Page 45 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)
She stands at the end of the player tunnel where it meets the bench, looking breathtaking in a blue dress that matches our team colors. Her blonde hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders. The sight of her here, supporting me, makes something warm and bright expand in my chest.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face.
“Wouldn’t miss your comeback for anything,” she replies, reaching into her purse with hands that tremble slightly. “I brought you something.”
She holds out a delicate silver chain with a small blue figure skate dangling from it. I take it, turning the tiny charm over in my gloved hand. The skate is incredibly detailed despite its size, with miniature laces and a silver blade.
“It was mine,” she explains, her cheeks flushing slightly. “My mom gave it to me when I won my first competition. She said it would bring me luck.” She pauses, vulnerability flickering across her face. “I know it’s silly, but…”
“It’s not silly,” I interrupt, understanding the magnitude of this gift. This isn’t just jewelry—it’s a piece of her history, her dreams, the part of herself she’s learning to reclaim. “Could you…?”
She nods, stepping closer. I bow my head slightly as she reaches up to fasten the clasp behind my neck, her fingers warm against my skin. The small charm settles against my chest, under my jersey, right over my heart.
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Around us, players are filing onto the ice for warm-ups, the familiar sounds of skates on concrete and sticks tapping echoing through the tunnel. I should join them, but I can’t seem to tear myself away from her.
“For luck,” she whispers, standing on her tiptoes to kiss me quickly .
“Now I’m definitely scoring tonight,” I murmur against her lips.
She laughs, green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Promises, promises.”
I join my teammates on the ice, feeling invincible. The familiar sensation of blades cutting through fresh ice sends endorphins flooding through my system. Coach runs us through our usual warm-up drills, and my knee responds beautifully—no pain, just the slightest stiffness that fades as I move.
The game unfolds like a fever dream. The first two periods fly by in a blur of saves and missed opportunities, the kind of tight hockey that makes every shift matter.
By the third period, we’re tied 2-2, and I still haven’t found the back of the net.
My legs are starting to feel heavy, muscles remembering the demands of game-speed hockey after months away.
The knee sends little warnings with each hard stop, reminders that I’m not quite back to full strength yet.
“How’s it feeling?” Coach asks as I come off for a line change, his eyes sharp with concern.
“Good,” I lie. It’s not good, but it’s not terrible either. Manageable. And I’d rather play through discomfort than sit on the bench for my comeback game.
“Two minutes. Then you’re up with Miller and Donny.”
My line gets the tap a few moments later, and I vault over the boards, instantly tracking the puck as it moves through the neutral zone.
The crowd noise fades to white static as my focus narrows to the game.
Donny battles for the puck along the boards, his smaller frame somehow winning against a defenseman fifty pounds heavier.
He feeds it to Miller, who carries it into the offensive zone with smooth, powerful strides.
I position myself near the net, fighting through traffic and stick checks, reading the play as it develops. The defenseman shoves me, trying to clear me out of his goalie’s sightline. I push back, holding my ground, Emma’s charm pressing against my chest like a talisman.
Miller shoots, the puck ricochets off the goalie’s pad, and suddenly it’s right there in front of me. I don’t think; I just react, muscle memory taking over as I redirect the puck with the precision that took years to develop.
The sound of the puck hitting the back of the net is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.
The arena erupts in a wall of sound that hits me like a physical force. My teammates crash into me, shouting congratulations, their joy infectious as we celebrate together. I’m laughing, relief and pure joy surging through me as we skate back to center ice for the face-off.
That’s when I spot Emma. She’s on her feet in the family section, jumping up and down with an expression of such pure happiness it takes my breath away. Without thinking, I point directly at her, tapping my chest where her necklace rests against my heart.
This one’s for you, the gesture says. Everything is for you.
We hold our lead through the final minutes, and when the buzzer sounds, I’m exhausted but elated. One goal, one assist, and a win. Not bad for a comeback.
Emma is waiting in the family area when I finally emerge from the locker room, showered and changed, talking with Miller’s wife about something that makes them both laugh. She turns when she hears me, and her smile is like the sun breaking through clouds after a storm.
“There’s my goal scorer,” she beams as I pull her into a hug, not caring who sees us.
“All thanks to my good luck charm,” I murmur into her hair.
She pulls back to look at me, suddenly serious, her PT instincts kicking in. “How’s the knee?”
“Sore,” I admit. There’s no point lying to her—she’d see through it anyway. “But the good kind of sore. Like I worked it hard, not like I damaged it.”
Relief flashes across her face like sunrise. “Good. You looked amazing out there.”
As we walk toward the parking garage, her hand warm in mine, I think about how much has changed in the past few months. The fake relationship that became real, the injury that brought us together, the way she’s slowly finding her way back to the ice while I found my way back to the game.
“I think maybe we should celebrate properly,” I say. “Dinner? Dancing?”
Emma laughs. “Dancing? On that knee? I don’t think so. How about takeout instead?”
“Even better,” I reply, squeezing her hand. “As long as you’re there, I don’t care what we do.”
And it’s true. The high of scoring, of winning, of being back on the ice—none of it compares to the feeling of having Emma by my side. The necklace around my neck isn’t my only good luck charm.
She is.
And I’m never letting her go.