Page 162 of Check & Chase
He considers my question carefully. “I can make promises, Emma, and I intend to keep them. But I know trust has to be earned through actions, not just words. All I can tell you is that losing you has been the most painful experience of my life. More than any injury, more than any professional setback. I’ve learned the hardest possible way that pushing you away is never the right choice.”
His time is almost up, the five minutes nearly elapsed, but I find myself reluctant to end this conversation. Despite everything, part of me has missed him desperately.
“What about the distance? I’m here now, Chase. Working for a rival team, building a new life two hours away from Pinewood.”
“Distance is just geography. Two hours is nothing if it means being with you. I’d drive it every day off, every break between games. Whatever it takes.”
“And the rival team complication?”
“We’d keep our professional lives separate from our personal relationship. Just us, separate from our jobs.”
He’s thought this through, I realize.
“Your five minutes are up,” I point out, more to create breathing room than because I want him to leave.
Chase nods, making no move to close the distance between us. “I said what I came to say. The rest is up to you, Emma. No pressure, no deadline, no demands.”
The ball is firmly in my court, his respectful restraint both a relief and a challenge.
“I need to think. This is a lot to process, Chase.”
“I understand. Take all the time you need. I’ll be at the Marriott downtown, room 842, until tomorrow afternoon when I have to get back for our next game. If you want to talk more, you can call or text. If not, I’ll respect that too.”
He moves toward the door, and I step aside to let him pass. But as he reaches for the handle, something breaks loose inside me—the rigid control I’ve maintained, the distance, the caution.
Because despite everything, my body remembers his. My heart remembers what it felt like to be loved by him.
“Chase,” I whisper.
He turns, hope and trepidation warring in his expression.
“I’m still angry,” I tell him, needing the truth between us. “About what you did, about how you pushed me away when I needed you most. That’s not going to disappear overnight.”
“I know.”
“But I’m also tired of missing you. Tired of pretending I don’t think about you every day, that moving to Hartford was only about career advancement and not also about running away from how much you’d hurt me.”
Something shifts in his stance, tension draining even as hope visibly rises. “What are you saying, Emma?”
“I’m saying I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I do know that shutting the door completely feels wrong. That running away hasn’t made me stop loving you. That maybe we deserve a chance to see if we can build something again.”
It’s not a declaration of forgiveness, not a promise of reconciliation, but it’s an opening. A crack in the wall I’ve built.
Chase takes a single step toward me, hesitant, as if approaching a wild animal that might bolt. “Can I hug you? Just that. Nothing more.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and then he’s there, his arms around me, solid and warm and achingly familiar.
I remain stiff for a moment, fighting the urge to collapse against him. But gradually, almost involuntarily, my arms come up to return the embrace, my head finds its natural place against his chest where I can hear the rapid beating of his heart.
When we finally pull apart, our eyes meet.
Before I can think better of it, I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him. His lips are exactly as I remember—soft and warm.
I feel wetness on my cheeks and realize I’m crying. When I pull back slightly, I see tears in Chase’s eyes too, rolling silently down his face as he looks at me.
“Emma,” he whispers, my name a prayer on his lips.
“I love you.” I wipe at my tears. “We still need to take things slow and figure stuff out.”
