Page 133 of Check & Chase
Whatever challenges lie ahead, whatever obstacles management might throw at us, I know we’ll face them together. Because some things are worth fighting for.
Chase
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Mitchell! Get your ass in here!”
Coach’s voice carries across the locker room, turning heads and raising eyebrows. I catch Donovan’s sympathetic glance as I stand, tossing my practice jersey into the laundry bin.
“You’re in for it now,” Miller mutters as I pass. “Worth it, though. That kiss cam stunt was legendary.”
I resist the urge to grin. Three days since the game, and guys are still talking about it. The clip’s everywhere—sports networks, social media, even made a late-night show monologue.
Coach is waiting in his office, arms crossed, expression unreadable. I take the seat across from his desk without being asked.
“Before you start, I know it was against regulations—”
“Mitchell, shut up.”
I close my mouth.
“You broke at least three league rules. Leaving the bench during play. Entering the spectator area. Removing your helmet outside of designated areas.”
I wait for the hammer to fall.
“The league’s fining you ten thousand dollars.”
I wince but nod.
“And I’m benching you for the first period tonight.”
That stings more than the fine.
“But,” Coach continues, leaning forward, “management has also decided to capitalize on the publicity. They’re selling t-shirts with ‘Worth It’ printed under your number. Pre-orders are already through the roof.”
I blink, trying to process this sudden shift. “So I’m being punished and marketed at the same time?”
“Welcome to professional sports. Just don’t make a habit of it. Next time you want to make a public display, save it for after the damn game.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Mitchell? Hell of a win streak we’re on. Whatever’s happening in your personal life seems to be working for your game. Keep it up.”
I leave his office feeling lighter than when I entered. One period on the bench is a small price to pay.
I’m halfway to my car when Tyler jogs to catch up with me, practice gear slung over his shoulder.
“Got a minute?” he asks, slightly out of breath.
The request surprises me. Despite his unexpected defense of Emma during Carina’s meltdown, we haven’t exactly become friends.
“Sure.”
He shifts uncomfortably, looking everywhere but at my face. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything. For Carina. For how I treated Emma after we broke up. For being an asshole about your injury.”
I study him carefully, looking for signs of insincerity. I find none.
“Why now?”
