Page 16 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

He looks like he wants to say more, but a nearby cluster of team executives glance our way, reminding him where we are .

“Whatever,” he mutters, his gaze hardening as it meets mine. “Just remember what I told you about Mitchell’s history with physical therapists, Em. History repeats.”

With that parting shot, he turns and stalks away, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.

Emma’s hand drops from my arm, her expression closing off. “I should go,” she murmurs.

“Wait.” I catch her wrist gently. “Don’t let him ruin your night.”

“He already has.” She glances around the crowded ballroom, looking trapped. “I don’t belong here anyway.”

“Neither do I.” I gesture to my crutches and formal attire. “Hard to mingle when you’re one wrong move away from face-planting into the canapés.”

That earns a small smile, which I count as a victory.

“Seriously, though, let’s get some air. The terrace should be quieter.”

Emma hesitates, then nods. “Five minutes. Then I really do need to leave.”

The terrace is blissfully empty, the air crisp but not uncomfortable. Strings of white lights twinkle overhead, providing just enough illumination to see without spoiling the view of Pinewood spread out below us.

Emma moves to the stone railing, wrapping her arms around herself against the slight chill. I shrug out of my tuxedo jacket and drape it over her shoulders before she can protest.

“Such a gentleman,” she teases, but she pulls the jacket tighter around her.

“Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

She laughs softly, the sound warming something in my chest. We stand in companionable silence for a moment.

“I’m sorry about Tyler,” I finally say. “He’s a piece of work.”

“Not your fault.” Emma stares out at the city lights. “I should have expected something like this when I took the job with the Bears. ”

“He mentioned my ‘history with physical therapists,’” I say carefully. “I’m guessing that’s come up before?”

She glances at me, then away. “Jackson warned me too. There were rumors…”

“That I had an inappropriate relationship with my former PT, got her fired when it went south, and was using her for pain meds.” I finish the sentence for her, keeping my voice calm despite the anger that still simmers whenever the topic arises.

“Something like that.”

I lean against the railing, taking weight off my bad knee. “Want to know what really happened?”

She turns to face me fully, her expression guarded but curious. “If you want to tell me.”

The fact that she doesn’t immediately assume the worst means more than it should.

“Her name was Amber Johnson,” I begin. “I was eighteen, just drafted, first serious injury of my career. She was thirty-six and my team-assigned physical therapist.”

I pause, gathering my thoughts. “She started with small things: comments about my physique, unnecessary contact during therapy, texts after hours. I was young, flattered by the attention from an attractive older woman. Didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.”

Emma’s expression softens. “She took advantage of you.”

“Yeah.” The simple acknowledgment eases something tight in my chest. “When I finally tried to establish boundaries, she threatened to tell the team I’d been pressuring her for painkillers. Said no one would believe my version over hers.”

“What did you do?”

“Recorded our next session.” I stare out at the city lights, avoiding Emma’s gaze. “Caught her propositioning me, threatening to falsify medical records if I didn’t comply. Took it to the team’s legal department.”

“And they believed you? ”

“Eventually. There was a settlement, non-disclosure agreements all around. She left with a payout and her reputation mostly intact. I got labeled as ‘difficult’ and traded to a new team with warnings to stay away from the medical staff.” The bitterness creeps into my voice despite my efforts to keep it neutral.

“I came here a year ago thinking it’d be a fresh start. Turns out, the rumors got here first.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, processing. Then she says something unexpected. “I believe you.”

Three simple words. Not “I’m sorry that happened” or “That must have been hard,” but clear, unequivocal belief. It hits me harder than I expected.

“Thanks.” I clear my throat, uncomfortable with the emotion threatening to surface. “Anyway, that’s the sordid tale Tyler was referencing. Probably not the version he told you.”

“No,” Emma agrees. “Definitely not.”

We fall quiet again, but this time the silence feels easier.

“The flowers were from him,” Emma admits suddenly. “Tyler. In case that wasn’t clear from Carina’s meltdown.”

“I figured.” I study her profile in the dim light. “Ex-boyfriends who send unwanted flowers are usually bad news.”

“He’s trying to mess with my head.” She turns the sleeve of my jacket between her fingers, a nervous gesture I haven’t seen from her before. “It’s what he does.”

“Is it working?”

She looks up, meeting my gaze directly. “No. But him telling everyone I ‘still want him’ is going to make my job more complicated.”

“People know what West is like,” I assure her. “No one who matters will believe him.”

“I hope you’re right.” She shivers slightly despite my jacket. “I should go. Early start tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you outside.”

“On crutches? I don’t think so.” The professional PT is back, assessing my stance with a critical eye. “You’ve been on that knee too long already. ”

“I’m fine,” I insist, though she’s not wrong. The throbbing has intensified over the last hour.

“Liar.” But she says it with a hint of affection rather than her usual exasperation. “Stay here, rest your knee. I can find my own way out.”

She slips off my jacket and hands it back, her fingers brushing mine in the exchange.

“Thank you for the rescue. And for telling me the truth about Amber.”

“Anytime, Blondie.”

She rolls her eyes at the nickname but doesn’t correct me. Progress.

As she reaches the terrace doors, I call after her, “See you for PT tomorrow?”

Emma pauses, looking back over her shoulder. “Try not to do anything stupid with that knee before then.”

“No promises.”

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she disappears back into the ballroom, leaving me alone on the terrace with the lights of Pinewood spread out below and a warmth in my chest.

I stay out there longer than I should, replaying everything. Her voice, the way she leaned into me when Tyler showed up, the look in her eyes when I told her about Amber. There’s something building between us, and it’s getting harder to pretend I don’t feel it.

It’s risky. She’s my physical therapist. There are rules. Lines we’re not supposed to cross. And she’s got those walls up like her life depends on it.

But still… I want to cross them. Not just because it’s exciting, though it is, but because Emma Anderson feels different. Real . Like maybe she matters more than I want to admit.

I’m still smiling like an idiot when I finally head back inside, only to have Donovan block my path the second I step through the door.

“Dude, what was that with you and the new PT?” he asks, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “The whole team’s talking. ”

“Nothing,” I reply, though we both know it’s not true. “Just rescuing her from West’s bullshit.”

“Uh-huh.” Donovan doesn’t look convinced. “Just be careful, man. Team medical staff is off-limits for a reason.”

“I know the rules,” I assure him, though I’m not sure I care about them anymore. Not when it comes to Emma.

And that realization should terrify me. Instead, it feels like the start of something inevitable.