Page 14 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

His laugh is sharp. “Like you did at the championship party? Quite cozy in that study, weren’t you?”

Before I can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the tension.

“Is there a problem here?”

Chase stands a few feet away, leaning on his crutches, his expression casual. But I recognize the hardness in his eyes, the slight clench of his jaw.

Tyler straightens. “No problem. Just catching up with an old friend.”

“Didn’t look like a friendly conversation from where I’m standing,” Chase counters. “Emma, don’t you have a patient waiting?”

I seize the lifeline gratefully. “Yes, I do. Excuse me, Tyler.”

This time when I try to pass, he doesn’t block me. But he does call after me. “Think about what I said, Em. Some people don’t change.”

I keep walking, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. Chase falls into step beside me.

“You okay?” he asks once we’re out of earshot.

“Fine,” I say automatically, then sigh. “Thank you for the interruption.”

“Looked like you needed an escape route.” He studies my face as I push open the door to my treatment room. “What did he want?”

“To make me uncomfortable. He succeeded.” I gesture for Chase to enter. “You’re early for your session.”

“Had a meeting with Coach about my recovery.” He settles onto the table. “Thought I’d come straight here after.”

“And it had nothing to do with rescuing me from my ex?”

Chase grins. “Pure coincidence. But I won’t pretend I didn’t enjoy the look on West’s face when I interrupted whatever bullshit he was spewing. ”

I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “He was being his usual charming self.”

“Want me to accidentally hit him with a crutch next time?”

“Tempting, but no. I can handle Tyler.”

He studies me for a moment, his expression turning serious. “You look tired.”

The observation catches me off guard. “Rough night,” I admit, busying myself with setting up for our session.

“Nightmare?” he guesses, and my hands still.

“How did you—”

“You mentioned running onto the ice triggered your PTSD. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots.”

I resume my preparations, uncomfortable with how accurately he’s read me. “It’s nothing new. I’ve dealt with them for years.”

“Doesn’t make them any easier, though, does it?”

There’s something in his voice that makes me look up. His blue eyes hold quiet compassion. “No,” I admit softly. “It doesn’t.”

“So, did you watch the game Friday?” he asks, effortlessly lightening the mood. “Bears crushed the Wolves, by the way.”

“Three-two in overtime is hardly ‘crushing,’” I retort.

“Ah, so you did watch!” His grin widens triumphantly. “And here I thought all my brilliant commentary via text went unread.”

“Nineteen texts, Chase. Nineteen.”

“You counted them,” he notes with satisfaction. “And clearly read them all.”

I roll my eyes, gesturing for him to extend his injured leg. “Only to make sure you weren’t reporting new symptoms.”

“Mmhmm. Professional interest only. I believe you.”

The session proceeds smoothly, Chase dutifully performing each exercise. His progress is impressive, though I’m careful not to say it too enthusiastically.

“Good work today,” I tell him as we finish. “The stability around the joint is improving nicely. ”

“Does that mean I can ditch these?” He nods toward his crutches.

“Not yet. Another week at least.”

He sighs dramatically. “You’re a cruel woman, Blondie.”

“I prefer ‘thorough’ and ‘cautious.’”

A knock at the door interrupts our banter. One of the administrative assistants pokes her head in, a vase of flowers in her arms.

“Delivery for you, Ms. Anderson,” she announces cheerfully. “Where would you like them?”

I stare at the arrangement—red roses mixed with white lilies, elegant and expensive—with growing dismay. “Who sent them?”

“No card,” she replies, setting them on my desk. “Secret admirer, maybe?”

As soon as she disappears, Chase’s expression changes, the easy warmth replaced by a hard edge. “Looks like someone’s trying to make an impression,” he comments.

I don’t respond, my mind racing. Only one person makes sense, and the thought makes my stomach churn.

“You should get going,” I tell him abruptly, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll see you at your next session.”

He nods, reaching for his crutches. “Looking forward to it.”

The session ends on a strained note. I watch Chase leave, noting the tension in his shoulders .

Once he’s gone, I turn to the flowers, anger replacing my initial dismay. There’s no card, but I don’t need one. Tyler’s parting comment echoes in my mind: “Think about what I said, Em.”

I grab the vase and march to the nearest waste disposal room, dumping the entire arrangement into the trash with enough force to shatter the glass. The crash is satisfying.

As I stand there, breathing hard, a memory surfaces—five years ago, walking into the apartment after being gone for two weeks. The sound of laughter from the bedroom. The door opening to reveal Tyler and a woman I’d never seen before, tangled in sheets that still smelled of my perfume.

The flowers he’d sent the next day, red roses and white lilies, with a card that read “I can explain.”

I’d burned the card and left the flowers to rot on the doorstep.

Now, staring at the broken vase, I feel the same cold fury. Tyler hasn’t changed, still using the same tactics. And worse, he’s made Chase think the flowers are from someone I’d welcome attention from, creating tension where there was finally some trust building between us.

I take a deep breath, clenching and unclenching my fists. I won’t let Tyler get to me. Not again. And I won’t let him interfere with my professional relationship with Chase.

But as I clean up the mess I’ve made, I can’t help wondering if it’s already too late for that.