”

We sit in silence for a moment, her words settling around me like the blanket of snow outside.

“Get some sleep,” she says finally, pressing a kiss to my forehead as she rises. “You drove a long way today, and things have a way of looking clearer in the morning.”

After she leaves, I lie awake staring at the ceiling, thinking about Chase’s whispered declaration in the darkness, about his easy integration into my family, about the way he drove with me through a snowstorm for hours without hesitation because I needed him.

“I’m going to marry you one day, Emma Anderson.”

The words settle in my mind as sleep pulls me under, leaving behind a kind of happiness I hadn’t felt in a long time.