Page 192 of Make the Play

Chase:I’m sad all over, sweetheart. Wanna come fix it?

God, I want to, more than anything.

But I don’t answer, not yet. I can’t walk back in and pretend like I didn’t try to throw it all away.

Chase sees me, all of me. Even the parts I keep buried under charm and polish and punchlines. He’s seen the cracks and the grief I never talk about. The fears I don’t let anyone else carry.

And when everything came crashing down, I looked him in the eye and told him I regretted it. I didn’t even fucking mean it, but I said it.

Because my job, my image, the perfectly controlled life I’ve built—those are the things I know how to hold. When everything else spirals, I fall back on the mask. I spin it. Manage it. Smile through it. That’s how I survive.

But Chase has never bowed to the mask. He lifted it and didn’t care what he found underneath.

And instead of holding onto him, I pushed him away and ran straight back to the version of me that felt safe. The one with clean lines and career goals and a no-mess strategy to handle the fallout.

I’ve been sitting in the wreckage of my own words, hearing them over and over again. Watching the moment his face changed and the way he looked at me.

So if tomorrow goes the way I hope it will, the footage will be gone. And when it is, when the noise quiets and I can finally look him in the eye again, I’ll tell him the truth.

I’m sorry.

I never once regretted him.

That he’s the first thing I’ve ever chosen without a plan, just instinct.

And that I love him so much it terrifies me, and I was stupid enough to try and outrun it.

Chapter thirty-seven

The roar

Zoe

The Matchstick isn’t crowded, which I’m grateful for. A few people sit at the far end, heads down, caught in their own world. Dim lighting flickers over dark wood and matte brass, and I tuck my coat tighter around me as I slide into the booth.

Nate’s already here—Storm cap on and the same half-smile I’ve passed in the lobby a dozen times.

“Hey,” I say, trying to make my voice sound casual. “Thanks again for meeting me.”

“No problem,” he says, shifting slightly as I settle in across from him. “I figured you might want to deal with this off the record.”

He smiles and lets his eyes drag over me. Usually, he’s a little too friendly, especially when Chase is around, but right now his eyes feel sharper and more deliberate, moving over me and assessing. But when you’re a woman who grew up with that kind of gaze trained on you your whole damn life, you learn to pick your battles.

And tonight, I want that damn recording.

“I really appreciate it,” I say, sliding my gloves off, fingers stiff from the cold. “Honestly, if this means it’s shut down before it spreads, I owe you.”

Nate shrugs, waving the server over. “It’s nothing. Anything to help my guy Chase out… He’s had enough going on lately.”

I blink. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he says. “The media’s all over him like they don’t get how much pressure he’s under.” He glances at me. “Honestly, I thought he was doing better. Less drama and all-night parties at that rooftop club in LoDo. He seemed more settled once you were around, apart from this week. But that’s what happens I guess, when people start getting too comfortable.”

That strikes me as oddly perceptive, but die-hard hockey fans usually follow their favorite players off the ice, too. Or maybe I’m being paranoid because I’m so hyper-aware of the shitstorm that could break under this elevator footage situation. I glance at the server as she sets down two drinks—vodka cranberry for me, soda water with lime for him.

Nate takes mine from her, sloshing it slightly as he does so, and sheepishly apologizes as he wipes the edge and hands it to me. “Saw you order this once after a Storm game, figured it was your go-to.”

I pause for a fraction of a second, my fingers tightening around the glass.

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