Page 41 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)
On day six, I wake to the sound of final preparations outside my window. The ice has been built carefully over the past twenty-four hours, layer by frozen layer. Brad and his team are installing the last components—safety padding along the boards, the small warming shelter at one end.
“We’re ahead of schedule,” Brad announces when I join them, pride evident in his voice. “The cold snap helped the ice set perfectly. You’ll be ready for skating by this afternoon.”
By early afternoon, they’re gone, leaving me alone with the ice waiting in my backyard. I stand at the edge, leaning on my crutch, imagining Emma here, nervous at first, then gradually reclaiming the grace and confidence that must have defined her skating before the accident.
My phone vibrates with a text, Mr. Richards confirming my PT appointment has been moved to tomorrow. I send a quick acknowledgment, then make a decision.
It’s time.
I pull up Emma’s contact and type a message, keeping it simple, non-pressuring.
Me: I have something to show you at my place when you’re free. No rush.
I stare at the screen for several minutes after sending it, watching for the typing indicator. Nothing appears. She’s busy, I remind myself. Working. Being professional.
The rest of the day passes with excruciating slowness. I occupy myself with exercises, a conference call with my agent, and a failed attempt at reading a novel that can’t hold my attention.
Evening comes, the automatic lights activating around the rink, casting a warm glow over the ice.
Still no response from Emma.
I’m about to call it a night when my phone finally buzzes.
Donny: How you holding up ?
My heart leaps, then immediately crashes as I realize it’s not Emma, but Donovan checking in.
Me: Knee’s improving. Still on schedule. Richards is good but not as tough as Emma.
Donny: Heard about the PT switch. Rough break. Team’s gossip mill says you two had a falling out?
Me: No falling out. How’s the team handling news about West?
I’m halfway through explaining the latest developments when a different notification cuts through my focus, a text from Emma.
Emma: Sorry for the late reply. Got caught up with patients. Still ok to come over?
Relief floods through me so powerfully I have to take a moment before responding.
Me: Always ok. Door’s unlocked.
I send Donovan a quick “gotta go” text, then move through the house making last-minute preparations. Max watches from his perch on the bookshelf, tail twitching with interest.
When headlights finally sweep across the front of the house, my heart rate kicks up several notches. This is it. The moment of truth.
I force myself to stay put, to let Emma come to the door rather than greeting her like an eager puppy. My cat has no such restraint, jumping down to investigate when the front door opens.
“Hey, kitty,” I hear Emma’s voice, soft and affectionate. “Where’s your person? What’s this big surprise he’s so mysterious about?”
Taking a deep breath, I step into view, unable to suppress the smile that breaks across my face at the sight of her. The past few days shouldn’t feel like an eternity, but somehow they have.
“Hey.” I manage, striving for casual. “Thanks for coming.”
Emma looks tired, shadows beneath her eyes suggesting long hours and stress, but still beautiful in a way that catches in my chest. “Sorry it’s so late. Had a patient emergency right at closing time. ”
“No need to apologize.” I want to walk over to her, pull her into my arms and erase the strange distance that’s grown between us, but I hold back. “How’ve you been?”
“Busy,” she says, the same deflection from our brief encounter at the facility. Then she sighs, shoulders dropping slightly. “And I owe you an explanation about the PT transfer.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Emma.”
“Yes, I do.” She meets my eyes directly. “I should have discussed it with you before making the decision. It wasn’t fair to blindside you.”
“Peterson explained,” I tell her, wanting to ease her obvious discomfort. “I understand, Emma. Your career has to come first.”
She looks almost surprised by my lack of pushback. “You’re not upset?”
“Disappointed,” I admit honestly. “But not upset. Not with you. Never with you.”
Something softens in her expression, the professional mask slipping to reveal the Emma I’ve missed so desperately. “I’ve missed you,” she confesses quietly.
“Missed you too, Blondie.” I close the distance between us, unable to resist any longer. “More than I expected.”
Emma allows herself to be pulled into my arms, her body fitting against mine like it belongs there.
When we finally separate, I catch her hand in mine. “Ready for your surprise?”
She raises an eyebrow, wariness and curiosity mingling in her expression. “Should I be scared? Your idea of surprises tends toward the dramatic.”
“Maybe a little scared,” I admit, thinking of what waits in the backyard. “But the good kind of scared. The kind that leads to something better.”
She studies my face, searching for clues. “Lead the way, then.”
I tug gently on her hand, guiding her toward the back door, hoping with everything in me that what waits outside will be the bridge she needs. Not just back to skating, but to a future where neither of us has to choose between what we love and who we love.