Page 176 of Check & Chase
I should be more disappointed about the Wolves’ elimination. And I am, especially for Jackson. But there’s also undeniable relief that the forced separation from Chase is ending.
With a deep breath, I stand and gather my things. There’s still work to do before I can see him.
Across the arena, I know champagne is flowing in the visitors’ locker room, their victory loud and raucous. Chase is there, surrounded by teammates, but I also know his thoughts are elsewhere—counting down the hours until he can slip away to me.
Some victories happen on the ice. Others are still waiting to be claimed.
Chase
Chapter Forty
The 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.
