Page 62 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)
Emm a
Chapter Forty-One
Chase Mitchell is in my bed. The Conference Finals MVP. The man who just led his team to the Stanley Cup Finals.
It still doesn’t feel real. Not the Bears advancing, not Jackson’s season ending, and certainly not the way Chase and I reconnected last night.
He stirs beside me, his arm tightening around my waist. “You’re thinking so loud I can practically hear it,” he mumbles into my hair.
“Sorry,” I whisper, turning to face him. Morning Chase is a sight to behold—hair rumpled, stubble darkening his jaw, blue eyes soft with sleep. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” He reaches up to brush hair from my face. “I’ve got team breakfast at ten, remember?”
“Mmm.” I press closer, relishing the warmth of him. “So we have time.”
His lips curve into a smile that makes my stomach flip. “Time for what, exactly? ”
Instead of answering, I slide my hand down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, beneath the waistband of his boxers. His breath catches when I wrap my fingers around him.
“This,” I say, watching his eyes darken.
“Fuck, Emma.” His voice is strained as I begin to stroke. “You don’t play fair.”
“Never claimed to.”
His hand catches my wrist, stilling my movement. “But as much as I want to let you continue, I need to visit Tyler this morning before breakfast.”
The concern I felt yesterday comes rushing back. “How bad is it? I saw him being helped off the ice.”
Chase’s expression turns serious. “His right knee is fucked, Emma. Even worse than mine was.”
“What? How the hell did he play through it?”
“Adrenaline, stubbornness, probably some questionable painkillers from the medical staff.”
I sit up, pulling the sheet with me. “That’s insane. He shouldn’t have been on the ice at all if it was that bad.”
“Welcome to professional hockey.” He sits up beside me, running a hand through his hair. “He’s at Hartford Memorial. You can come with me if you want.”
“Yeah, I want to come,” I nod, my concern outweighing any lingering awkwardness about seeing my ex.
We dress quickly, moving around each other with surprising ease for a couple who hasn’t spent many mornings together recently.
“What?” he asks, catching me watching him.
“Nothing. Just… this is nice. Normal.”
“Yeah.” He wraps his arms around me from behind as I finish brushing my hair. “I could get used to it.”
His words pull at something deep in my chest. “We still live in different cities, Chase. Two hours apart. ”
“Details,” he dismisses, kissing the top of my head. “We’ll figure it out.”
We grab coffee and bagels from the café down the street before heading to Hartford Memorial. Chase is quiet during the drive, his fingers drumming restlessly on his thigh.
“You okay?” I ask, glancing over.
“Yeah.” He stops the drumming, flexing his hand. “Just not sure what to say to him, you know? ‘Sorry about your knee’ doesn’t quite cover it.”
“It was a clean hit. Tyler knew the risk when he threw himself in front of Rodriguez.”
“I know. Still feel like shit though.”
I reach across the console to squeeze his knee. “That’s because you’re a good person, Chase Mitchell.”
The hospital is quiet at this hour, visiting hours just beginning. We find Tyler’s room easily, directed by a nurse who clearly recognizes Chase.
I hesitate outside the door, suddenly uncertain. Tyler and I have a complicated history—ex-boyfriend, teammate of my current boyfriend, the man who once broke my heart by cheating.
“You don’t have to do this,” Chase murmurs quietly, reading my hesitation. “I can go in alone.”
“No,” I decide, straightening my shoulders. “I want to.”
Chase knocks softly before we enter. Tyler is propped up in bed, his heavily bandaged knee elevated, face drawn with pain. He looks smaller somehow, removed from the context of the ice and his usual confidence.
“Mitchell,” he greets, voice rough. Then his gaze shifts to me, surprise flickering across his features. “Emma. Didn’t expect to see you.”
“Thought we’d check on you before Chase flies back.”
His mouth twists in what might be an attempt at a smile. “My ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend. Dream team.”
“Tyler—” Chase begins.
“Relax, Mitchell. That wasn’t a dig. Actually appreciate you both coming.” He shifts, wincing with the movement. “Surgery’s scheduled for noon. They’re optimistic about a full recovery. ”
“Which surgeon?” I ask automatically.
“Reynolds,” he responds, and I nod in approval. Reynolds is one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the state.
“Good. He’s excellent.” I move closer to the bed. “What exactly did the MRI show?”
“Complete ACL tear with a partial MCL tear. Meniscus damage. Some bone bruising.” He recites the injuries flatly, but I can see the fear beneath his words.
“That’s a rough combination. But not necessarily career-ending with the right surgery and rehabilitation.”
“That’s what they keep telling me,” Tyler responds, not sounding convinced. “Personally, I’m just trying to wrap my head around not playing in the Finals. Worked my whole life for a shot at the Cup, and now…”
“There’ll be other seasons,” Chase offers.
An uncomfortable silence falls. I notice a distinct lack of personal items in the room—no flowers, no cards, no evidence that anyone has visited.
“Has Carina been by?” I ask before I can stop myself.
His laugh is harsh, humorless. “We broke up, so why would she bother? She probably wouldn’t have come even if we were still together.”
“That’s rough,” Chase acknowledges.
“I’m glad she isn’t here.” Tyler’s gaze fixes on our hands, which I realize are automatically linked together. “I’m glad you found someone good, Mitchell.” His eyes shift to me. “And Emma, you always did deserve better than what I gave you.”
The simple acknowledgment settles something inside me—a restless anger I hadn’t realized I was still carrying.
“Thank you for saying that,” I tell him quietly.
“I mean it.” He sighs, shifting again with another wince.
“Look, while we’re having this awkward heart-to-heart…
I’m sorry. For how things ended with us.
For the mess with Carina afterward. For being a complete as shole after we broke up.
This—” he gestures to his leg, “—has been a serious wake-up call.”
“Impending career mortality will do that,” I observe.
“Yeah.” He looks between us again. “Anyway, just wanted to say it. I don’t expect forgiveness or anything.”
“It’s a start,” I tell him, surprised to find I mean it. “The forgiveness part… that might take time.”
“Fair enough.” He attempts another smile, more successful this time. “So, you’re heading back to Pinewood today?” he asks Chase.
“Yeah. Team wants us home to prepare for the Finals.” Chase shifts uncomfortably. “Listen, Tyler, about what happened—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Seriously. It was a hockey play. Rodriguez was going to take his head off, and I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Still—”
“We’re good, Mitchell.” Tyler’s voice is firm. “Just bring home the Cup, yeah? Make it worth something.”
Chase nods, a silent promise passing between them.
A nurse enters, clipboard in hand. “Time for pre-op prep, Mr. West.”
We take the cue to leave, saying our goodbyes.
At the door, Tyler calls, “Emma?”
I turn back. “Yeah?”
“If you’re looking for a new player to torture with your physical therapy… I might be in the market soon.”
The olive branch is unexpected but not unwelcome. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Outside the hospital, Chase pulls me into a tight hug, face buried in my hair. “Thank you for coming with me. That couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t,” I admit, melting into his embrace. “But it felt necessary. For all of us.”
He pulls back enough to study my face. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, heat rising in my cheeks.
“Make me,” he challenges, eyes dancing .
So I do, rising on my tiptoes to press my lips to his, right there in the hospital parking lot where anyone might see us. No more hiding, no more pretending.
The rest of the morning slips away too quickly—Chase to his team breakfast and flight preparations, me to the gym to work out the strange emotional tension still lingering from the hospital visit. By the afternoon, he’s texting me.
Chase: Three days until our first game. Please tell me you’ll be there.
I hesitate, thinking about work, about the logistics of traveling to Pinewood midweek.
Me: I’ll try.
Chase: I need my good luck charm in the stands. The team will fly you out. Box seats with my parents. Say yes, Emma.
And somehow, I find myself agreeing, rearranging my schedule, requesting those days off from the Wolves’ training staff who understand better than I expected. Even Jackson encourages me to go.
“Someone from the family should see the Bears win the Cup,” he says when I call him. “Might as well be you.”
“You’re taking the loss better than I expected.”
“What choice do I have? Besides, it’s hard to hate the Bears now after what Tyler and Chase both did.”
“They’re kind of making it impossible for you to maintain your rivalry with their team, aren’t they?”
“Don’t push it,” Jackson warns, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “Just go enjoy yourself and be happy, Em.”
“I am happy,” I tell him, and I mean it completely. “More so than I have been in a long time.”