Page 60 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

Chas e

Chapter Forty

T he locker room is fucking chaos.

Champagne sprays across the ceiling, soaking already sweat-drenched jerseys as guys whoop and holler. Conference Finals champions. The words still don’t feel real, even with the celebration erupting around me.

“Mitchell! Get your ass over here!” Coach bellows, waving a bottle of something expensive that management brought down.

I smile and nod, but there’s a hollow feeling in my chest that doesn’t match the victory. My mind keeps replaying that hit—Rodriguez lining up Jackson, Tyler reacting on instinct, bodies colliding at full speed.

“Hey.” Donovan bumps my shoulder, breaking through my thoughts. “You single-handedly got us to the Finals and you’re standing here like someone ran over your dog. What gives?”

I force a wider smile. “Just processing, man. Can’t believe we won.”

But when I close my eyes, all I see is Emma in the tunnel after the final buzzer. The complicated emotions on her face—disappointment for her brother’s team mixed with something else when she looked at me .

The smallest nod she gave me during the handshake line. The silent promise that we’d see each other later, now that the series was over and our self-imposed professional distance could finally end.

The media scrum is relentless—the same questions about the series win, about facing the Wolves, about the upcoming Finals. I answer on autopilot, checking my watch repeatedly. I’d promised Emma I’d come by after team obligations.

After weeks of maintained distance, I can’t get to her fast enough.

Back in the locker room, most of my teammates have already cleared out, heading for the hotel bar to continue the celebrations. I shower quickly, the hot water doing little to ease the tension that’s been building in my shoulders for weeks.

“You heading out?” Coach asks, eyebrows raised as I start gathering my things. “Party’s just getting started, son.”

“Got something important to take care of,” I tell him, not bothering to hide my urgency.

His eyes narrow knowingly. “Anderson’s sister?”

I don’t deny it. “Yeah.”

“One hour at the hotel bar with the boys, then you’re free to go. But I expect you bright-eyed for team breakfast tomorrow. Cup Finals prep starts immediately.”

The hotel bar is packed with Bears players, staff, and family members. Everyone wants to talk, to relive key moments, to speculate about our Stanley Cup Finals matchup. I move through the crowd on autopilot, accepting congratulations, participating in toasts, laughing at jokes I barely register .

Finally, I catch Coach’s eye across the room. He nods once, the barest acknowledgment that I’ve put in my required appearance.

“Heading out, Mitchell?” Donovan asks as I slip toward the door.

“Got somewhere to be,” I tell him.

He studies my face, then breaks into a knowing grin. “Emma, huh? Tell her I said congrats on a hell of a series. Her brother’s a beast.”

The night air is cool when I step outside, a welcome contrast to the stuffy heat of the bar. I take a deep breath, letting the reality settle over me. Conference Finals champions. Stanley Cup Finals next.

And now, finally, Emma waiting for me, the forced professional distance between us officially over.

I get into my rental car, plugging Emma’s address into the GPS even though I’ve memorized the route. Ten minutes to her place. Ten minutes until I can see her properly.

My phone buzzes as I pull into her parking lot. Jackson, his name lighting up my screen. I hesitate, thumb hovering over the decline button. Whatever he wants, it can wait.

But something stops me. After tonight’s game and what happened, I should at least check if he’s okay.

“Jackson?” I answer, keeping the engine running.

“Mitchell,” he says, his voice surprisingly friendly for someone whose team just lost. “Hell of a series, man.”

“Thanks. You guys played great.”

“Just wanted to say I appreciate what Tyler did tonight. Stepping between Rodriguez and me.”

“He’s a good guy. Always has been, despite everything that happened before.”

“Yeah, well, it confirms what I’ve been thinking about you too.” He pauses. “You’re different than I expected. Better.”

The unexpected compliment catches me off guard. “Thanks, Jackson. That means a lot, coming from you.”

“You heading to see my sister now?”

I glance at the apartment building. “Yeah, if that’s okay with you. ”

He laughs. “Doesn’t matter if it’s okay with me. It’s Emma’s life. But for what it’s worth, I approve. You two make sense together.”

I take a deep breath, seizing the opportunity. “Actually, Jackson, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“What’s up?”

“I know this might seem old-fashioned, but I want to ask Emma to marry me.” The words rush out before I can second-guess them. “And I’d like your blessing.”

There’s a long pause. “Why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you be talking to our mom?”

“With all due respect, Jackson, you’re the closest thing to a father figure she’s got. You’ve been looking out for her since your dad passed away. She respects your opinion more than anyone’s.”

Another pause, longer this time. “You’re serious about this?”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

“And what about the distance? You in Pinewood, her in Hartford? Rival teams and all that?”

“We’ll figure it out. I’ve been talking to my agent about options when my contract’s up next year. Including signing with the Wolves.”

“Shit, Mitchell. You’d give up the Bears for her?”

“In a heartbeat.”

He whistles low. “Damn. You really do love her.”

“More than anything. So, do I have your blessing?”

“You don’t need it. But yeah, you have it. Just don’t rush her, okay? And if you ever hurt her again—”

“I know. You’ll end me.”

“Damn right I will,” he agrees, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “Good luck, Mitchell. And congratulations on the Finals.”

After we hang up, I sit in the car for a moment, processing what just happened. Jackson Anderson, who once threatened to break my legs for dating his sister, just gave me his blessing to marry her.

Then I text Emma.

Me: Downstairs .

Emma: Come up.

The elevator ride to her floor feels like the longest thirty seconds of my life. When her door opens, she’s standing there in leggings and an oversized sweater, hair loose around her shoulders, green eyes wide and cautious and hopeful all at once.

“Hi,” I greet simply, drinking in the sight of her after weeks of careful distance.

“Hi,” she echoes, stepping back to let me in. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. But can we not talk about hockey for a little while? I’ve been answering the same five questions for hours, and right now I just want to be with you.”

“Deal,” she agrees, closing the door behind me. “No hockey talk. Just us.”

I stand awkwardly in her living room, hands shoved in my pockets, suddenly unsure what to do with my body. All the confidence I feel on the ice evaporates when I’m around her.

“I missed you,” I admit, the words inadequate for the emptiness the distance has carved into me.

“I missed you too,” she whispers. “So damn much.”

Her lips are on mine before I can say another word. Her hands twist in the front of my hoodie, tugging me down, and I kiss her like I’ve been starving for her—and I have. Weeks of restraint unravel in a single breath.

Her tongue slides over mine and I groan, backing her toward the couch until the backs of her legs hit it and she sinks down, pulling me on top of her. I cage her in with my arms, kissing her like it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.

“Tell me this is real,” I mutter against her mouth, brushing her hair back from her face.

Her answer is to pull her sweater over her head, revealing a thin tank top underneath. Her nipples are hard through the fabric, her chest rising and falling fast. “It’s real. I want you, Chase.”

My name on her lips does something feral to me .

“I need to taste you,” I say, voice hoarse, already pushing the tank up her stomach. “Let me make you come with my mouth.”

She gasps, eyes fluttering shut as I drop to my knees in front of the couch. I yank her leggings and panties down in one movement, and she spreads her legs for me without hesitation.

“Look at you,” I breathe, dragging my thumbs along the insides of her thighs. “Fuck, baby. I’ve missed this.”

I bury my face between her thighs and lick a slow, deliberate stripe up her center, groaning at how wet she is already. Her hands fly into my hair, hips jerking.

“Oh my god, Chase…”

I wrap my arms under her legs, locking her in place, and circle her clit with the tip of my tongue. She moans, the sound broken, needy, and I keep going—soft at first, then harder, flicking, sucking, stroking her until she’s panting and writhing underneath me.

“I can’t—Chase—fuck—”

“Yes, you can,” I growl. “Come for me. Right on my tongue.”

I flatten my tongue and slide two fingers into her, curling them just right. She cries out, heels digging into the cushions, back arching.

“Right there… oh god, don’t stop—”

And then she’s gone, thighs clenching around my head as she comes with a sharp cry, pulsing around my fingers, soaking my mouth. I work her through it, licking up every drop, not stopping until she’s whining and trying to push me away.

When I finally pull back, her legs are trembling, her eyes glassy.

“You okay?” I ask, voice low, thumb brushing over her clit gently.

She nods frantically. “Come here.”

I crawl over her, kissing her slowly, letting her taste herself on my tongue. Her hands go to the hem of my hoodie and I help her pull it off, followed by my shirt. She traces the scars on my shoulder, the curve of my abs, and then her hand is drifting lower.

I groan as she palms me through my jeans. “You’re killing me, Emma.”

“Then take these off. ”

I strip fast, throwing my jeans and boxers to the floor, hard and ready for her. Her eyes widen, and I swear she licks her lips.