Page 56 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

Chase

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I wake up before my alarm, the unfamiliar hotel room taking a moment to register before yesterday’s memories come flooding back.

Emma. Hartford. Five minutes that somehow stretched into something more significant—not forgiveness, not reconciliation, but an open door where before there had been only walls.

Coffee. This morning. A chance to see her again, to talk without the shock of my sudden appearance lingering in the background.

I check the time—5:37 a.m. The coffee shop doesn’t open until seven, leaving me with nearly ninety minutes to overthink everything.

By 6:45, I can’t wait any longer. I leave the hotel and walk the few blocks to the coffee shop, arriving five minutes before they open. The morning is cool, the streets of downtown Hartford just beginning to stir.

At precisely seven, the barista unlocks the door. I choose a table near the window but not directly visible from the street.

At 7:14, the door opens, and there she is. Hair pulled back in a messy bun, minimal makeup, dressed in jeans and a green sweater that makes her eyes seem impossibly bright.

She spots me right away, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she walks over. I get to my feet, fighting the urge to reach for her.

“You came,” I say, unable to hide my relief .

“I said I would. I keep my promises.”

The implied criticism isn’t lost on me, but it’s fair. I broke promises, broke trust, broke us.

We approach the counter together, careful inches of space between us. Emma orders a vanilla latte, and I get plain black coffee.

Back at the table, an awkward silence falls. I take a sip of my drink, searching for the right words.

“How’s the hotel?”

“Adequate. Temporary. I’m moving into my new apartment next week.”

“So you’re definitely staying with the Wolves.”

She meets my eyes directly. “Yes. I signed a contract, Chase. It’s a major career opportunity. I’m not walking away from that.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to. Your career matters. What you’ve worked for matters. I just want to find a way to matter too. Alongside it, not in opposition to it.”

Something flickers in her expression—surprise, perhaps, at this acknowledgment. “That’s different from how you’ve approached things before.”

“I’m trying to be different. To learn from my mistakes. To understand what you need from a partner, not just what I think you should want.”

She takes a slow sip of her latte, studying me. “And what do you think I need?”

It’s a test, I realize. “Respect. For your choices, your autonomy, your right to make decisions about your own life. Support that doesn’t become control. Partnership that doesn’t mean morphing your identity into mine.”

Her eyebrows raise slightly. “Have you been reading relationship books or something?”

“Or something. Mostly just thinking. A lot. About why I did what I did, about what it really means to love someone versus trying to possess them.”

“That’s surprisingly self-aware. ”

“I’ve had nothing but time to think. Time and regret and the constant awareness that I threw away the best thing in my life because I was too arrogant to trust you with your own choices.”

She looks down, processing my words. “It hurt. Not just the breakup, but the way you did it. Like my opinion didn’t matter, like you thought you knew what I needed better than I did.”

“I know. There’s no excuse for it, Emma. I was wrong. Completely, utterly wrong.”

“Then why did you do it? Really?”

The question demands a level of honesty I’ve barely admitted to myself. But if we have any chance of rebuilding, that honesty is essential.

“I was scared. Not just of what might happen to your career because of me, but of what it meant to be so completely invested in someone else. To have so much of my happiness dependent on you. It was easier, in some twisted way, to make the choice myself than to risk you eventually deciding I wasn’t worth the trouble. ”

Her eyes widen slightly. “You thought I would leave?”

I let out a breath, slow and shaky. “Somewhere deep down, yeah. I think I was waiting for the moment you’d figure out I wasn’t worth it. That you’d start tallying up all the ways I make your life harder and realize the smart move would be walking away. So I did it first.”

“I never saw you that way. As not good enough. As someone I’d eventually give up on. I love you, Chase. All of you.”

Not loved. Love. Present tense.

The words hit me like sunlight cracking through a storm.

“I’m trying to believe that. I want to. It’s just… trust is hard when you’ve spent your whole life bracing for the moment people stop choosing you.”

“From the scandal with your previous PT?”

I nod. “Partly. Being manipulated, blackmailed, nearly losing everything because someone I trusted turned on me… it left scars. But what happened in the past doesn’t justify hurting you. ”

Emma’s quiet for a moment, tracing the rim of her cup with one finger. Her eyes drop, and something shifts in her expression.

“I need to say something. I forgive you, Chase, but I also owe you an apology.”

“Emma, you don’t—”

“No, I do.” Her fingers tighten around her cup.

“When you mentioned taking a break, I wasn’t listening properly.

I was stressed about potentially losing my job, about everything being in the spotlight.

And when you said ‘break,’ that’s all I heard.

Part of me was waiting for this to fall apart, too.

We started with fake dating, and there was always this voice in the back of my head wondering if any of it was real.

So when you suggested a break, it confirmed every fear I had—that this was just another performance that had run its course. ”

My chest tightens. I want to tell her she was wrong, that none of it was fake for me. Not even for a second. But the guilt sits heavy, because I let her believe it.

Tears start welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Chase. I should have fought harder. I should have made you explain what you really meant. Instead, I just accepted it and walked away—”

I can’t take it anymore. I lean across the table and press my lips to hers, silencing the flood of words. It’s gentle but firm, a kiss that says everything I don’t have words for. When I pull back, her eyes are wide.

“You’re cute when you’re rambling,” I tell her softly, reaching up to brush a tear from her cheek.

That breaks the dam. Tears flow freely now.

“I’m so sorry for everything. Being without you was so difficult.”

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault, Emma. I shouldn’t have suggested a break. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

She nods, trying to compose herself. “We both messed up, didn’t we?”

“Spectacularly,” I agree, a small smile forming.

“What a pair we make.” She laughs.

I reach across the table to take her hand, relieved when she doesn’t pull away. “The best kind of pair. The kind that’s worth fighting for. ”

She squeezes my hand, then pulls hers back to wipe at her face. “So where does that leave us? You’re in Pinewood. I’m in Hartford. You’re with the Bears, I’m with the Wolves.”

“It leaves us wherever we want it to. Two hours isn’t a deal-breaker for me, remember? Not when it’s you. We’ll figure out the distance. The team stuff. All of it. If you want this, if you want me—I’m all in.”

“And what if I decide the risk is too great, that protecting myself means walking away for good?”

“If that’s what you decide… I’ll respect it. I won’t like it. Hell, it’ll probably wreck me for a long time. But I’ll still want you to be happy. Even if that happiness doesn’t have me in it.”

She looks at me, scanning my face. Whatever she sees there seems to settle something in her.

“I want to try again. Not because what happened wasn’t painful, but because I understand it better now. And because I can’t imagine not having you in my life.”

I stare at her, hardly daring to believe what I’m hearing. “Does this mean—”

“Baby steps,” she interrupts, her expression softening. “But yes.”

Hope surges through me with dizzying intensity.

“We still have a lot to figure out. The distance, our jobs, how to make this work practically. And I need you to understand that trust won’t be rebuilt overnight.”

“I’ll take it. Whatever you need, however long it takes.”

A genuine smile breaks across her face. “Good. Because I’m not going to make it easy for you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I grin, unable to stop the smile spreading across my own face.

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the coffee shop gradually filling with morning customers.

“I have to get back to Pinewood this afternoon. Game tomorrow night.”

She nods. “I know. ”

“But I could come back. After the game, or on our next off day. If you want me to.”

“Let’s take it one step at a time. Call me after the game. We’ll figure out when to see each other next.”

When it’s time to leave, we walk out together, standing awkwardly on the sidewalk.

“I should get to the facility,” she notes, glancing at her watch. “First patient at nine.”

“And I should head back to Pinewood,” I reply, though leaving her feels physically painful.

“Chase,” she calls suddenly, stepping closer and pressing a soft, quick kiss to my cheek. “Drive safely.”

The simple gesture sends warmth flooding through me. “I will.”

The drive back to Pinewood passes in a daze of hope and disbelief. What Emma gave me is more than I deserve—more than I dared hope for.

I arrive at the Bears’ facility just in time for the team meeting, slipping into my seat as Coach gives me a pointed look that promises a conversation later. Donovan raises an eyebrow in silent question, and I give a small nod that seems to satisfy his curiosity for the moment.

“As most of you know,” Coach begins, addressing the room at large, “we’re up 1-0 in the series against the Orcas. Good start, but it means nothing if we don’t maintain momentum tomorrow night. They’ll be desperate, adjusting their strategy to counter what worked for us in the first game.”

The familiar rhythm of playoff preparation should be all-consuming, but my mind keeps drifting to Emma. Her tears. Her forgiveness. The way she said she wanted to try again.

“Mitchell,” Coach’s sharp voice cuts through my distraction. “You with us?”

“Yes, sir,” I say automatically, straightening in my chair. “Completely focused. ”

He gives me a dubious look but continues outlining our game plan, defensive adjustments, power play configurations. I take notes, forcing my attention to hockey, to the team that deserves my full commitment despite my personal drama.

After the meeting, Coach motions me to stay behind, waiting until the room empties before speaking. “Hartford,” he states, not a question but a statement.

I don’t bother denying it. “Yes, sir.”

“Fix your personal life on your own time, Mitchell. When you’re here, I need your head in the game. We’re five wins away from the Conference Finals, possibly facing the Wolves. This team needs you present, not daydreaming about your love life.”

“Understood,” I acknowledge, accepting the reprimand without argument.

He sighs. “That said… did your trip accomplish what you needed?”

The unexpected question catches me off guard. “I think so. It’s a start, at least.”

He nods, seeming satisfied. “Good. Now get to the training room.”

Practice goes better than expected, my focus sharper now that I’ve seen Emma, spoken with her, established the beginning of something again. There’s hope now, real and tangible.

“Whatever you did in Hartford,” Donovan comments as we leave the ice, “keep doing it. You’re almost back to normal.”

“Working on it,” I tell him, unable to suppress a small smile.

My phone rings just as I’m preparing for bed, and my heart leaps before I register that it’s Maya calling.

“Is Hartford still standing?” she asks the second I answer .

“Hello to you too. And yes, Hartford is fine. As is Emma.”

“I know she’s fine. She called me earlier.”

“Did she say anything? About me, about our conversation?”

“Patient confidentiality. Best friend code and all that.”

“Maya,” I groan, frustration mounting. “Why call if you’re not going to tell me anything?”

She laughs, the sound both familiar and comforting despite the circumstances. “Because I wanted to check on you, dumbass. Make sure you hadn’t crashed your car driving back to Pinewood while emotionally compromised.”

The casual concern touches me more than I expected. “I’m fine. Physically, at least. Emotionally is complicated.”

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

“You sound like Jackson,” I tease.

“Shut up. I’m serious.”

“It’s real,” I admit quietly. “Always has been.”

“I know. That’s why I’m rooting for you two crazy kids to figure it out, despite my better judgment as Emma’s self-appointed protector.”

“I appreciate that. More than you know.”

“Just don’t make me regret it. I know where you sleep, Mitchell.”

After we hang up, I lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzes with a text, and I grab it eagerly, heart racing as I see Emma’s name.

Emma: Made it back to Pinewood safely?

A simple question. But the fact that she’s reaching out feels monumental.

Me: Yes. Just got home from the facility. How was your day?

Emma: Busy. Good, though. Still adjusting to the Wolves’ systems, but everyone’s been welcoming.

Me: They’re lucky to have you.

Emma: Oh, about this morning… I meant what I said. Fresh start. Baby steps.

My heart swells.

Me: Take all the time you need. I meant what I said too. I’m not going anywhere.

Emma: Except to play the Orcas tomorrow night.

Me: Well, yes. Occupational hazard. Will you be watching?

Emma: Yeah. Maya’s traveling over with pizza and beer. Apparently it’s a tradition now.

The thought of Emma watching me play fills me with happiness.

Me: I’ll try not to embarrass myself then.

Emma: Score a goal for me.

Me: For you? Anything.

She doesn’t text again. But it’s enough. More than enough for tonight.

Tomorrow there’s hockey, the playoffs, the pursuit of the Cup. But there’s also Emma watching, Emma thinking about what we discussed, Emma finding her way back to me.