Page 75 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

Emma

Chapter Forty-Nine

“ Y ou’re overthinking it.” Maya stands behind me in the bridal boutique, hands on her hips as I stare at my reflection in the three-way mirror. “It’s perfect, Emma. Stop second-guessing yourself.”

I twist slightly, watching how the simple silk gown catches the light.

It’s nothing like I imagined when I was a little girl dreaming of fairy-tale weddings.

There’s no massive ball gown, no cathedral train, no elaborate beadwork.

Just clean lines, a deep V-back, and a silhouette that somehow manages to be both classic and modern.

“You really think he’ll like it?” I ask, smoothing my hands over the fabric.

Maya rolls her eyes so hard I can practically hear it. “If Chase Mitchell doesn’t cry like a baby when he sees you in this dress, I’ll personally refund your money.”

“It’s not just the dress I’m worried about.” I turn to face her, anxiety bubbling to the surface. “It’s everything. The ceremony setup, the weather forecast calling for possible thunderstorms, his knee, my surprise—”

“Emma.” Maya grips my shoulders, forcing me to meet her gaze. “Breathe. The wedding is going to be perfect because you’re marrying the man you love. Everything else is just background noise. ”

She’s right, of course. But with just five days until the ceremony, everything feels overwhelming.

Chase’s recovery has progressed remarkably well—ahead of schedule, actually, which isn’t surprising given his determination and my relentless therapy regimen.

But he’s still on crutches, still in pain after extended periods of standing.

And I’m still splitting my time between final wedding preparations, overseeing his rehab, and sneaking off to the private rink daily to perfect my surprise.

“Fine.” I take a deep breath. “The dress stays.”

“Hallelujah,” Maya deadpans, already signaling for the boutique assistant. “Now, let’s talk about shoes. And don’t give me that look. Just because Chase will be on crutches doesn’t mean you can wear your Converse down the aisle.”

Two hours later, we’re sitting at a café near the boutique, dress safely packaged for alterations, shoes selected, final fittings scheduled for Thursday. Maya’s tablet is open before us, her self-appointed role as wedding planner evident in the color-coded spreadsheets filling the screen.

“The florist confirmed yesterday,” she reports, scrolling through her notes. “And the catering final count is due tomorrow. Are Jackson’s teammates still coming?”

I nod, sipping my iced tea. “Plus dates for four. The Bears-Wolves rivalry is officially on hold for the wedding, though I’ve instructed the bartender to cut everyone off if hockey arguments start brewing.”

She nods, updating her list. “Perfect. And speaking of balance, how’s the ice practice going? For your surprise?”

The question sends a flutter through my stomach.

Equal parts excitement and lingering anxiety.

For the past six weeks, I’ve been sneaking to Chase’s private rink whenever he’s occupied with appointments, relearning moves I haven’t attempted in years, choreographing a routine that represents everything we’ve been through together.

“It’s coming along,” I fidget with my engagement ring, twisting it nervously. “I never thought I’d feel comfortable on the ice again.”

“Because you’re doing it for him,” Maya observes with uncharacteristic softness. “Love is a hell of a motivator.”

She’s right. Without Chase, I’d never have found my way back to the ice that once defined me. But Chase changed that. Slowly, steadily, creating a safe space for me to reclaim the part of myself I’d locked away out of fear.

And now I’m going to surprise him with the ultimate thank-you. A wedding night performance that shows him exactly what his support has meant.

If I can pull it off without having a complete breakdown, of course.

“Earth to Emma.” Maya waves a hand in front of my face.

“Sorry.” I shake my head to clear it. “Just thinking about everything left to do. The wedding’s on Sunday…”

“And the party’s Friday,” Maya cuts in. “Somewhere between the two, you should probably find time to sleep. You look exhausted.”

I shrug, unwilling to admit how much the preparations have been wearing on me. Between Chase’s therapy sessions, wedding planning, and secret skating practice, I’ve been averaging maybe three hours of sleep per night.

“I’ll sleep on the honeymoon,” I dismiss her concern, though we both know the honeymoon will be a modified version of what we’d originally planned.

The conversation shifts to final wedding details—ceremony timing, reception music, photo schedules carefully planned around Chase’s need for rest periods. By the time we part ways, I’m feeling more certain that despite the complications, this wedding will be exactly what Chase and I need it to be .

My mom is already at the house when I arrive, having let herself in with the key we gave her last week. She’s in the kitchen, apparently having taken it upon herself to prepare a proper meal despite our protests that we’ve been managing fine.

“There she is,” she calls when I enter, abandoning whatever she’s stirring to hug me. “My beautiful bride-to-be. How was the final dress shop?”

“Perfect,” I assure her, dropping my bags and sinking gratefully into a kitchen chair. “Where’s Chase?”

“Napping,” she says, returning to the stove. “That physical therapy session this morning wore him out.”

“He’s determined to walk down that aisle without crutches. Even if it’s just for those few minutes.”

“He’ll do it. That boy would crawl through fire for you.”

The simple statement warms me more than it should. “I know. It’s terrifying sometimes.”

She smiles knowingly. “Your father looked at me that way, you know. Like I hung the moon and stars just by existing.”

The mention of my dad sends the familiar pang through my chest—not the sharp grief of fresh loss, but the softer ache of missing someone I never really knew. “Tell me about him? Something I haven’t heard before.”

Her expression softens with old memories. “Did I ever tell you about our wedding day? How nervous he was?”

I shake my head, eager for this piece of family history as my own wedding approaches.

“He was a complete wreck.” She smiles at the memory. “Forgot his vows and had to improvise on the spot. Stepped on my dress during our first dance. Accidentally called me by my cousin’s name during the toast.”

I laugh. “That’s terrible!”

“It was wonderful,” she corrects gently.

“Because none of it mattered. The mistakes, the nerves—they just showed how much he cared, how important the day was to him.” She reaches across the table to squeeze my hand.

“The perfect wedding is a myth, Emma. What matters is who you’re promising yourself to, and why. ”

Her words settle over me, calming the perfectionist anxiety that’s been building. “Thank you,” I tell her, squeezing back. “I needed to hear that.”

I find Chase in our bedroom, not napping as reported but propped against the headboard reviewing game footage on his tablet. His leg is elevated on the specialized cushion system we’ve been using.

“Busted,” I say from the doorway. “Mom said you were resting.”

He looks up with a guilty smile that still makes my heart flip over. “Technically, I am resting. My body is completely horizontal. My brain, however…”

“Never stops,” I finish, crossing to sit carefully on the edge of the bed. “How’s the knee feeling after this morning?”

Chase sets aside the tablet to give me his full attention. “Better than expected, actually. Mr. Richards thinks I’m ready to try walking with just one crutch tomorrow.”

“That’s amazing. But don’t push too hard, Chase. We still have five days until the wedding.”

“Four days, eighteen hours, and approximately twenty-two minutes,” he corrects with a grin. “Not that I’m counting or anything.”

I laugh, leaning in to kiss him briefly. “How’d I end up engaged to such a dork?”

“Incredible luck,” he suggests, pulling me back for a proper kiss. “How was dress shopping? Final decision made?”

“Yes, and no, you cannot see it or hear anything about it.” I settle more comfortably beside him, careful of his leg. “Maya would literally murder me, and then you’d have to marry my corpse, which would really put a damper on the honeymoon.”

“Speaking of the honeymoon, I had a call with the beach house caretaker today. Everything’s set for our arrival Monday—fully stocked kitchen, medical equipment delivered, private chef arranged for the first three nights. ”

The thoughtfulness of these arrangements warms me all over again. “Have I mentioned lately that you’re amazing?”

“Not since this morning,” he says solemnly. “I was beginning to worry.”

I swat his arm lightly. “Fishing for compliments is beneath you, Mitchell.”

“Nothing is beneath me when it comes to hearing nice things from my almost-wife.”

The combined bachelor-bachelorette party is in full swing at The Loft, Pinewood’s trendiest venue, which Maya has somehow transformed. One end features a quieter seating area for talking, the other a dance floor and karaoke stage already hosting increasingly drunken performances.

I sip my cocktail—a custom creation Maya named “Playing Defense” that tastes dangerously smooth—and survey the room.

Chase is holding court near the bar, teammates surrounding him, his crutches temporarily abandoned as he sits comfortably on a high stool.

He’s laughing at something Donovan is saying, happiness radiating from him despite the limitations of his injury.

Jackson stands nearby, having arrived this morning with a surprisingly heartfelt wedding gift—a custom-framed photo of Chase blocking the shot that injured his knee, with an inscription that reads: “To the man who sacrificed for family before he was family. Welcome, brother.”

It had made Chase cry, though he’d deny it if asked.