Page 55 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

Emma

Chapter Thirty-Six

H artford looks exactly like I expected—nice enough, but not home.

I’ve been here for three days, settling into the hotel that will be my temporary residence, going through orientation at the Wolves’ facility, meeting new colleagues and learning new systems. Three days of pretending to be excited about this fresh start while checking my phone constantly, Chase’s number hovering beneath my finger more times than I can count.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Jackson observes, breaking into my thoughts as we sit at a restaurant near the arena.

“What thing?” I ask, though I know exactly what he means.

“That vacant expression while you check your phone every thirty seconds. Waiting for a call that you could initiate yourself if you weren’t so stubborn.”

I set the phone down deliberately, face-down on the table. “I’m not waiting for anything.”

“Right. And I’m Sidney Crosby.”

“You wish,” I retort, falling back on sibling banter .

He grins, taking a swig of his beer. “Seriously, though. You’ve been here three days and I’ve yet to see you genuinely smile. Head physical therapist for an NHL team? That’s been your goal since grad school.”

“I am thrilled,” I insist, the lie sounding hollow.

“Bullshit. You’re miserable. And we both know why.”

I focus intently on my salad, pushing cherry tomatoes around instead of meeting his too-perceptive gaze. “I’m adjusting. It’s a big transition.”

“Emma,” he continues, his voice gentling. “Talk to me. Please.”

The genuine concern breaks something inside me. “What do you want me to say, Jackson? That I made a massive career decision while emotionally devastated? That I can’t stop thinking about Chase standing in that parking lot, asking me not to go?”

“For starters, yes.” He sets down his fork. “Because all of that is obviously true, and watching you pretend otherwise is painful.”

I close my eyes briefly, fighting tears that seem perpetually close to the surface. “It doesn’t matter what I’m feeling. I made a commitment to the Wolves. I signed a contract.”

“Contracts can be broken,” Jackson points out. “If you’re truly unhappy…”

“I’ve been here three days. No one knows if they’re truly happy with a job after three days.”

“This isn’t about the job, Emma. It’s about Chase.”

The sound of his name sends a physical pang through me. “He broke my heart. He made a decision about our relationship without even asking what I wanted.”

“Because he realizes he was wrong? Because he’s clearly miserable without you? Because you’re clearly miserable without him?”

I stare at my brother, momentarily speechless. “Since when are you Team Chase? You hated him from the moment you found out we were dating.”

“I didn’t hate him. I was suspicious of his intentions, given his reputation. But I’ve watched him put his career on the line for you multiple times now. Those aren’t the actions of someone who doesn’t care. ”

His support of Chase is so unexpected that I don’t know how to respond. Jackson has been my protective older brother for as long as I can remember, the one who warned me about hockey players.

“I called him, you know,” Jackson mentions when I stay silent.

“Why?”

Jackson shrugs. “Figured someone should let him know you were alive and breathing. He was going out of his mind.”

My stomach twists. “He could have just called me.”

“Would you have answered?”

I swallow. “This is so complicated.”

“Love usually is. Especially when it’s real.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he speaks before I can get a word out.

“You don’t have to admit it to me, Em. It’s written all over your face every time someone mentions his name. You light up and then shut down, as if you’re fighting against your own feelings.”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel. He ended things. I’m moving on.”

“But you don’t have to. You could fight for this if you wanted to.”

Do I want to fight for this? The question has been eating at me since I saw him in that parking lot, his hair messy from practice, those blue eyes desperate as he begged me not to leave.

“I need to focus on settling in here. On proving myself to the Wolves.”

“Fair enough. Just don’t use work as an excuse to avoid making a decision about what you really want, Em. Life’s too short for that.”

Back in my hotel room, I stand at the window overlooking the city lights, phone heavy in my hand. Chase’s last text, sent two days ago, remains unanswered.

Chase: I miss you, Em .

There’s something in the way he holds back, in the way he gives me space instead of chasing me down. The Chase I used to know wouldn’t have waited. He would’ve shown up, all swagger and stubbornness, demanding we talk right now.

But this quiet patience feels like growth.

My thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door, soft but insistent. Jackson, probably, having forgotten something.

I open the door without checking the peephole, a careless habit from living in Pinewood.

And there he stands.

Not Jackson.

Not room service.

Not any of the people who should logically be at my door at 9:47 p.m. in Hartford.

Chase fucking Mitchell.

He’s wearing gray sweats and a worn-out T-shirt, his eyes bloodshot from what might be exhaustion or crying or both.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper, shock rendering me incapable of normal volume.

“I couldn’t wait,” he explains simply. “I know I promised I would, but after the game tonight, all I could think was that life is short and uncertain, and Emma needs to know exactly how I feel, right now, in person.”

My heart pounds painfully—joy at seeing him, anger at him turning up, fear of what this might mean for both of us.

“Chase, you can’t just show up like this.”

“I know.” He runs a hand through his hair in a gesture so familiar it makes my chest ache. “I’m sorry for ambushing you. But please, Emma, five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Five minutes, and if you still want me to go, I will.”

I should say no. Should close the door, maintain the boundaries I’ve established, protect myself from the tidal pull of his presence .

But as I look at him, really look at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the weight he’s clearly lost, the vulnerability in his expression, I find I can’t turn him away.

“Five minutes,” I agree, stepping aside to let him enter.

He moves past me into the small hotel suite, his familiar scent—soap and faint cologne and something uniquely Chase—filling my senses and triggering a cascade of memories.

His body heat warming me on cold mornings.

His laugh vibrating through his chest as I lay against him.

His hands, gentle despite their strength, tracing patterns on my skin.

I close the door, leaning against it for support as I face him, keeping distance between us. “Your five minutes start now.”

“I had a whole speech prepared,” he says with a small, self-deprecating smile. “Practiced it the entire drive here. But now that I’m standing in front of you, none of it seems adequate.”

“Try anyway.”

He takes a deep breath. “I love you, Emma. Not the idea of you, not what you represent, but you. Stubborn, brilliant, compassionate you. I love who I am when I’m with you, who you challenge me to become.”

The words flow directly from his heart, unpolished but genuine.

“I made a terrible mistake. I thought I was protecting you by ending things, but all I did was hurt us both and demonstrate a fundamental lack of respect for you. There’s no excuse for that.

I can only tell you that I’ve learned from it, that I understand now why it was so wrong, and that I would never make that mistake again. ”

I can feel how much he means it. It’s thick in the air, pressing in around me, impossible to ignore. I fold my arms across my chest, as if that will somehow keep it all out.

“You broke my heart,” I whisper, the pain still fresh despite weeks of trying to bury it. “You decided what was best for me without even asking what I wanted.”

“I know. It was arrogant and controlling, the exact opposite of how someone treats a partner they truly respect. I have no defense except that I was terrified of being the reason your career was damaged. ”

He takes a hesitant step toward me, stopping when I stiffen.

“I’m not asking you to forget what I did, or to pretend it didn’t hurt you. I’m asking for a chance to prove that I’ve learned, that I can be the partner you deserve. One who stands beside you in challenges, not one who makes unilateral decisions ‘for your own good.’”

The raw honesty in his words chisels away at the walls I’ve built around my heart. But fear remains, insistent and protective.

“How do I know you wouldn’t do it again? The next time things get tough, the next time you think you’re protecting me, how do I know you wouldn’t push me away again?”

He considers my question carefully. “I can make promises, Emma, and I intend to keep them. But I know trust has to be earned through actions, not just words. All I can tell you is that losing you has been the most painful experience of my life. More than any injury, more than any professional setback. I’ve learned the hardest possible way that pushing you away is never the right choice. ”

His time is almost up, the five minutes nearly elapsed, but I find myself reluctant to end this conversation. Despite everything, part of me has missed him desperately.

“What about the distance? I’m here now, Chase. Working for a rival team, building a new life two hours away from Pinewood.”

“Distance is just geography. Two hours is nothing if it means being with you. I’d drive it every day off, every break between games. Whatever it takes.”

“And the rival team complication?”

“We’d keep our professional lives separate from our personal relationship. Just us, separate from our jobs.”

He’s thought this through, I realize.

“Your five minutes are up,” I point out, more to create breathing room than because I want him to leave.

Chase nods, making no move to close the distance between us. “I said what I came to say. The rest is up to you, Emma. No pressure, no deadline, no demands. ”

The ball is firmly in my court, his respectful restraint both a relief and a challenge.

“I need to think. This is a lot to process, Chase.”

“I understand. Take all the time you need. I’ll be at the Marriott downtown, room 842, until tomorrow afternoon when I have to get back for our next game. If you want to talk more, you can call or text. If not, I’ll respect that too.”

He moves toward the door, and I step aside to let him pass. But as he reaches for the handle, something breaks loose inside me—the rigid control I’ve maintained, the distance, the caution.

Because despite everything, my body remembers his. My heart remembers what it felt like to be loved by him.

“Chase,” I whisper.

He turns, hope and trepidation warring in his expression.

“I’m still angry,” I tell him, needing the truth between us. “About what you did, about how you pushed me away when I needed you most. That’s not going to disappear overnight.”

“I know.”

“But I’m also tired of missing you. Tired of pretending I don’t think about you every day, that moving to Hartford was only about career advancement and not also about running away from how much you’d hurt me.”

Something shifts in his stance, tension draining even as hope visibly rises. “What are you saying, Emma?”

“I’m saying I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I do know that shutting the door completely feels wrong. That running away hasn’t made me stop loving you. That maybe we deserve a chance to see if we can build something again.”

It’s not a declaration of forgiveness, not a promise of reconciliation, but it’s an opening. A crack in the wall I’ve built.

Chase takes a single step toward me, hesitant, as if approaching a wild animal that might bolt. “Can I hug you? Just that. Nothing more. ”

I nod, not trusting my voice, and then he’s there, his arms around me, solid and warm and achingly familiar.

I remain stiff for a moment, fighting the urge to collapse against him. But gradually, almost involuntarily, my arms come up to return the embrace, my head finds its natural place against his chest where I can hear the rapid beating of his heart.

When we finally pull apart, our eyes meet.

Before I can think better of it, I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him. His lips are exactly as I remember—soft and warm.

I feel wetness on my cheeks and realize I’m crying. When I pull back slightly, I see tears in Chase’s eyes too, rolling silently down his face as he looks at me.

“Emma,” he whispers, my name a prayer on his lips.

“I love you.” I wipe at my tears. “We still need to take things slow and figure stuff out.”

“I love you too,” he responds, brushing his thumb gently across my cheek to catch another tear. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

“There’s a coffee shop around the corner,” I mention, the words surprising me almost as much as him. “They open at seven. Maybe we could meet there tomorrow before you head back to Pinewood?”

Hope blooms across his features, transforming exhaustion into something lighter, brighter. “I’d like that. Very much.”

“Just coffee,” I clarify, needing boundaries even as I extend this invitation. “Just talking. Seeing where we stand.”

“Just coffee,” he agrees readily. “On your terms, at your pace.”

He steps toward the door again, his hand brushing the handle. Then he pauses, turning to look at me one last time. His voice is quiet, almost reverent.

“I choose you. I’ve been choosing you since I saw you again, and I’ll keep choosing you if you’ll let me. You’re not just another chapter in my story, Emma. You’re the whole damn book.”

And then he’s gone .

When the door clicks shut behind him, I sink onto the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. My heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of my chest. Seeing him again, hearing his voice, feeling his arms around me, kissing him—it’s cracked something wide open.

I’ve spent so long trying to shove those feelings down. But Jackson was right. Some things don’t just fade. Some people burrow in deep and stay there, no matter how far you run.