Page 212 of Check & Chase
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.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Mom appears beside me, elegant in a simple black dress, champagne in hand. “You look happy.”
“I am,” I realize, the truth of it warming me from within. “Really happy, actually. Despite the chaos, despite Chase’s knee, despite everything.”
She smiles, the expression softening the lines around her eyes. “That’s how it should be.”
We watch in comfortable silence as Chase maneuvers himself into a photo with a few teammates.
“Your father would have liked him,” she mentions unexpectedly. “Chase. He would have approved.”
