Page 52 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

Chase

Chapter Thirty-Three

“ M itchell! What the hell was that?”

All because I can’t focus on anything except the Emma-shaped hole in my life.

“Sorry, Coach,” I mutter, not turning around. “Bad night.”

“Bad night? My grandmother could have played better, and she’s been dead for twenty years.”

A few nervous chuckles ripple through the room, quickly silenced by the coach’s glare.

“My office. Five minutes,” he says, turning away without waiting for a response.

Donovan slides next to me, keeping his voice low. “He’s right, you know. You were a mess out there. ”

“Thanks for the support,” I snap, yanking off my jersey with more force than necessary.

“It’s not about support. It’s about the team. We can’t carry you through the playoffs if your head isn’t in the game.”

He’s right, and I know it, which only makes me angrier. The sound of skate blades scraping against concrete echoes through the room as teammates file past, some offering sympathetic glances, others pointedly looking away.

“This is about Emma, isn’t it?” Donovan asks, his voice dropping lower.

The sound of her name jolts me like electricity. I’ve been avoiding saying it out loud, as if keeping it locked inside might somehow contain the pain.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should. Because whatever you’re doing instead sure as hell isn’t working.”

He walks away, leaving me to stew in my own misery. I shower quickly, the hot water doing nothing to chase away the cold that’s settled deep in my bones since she left. Nothing seems to warm me these days.

Coach is waiting when I knock on his office door, leaning back in his chair with an expression that’s more concerned than angry. The fluorescent light overhead casts harsh shadows across his weathered face, highlighting the lines earned from years of managing temperamental athletes.

“Sit,” he orders, gesturing toward the chair across from his desk.

I comply, bracing for the lecture about focus, about team commitment, about putting personal problems aside for the greater good.

Instead, he surprises me. “What’s going on with you, Chase?”

The question is so direct, so genuinely inquiring, that it catches me off guard. “Nothing. Just an off night.”

“Bullshit,” he responds mildly, shuffling through papers on his desk without looking up. “You’ve been playing like garbage since we got back from the road trip. Your timing is off, your decision-making’s slow, and tonight you looked like you’d rather be anywhere but on the ice.”

I have no response because he’s right on all counts. The game that once flowed through me like breathing now feels foreign, mechanical, empty.

“Is this about the Anderson girl?” he asks when I remain silent.

“Emma,” I correct before I can stop myself. “Her name is Emma.”

His expression softens almost imperceptibly. “Emma, then. You two having problems?”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “You could say that. We’re not together anymore.”

“Ah. And this was your decision or hers?”

“Mine,” I admit, the word like acid on my tongue. “I thought breaking things off would help her situation with the ethics commission. Protect her career.”

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “How’s that working out for you?”

“About as well as you’ve seen.”

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Look, Chase, I’ve been coaching a long time. I’ve seen a lot of players go through personal shit. The ones who come out the other side are the ones who face their problems head-on, not the ones who try to skate around them.”

“I’m trying. I just don’t know how to fix it. I hurt her badly.”

“Start by admitting you were wrong. Women tend to like that.”

I find myself smiling slightly despite everything. “That simple, huh?”

“Hell no. But it’s a start. And speaking of starts, you’re benched for the first period next game.”

The smile fades. “Coach—”

“It’s not negotiable. I need you to remember what it feels like to watch your team play without you. Maybe that’ll light a fire under your ass.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Chase?” he calls as I reach the door. “Fix what’s going on with you and Emma. Not just for the team, but for yourself. I haven’t seen you this miserable in a while. ”

I drive home on autopilot, muscle memory navigating familiar streets while my mind replays every conversation, every moment, every mistake that led to this emptiness. The house is dark when I arrive, shadow-filled and echoing in a way it never felt before Emma filled it with her presence.

I flick on the lights, illuminating the space that still holds pieces of her—a forgotten hair tie on the coffee table, a novel bookmarked on the kitchen counter, a hoodie she claimed as her own hanging by the door. Each item is a small torture, a reminder of what I threw away.

A few hours later, I’m staring at her contact info on my phone, thumb hovering over her name, when my doorbell rings. It’s past midnight. Through the security camera, I see Carina Reed standing on my doorstep.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.

I open the door without inviting her in, blocking the doorway.

“It’s midnight, Carina. What do you want?”

She smiles, a brittle expression that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hello to you too, Chase. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“No. Say what you came to say, then leave.”

Her smile falters, cracks appearing in her carefully constructed facade. “I heard about you and the physical therapist. Such a shame. Though I can’t say I’m surprised it didn’t work out.”

My jaw tightens, anger flaring hot and immediate. “If you came here to gloat, you’re wasting your time.”

“Actually,” she continues, stepping closer with the predatory grace of someone used to getting what she wants, “I came to offer comfort. We were good together once, Chase. We could be again.”

The suggestion is so absurd I almost laugh. “Are you serious? After everything you’ve done—filing a false complaint, trying to ruin Emma’s career—you think I’d want anything to do with you?”

She doesn’t even look ashamed. If anything, her chin lifts with defiance. “Everything I did was for us, Chase. To remove the obstacles keeping us apart. ”

“There is no ‘us.’ There never will be again. What we had was a mistake. A mistake I regretted long before I got with Emma.”

Her expression hardens. “You don’t mean that. You’re just upset about that little blonde. She’ll move on, and you’ll realize what you really want.”

“I know exactly what I want,” I declare, my voice low with absolute certainty. “And it’s not you. It never was.”

“You’re making a mistake,” she hisses.

“Goodbye, Carina. Don’t come here again.”

I shut the door on her protests, leaning against it as I listen to her heels clicking angrily down the front steps. Through the window, I watch her storm back to her car.

The encounter leaves me feeling oddly cleansed, as if I’ve finally cut away something parasitic that had been draining me for years. But as I move through my empty house, the momentary clarity fades, replaced by the crushing weight of Emma’s absence.

Max pads into the hallway, his soft meow breaking the silence. He looks up at me with wide, questioning eyes, tail curling around my leg in a gesture that somehow conveys both comfort and reproach.

“I know, buddy,” I murmur, crouching down to run a hand over his sleek black fur. “I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

Max meows again, quieter this time, and rests his head against my knee. Even my cat knows I’m a disaster without her.

The team breakfast the next morning is somber, the recent loss still fresh in everyone’s minds. I pick at my food while conversations flow around me, the familiar sounds of teammates discussing strategy and upcoming games feeling distant and unimportant .

I’m about to excuse myself when Tyler slips into the vacant chair next to me, his voice low and urgent.

“We need to talk.”

“If this is about last night’s game, I’ve already heard it from the coach.”

“It’s about Emma. I testified at her ethics hearing.”

That gets my attention. I set down my fork, giving him my full focus. “You what?”

“I testified about Carina’s plan, about how she manipulated Andrea into accessing the medical records. The commission cleared Emma of all charges.”

I stare at him, processing this information. Relief wars with regret—she’s been exonerated, but I wasn’t there to support her through it. “Why would you do that?”

“Because it was the right thing to do. And because I owed her that much.”

“Did you see her? How is she?”

Tyler gives me a look that sees right through my attempt at trying to fish for information. “She’s holding up, but she’s hurt, Chase. Really hurt. And I don’t just mean by the complaint.”

The implied accusation stings. “I know. I’m trying to fix it.”

“Try harder,” he urges bluntly. “Because she’s considering taking a job with the Wolves.”

“The Wolves?” The words hit like a physical blow. “Jackson’s team?”

“Head physical therapist position. Her brother set it up. They want her there for the playoffs.”

The playoffs, which start next week. The realization that she could be two hours away, building a new life without me, sends panic racing through my veins.

“I need to talk to her. Before she makes any decisions.”

Tyler catches my arm as I start to rise. “Be careful, man. She’s still raw about the breakup. If you push too hard, you might just drive her further away.”

“I have to try. I can’t just let her leave. ”

I make it halfway to the door before the coach’s voice stops me. “Chase! Where do you think you’re going? We have film review in five minutes.”

Reality crashes back in—my obligations to the team, the playoffs looming, my career hanging in the balance. The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders like a lead blanket.

“Personal emergency,” I call back, without slowing my pace.

But as I reach for my car keys, my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. A photo appears—Emma and Jackson, standing outside the Wolves’ facility, both smiling as they shake hands with a man I recognize as the Wolves’ head coach.

The caption simply says: “Too late. She’s already gone.”

Carina. It has to be Carina. One final twist of the knife.

I call Emma immediately, heart pounding as the phone rings once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. I try again with the same result, her recorded voice torturing me.

For a moment, I stand frozen in the parking lot, Chase Mitchell, star forward for the Bears, completely paralyzed by the fear of losing the one person who matters most.

My phone buzzes again.

Coach: Get your ass back in here NOW. Or don’t bother showing up for the game tomorrow night.

With leaden feet, I turn back toward the facility. But as I walk, something shifts inside me.

I’m hopelessly in love with Emma Anderson.

Not just the idea of her, but her. Stubborn, passionate, resilient Emma.

The woman who faced her greatest fear on the ice because she believed in us, who pushed me to be better than I thought possible.

The woman I hurt deeply in my misguided attempt to protect her.

And if I love her, truly love her, then I need to fight for her. Not by giving her space or making decisions for her “own good,” but by showing her exactly what she means to me.

Because some people are worth it. Worth the effort, the risk.

And Emma Anderson is at the top of that list.