The Chase

I wanted a fun college hockey romance and got one with more heart than expected. The Chase by Elle Kennedy was first published in August 2018 by Bloom Books, a 368 page paperback with ISBN 9781775293972. It is book one of Briar U, a spin off of Off Campus set at Briar University. Summer needs summer housing. Fitzy needs to stop hooking up to prove something. They end up roommates who should not work. I read it in two sittings, laughing at group chats and underlining the grief bits.

Summer Di Laurentis narrates much of it. She is twenty, stylish, funny, and under pressure from a politician father who cares about image more than happiness. Kicked out of her sorority house for a summer program, she needs a place. Her brother, an NHL player, asks his old Briar friends to help. Only Colin Fitzgerald, Fitzy, has a spare room. He is a hockey defenseman, joke machine, and serial hookup artist with a sad streak he hides well.

Fitzy narrates too, which helps. He is not just comic relief. His mother died young. His father checked out. Hockey kept him housed and fed through junior leagues. Now at Briar he plays hard, parties harder, and avoids feelings by making everyone laugh. Summer sees through it fast because she does the same with shopping and smiles. They agree to house rules. No hookups in the apartment. No feelings. Both fail by week two.

Forced proximity

The roommate setup delivers classic beats with fresh banter. Summer takes the small room with bad light. Fitzy leaves protein shakers everywhere. She alphabetizes his cereal to annoy him. He uses her fancy shampoo to retaliate. Their group chat with teammates becomes a Greek chorus. Memes. Dares. Bad advice. Kennedy writes twenty something texting well. Short, typo filled, and revealing.

Summer program adds stakes beyond romance. She interns for a fashion startup while taking classes, trying to prove to her father she is serious. He wants law or politics. She wants design and independence. Every call home is a negotiation. Grades. Clothes. Who she lives with. When he learns she lives with hockey boys, he threatens to pull funding. Summer must decide whether to obey for money or work extra shifts for freedom. She chooses work, which costs sleep and gains self respect.

Fitzy hockey life grounds his comedy. Practices at dawn. Video review. A coach who sees through his clown act and benches him for lazy defense. An injury scare that forces him to study playbooks instead of partying. Teammates who love him but tire of cleaning his messes. When Fitzy starts showing up on time, eating better, and asking Summer to quiz him, you see growth without a speech. Discipline as love language.

Their banter is the selling point. He calls her Princess. She calls him Manchild. He cooks terrible pasta. She fixes it without thanking him. They watch bad reality TV and argue about contestants like an old couple. Underneath, both confess small truths during late kitchen talks. She hates being photographed because of her father campaigns. He hates Mother Day games because of empty seats. Those confessions, traded for snacks, build trust faster than dates.

A fair note. Early hookup humor may tire readers who want slower burn. Fitzy past conquests get many jokes in the first fifty pages. Stick past. Once Summer calls him out for using humor to dodge grief, the jokes get kinder and funnier. Kennedy knows when to drop the act.

Grief and image

The middle deepens both leads beyond tropes. Summer father runs for office and wants her as prop. Smiling daughter in ads. No hockey boyfriends. No fashion risks. Summer loves him and hates the role. A scene where he edits her dress for a fundraiser photo sums it. You look great, just less you. She wears it, smiles, and feels sick. Fitzy, who knows about performing for scouts, sees it and says nothing at first. Later he asks what she would wear if no cameras. She shows him sketches. He gets it instantly. That is intimacy.

Fitzy grief surfaces in pieces. A Mother Day social media post he drafts and deletes. A voicemail he kept. A panic when Summer gets sick and he overreacts with soup and thermometers. He tells Summer his mom died of cancer when he was young and his dad never recovered. Hockey families raised him in billets and locker rooms. He learned to be funny so people keep him around. Saying that aloud to Summer, without a punchline, costs him. She holds his hand and does not try to fix. Just listens.

Summer own pressure builds to a break. She fails a midterm after working late, lies to her father about grades, and considers quitting the internship to please him. Fitzy, who failed plenty, helps her study without judgment. Flashcards. Practice tests. Snacks. No teasing about fashion. That study montage is more romantic than any kiss because it shows partnership. Two people making each other capable.

Side friends add warmth. A teammate with a baby. A sorority sister who learns to apologize. A coach daughter who befriends Summer without agenda. Briar U feels populated, not just a rink and a bed. Queer teammates get normal subplots, not trauma showcases, which I appreciated. Parties have consent talk that feels natural, not lectured. Upperclassmen check in on freshmen drinks. Small details that make college feel safer to read about.

If there is a sag, it is a jealousy loop in the middle where Summer dates a safe preppy guy to make Fitzy jealous and to please her father. It works for two chapters, then repeats. I skimmed one dinner date and missed nothing. The payoff, where Summer tells both guys she will choose herself first, justifies the detour. She drops the prop boyfriend and tells Fitzy she needs a partner, not a punchline.

Choosing themselves first

The last act avoids grand gestures for steady choices, which suits Briar U tone. Summer tells her father she will study design and fund it with work and scholarships if needed. He threatens, then softens when polls show voters like independent daughters. It is cynical and believable. She accepts his partial support without surrendering major. Fitzy tells his coach he wants to lead penalty kill through work, not jokes. He earns the A on his jersey by showing up early for rookies. Hockey growth mirrors emotional growth without forcing metaphor.

Their romance resolves with rules rewritten. No more no feelings rule. Instead, talk when hurt. Knock before entering. Split chores for real. Fitzy meets Summer father and survives by being polite and funny without performing. Summer meets Fitzy dad and sees where humor hides pain. Both families stay messy. No proposal. Just a lease for fall and plans to visit each other internships. For twenty year olds, that is commitment.

The final game and showcase pair well. Fitzy blocks a shot that wins a scrimmage and celebrates by pointing to Summer in stands, not by stripping. Summer shows her designs at a student showcase and dedicates one jacket to hockey padding as armor. Friends cheer too loud. It is sweet without syrup. Two people who started as a housing accident end as teammates.

What stays with me is Kennedy argument about fun. Humor can be avoidance or bridge. Early Fitzy uses jokes to dodge grief and responsibility. Late Fitzy uses jokes to include, to ease rookies, to make Summer laugh after hard calls home. Same skill, different aim. Summer learns the same with style. Clothes can be armor for her father or expression for herself. Choosing expression costs money and gains self. That is adulting in a romcom shell.

Teammates, jobs, and Briar U texture

Briar U feels real because teammates have lives beyond setting picks for the leads. A senior with a baby who brings the stroller to study hall. A freshman goalie who throws up before games and gets kindness not hazing. A coach who benches stars for missing class, which makes hockey matter academically. Summer interns with a startup founder who steals ideas and takes credit. Those work scenes balance rink highs with rent lows. Paychecks late. Shifts swapped. Portfolio reviews that feel like judgments on worth.

Summer sorority fallout deserves more attention because it shows reputation politics for women. Kicked out over a summer housing technicality that is really about her father scandal, she learns who friends are when group chats go quiet. One sister sneaks her notes. Another returns her deposit in cash to avoid a trail. Small kindnesses that cost social points. Summer stops performing perfection for girls who grade it and starts choosing friends who show up with boxes and pizza. That culling hurts and helps.

Fitzy family backstory fills gaps his jokes leave. A father who loves but cannot say it after his wife died. Bills paid late. Billets who raised him as their own for seasons. He sends money home even when broke. He keeps his mother scarf in his gear bag. When Summer finds it and does not make a big deal, just washes it and returns it folded, he trusts her with the rest. Objects carry grief here better than speeches. A scarf. A photo. A song his mom liked that he skips every time until one night he lets it play.

Party scenes include the consent checks modern college books need without pausing plot for lectures. Upperclassmen watch freshmen drinks. Friends walk each other home. Fitzy, known player, asks clearly and accepts no without pouting, which Summer notes with surprise after hearing stories. That reputation repair happens through observed behavior, not claims. Teammates tease him for being domesticated. He owns it by cooking for the house. Change shown in kitchens sticks more than change claimed in bedrooms.

Summer internship deserves a closer look because it shows ambition beyond romance. She works for a fashion startup where the founder takes credit and pays late. Summer learns to document hours, to ask for raises in writing, to build a portfolio that is hers even if the company folds. A scene where she presents sketches and a male lead talks over her, then Fitzy later asks to see the sketches properly, contrasts professional dismissal with personal respect. That contrast clarifies why she stays with Fitzy. He looks at her work.

Fitzy classes add similar grounding. Sports management courses he once skated through now matter because a coach benches players below a GPA line. Study halls with teammates become comedy and progress. Flashcards on buses. Tutors who do not care about hockey. Summer quizzes him with the same patience he shows rookies on ice. They trade competence. No one rescues the other. Both get better at school and sport together, which makes the romance feel adult rather than escapist. I especially liked a quiet library scene where neither talks for an hour, just works side by side with feet touching under the table. Company without performance is rare in college books and it fits them.

Read it if you like Off Campus but want a fresh pair. Start here for Briar U, no prior books needed though cameos delight. It pairs well with iced coffee and a free afternoon. Do not expect angst for angst sake. Expect banter with bruises underneath, hockey with heart, and roommates who learn to knock and to stay. By the last page you will want the next Briar U book. I did, mostly to see who steals Fitzy cereal next.