Page 150 of Check & Chase
Instead, he surprises me. “What’s going on with you, Chase?”
The question is so direct, so genuinely inquiring, that it catches me off guard. “Nothing. Just an off night.”
“Bullshit,” he responds mildly, shuffling through papers on his desk without looking up. “You’ve been playing like garbage since we got backfrom the road trip. Your timing is off, your decision-making’s slow, and tonight you looked like you’d rather be anywhere but on the ice.”
I have no response because he’s right on all counts. The game that once flowed through me like breathing now feels foreign, mechanical, empty.
“Is this about the Anderson girl?” he asks when I remain silent.
“Emma,” I correct before I can stop myself. “Her name is Emma.”
His expression softens almost imperceptibly. “Emma, then. You two having problems?”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “You could say that. We’re not together anymore.”
“Ah. And this was your decision or hers?”
“Mine,” I admit, the word like acid on my tongue. “I thought breaking things off would help her situation with the ethics commission. Protect her career.”
He leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “How’s that working out for you?”
“About as well as you’ve seen.”
He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Look, Chase, I’ve been coaching a long time. I’ve seen a lot of players go through personal shit. The ones who come out the other side are the ones who face their problems head-on, not the ones who try to skate around them.”
“I’m trying. I just don’t know how to fix it. I hurt her badly.”
“Start by admitting you were wrong. Women tend to like that.”
I find myself smiling slightly despite everything. “That simple, huh?”
“Hell no. But it’s a start. And speaking of starts, you’re benched for the first period next game.”
The smile fades. “Coach—”
“It’s not negotiable. I need you to remember what it feels like to watch your team play without you. Maybe that’ll light a fire under your ass.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Chase?” he calls as I reach the door. “Fix what’s going on with you and Emma. Not just for the team, but for yourself. I haven’t seen you this miserable in a while.”
I drive home on autopilot, muscle memory navigating familiar streets while my mind replays every conversation, every moment, every mistake that led to this emptiness. The house is dark when I arrive, shadow-filled and echoing in a way it never felt before Emma filled it with her presence.
I flick on the lights, illuminating the space that still holds pieces of her—a forgotten hair tie on the coffee table, a novel bookmarked on the kitchen counter, a hoodie she claimed as her own hanging by the door. Each item is a small torture, a reminder of what I threw away.
A few hours later, I’m staring at her contact info on my phone, thumb hovering over her name, when my doorbell rings. It’s past midnight. Through the security camera, I see Carina Reed standing on my doorstep.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
I open the door without inviting her in, blocking the doorway.
“It’s midnight, Carina. What do you want?”
She smiles, a brittle expression that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hello to you too, Chase. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“No. Say what you came to say, then leave.”
Her smile falters, cracks appearing in her carefully constructed facade. “I heard about you and the physical therapist. Such a shame. Though I can’t say I’m surprised it didn’t work out.”
