Page 185 of Check & Chase
“I was playing for someone special.” He steps closer, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. “You wore the jersey.”
I had, changing into it just before the game started. “Seemed appropriate.”
He kisses me then, right there in the arena corridor where anyone might see—teammates, media, fans. A kiss that’s both claiming and reverent, a public declaration.
“I have plans for us tonight,” he announces when we part. “If you’re not too tired from traveling.”
“What kind of plans?”
“It’s a surprise. Trust me?”
“Always.”
He leads me out through a private exit to where a sleek black SUV waits, a uniformed driver standing beside the open rear door.
As we settle into the plush leather interior, I study Chase’s profile in the dim light. “Your dad seems different. More… relaxed about everything.”
His expression shifts, a flicker of old tension crossing his face. “Yeah, he’s come a long way since that day at my place after the injury.”
“I remember.” I can’t keep the edge from my voice. “He blamed me. Said you jeopardized your entire career ‘because of her.’”
Chase takes my hand, his thumb stroking across my knuckles. “He was wrong. And I think even he knows that now.”
“What changed?”
“Mom happened. After they left that day, she apparently tore into him at the hotel. Told him if he ever treated you like that again, she’d make sure he slept on the couch until the next ice age.”
I laugh softly, remembering how I’d pointedly informed Richard about my Master’s degree. “I was terrified, but I wasn’t going to let him dismiss me like that.”
“Dad’s always been hockey-obsessed. Having his own career cut short made him put everything into mine. But seeing me come back from the injury, make it to the Finals…” Chase shakes his head. “I think he’s finally realizing there’s more to life than hockey.”
“Like what?” I ask, heart racing at the intensity in his eyes.
His fingers brush my cheek. “Like this. Like us.”
The driver clears his throat discreetly. “We’ve arrived, Mr. Mitchell.”
I see we’ve pulled up outside Antonio’s, the intimate Italian restaurant where we had our first “practice date” months ago. The windows glow with warm light, and I notice the CLOSED sign despite the activity inside.
“Did you rent out the entire restaurant?” I ask, incredulous.
Chase grins. “Maybe. Come on, let’s go inside.”
We eat and drink and talk, reliving the game’s best moments, completely avoiding any mention of what happens when I return to Hartford. Tonight isn’t about complications. Tonight is just about us, about celebrating, about how far we’ve come.
After dinner, Chase suggests a walk through the town park, which strikes me as odd given the late hour but feels too romantic to refuse. It’sonly when we enter the park and I see the pathway lined with fairy lights that I realize this isn’t spontaneous.
“Chase,” I breathe, taking in the twinkling lights, the rose petals scattered along the path. “What is all this?”
“Just keep walking,” he says, his voice strangely tight.
I follow the illuminated path through the trees to a small clearing where a gazebo waits, draped in hundreds of tiny lights and cascading flowers. Chase guides me up the steps, and once we’re inside, I can barely catch my breath.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, turning slowly to take it all in.
Chase positions himself in front of me, capturing both my hands in his. Under the gentle light, his face looks different—softer somehow, stripped of all that trademark cockiness.
“Emma,” he begins, voice rough with emotion. “I had this whole speech planned. About how you fixed more than just my knee. About how you challenge me, call me on my crap, make me want to be better. About how the thought of not waking up next to you every morning physically hurts.”
