Page 22 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

Emma

Chapter Twelve

“ S o you’re telling me you and Chase Mitchell just happened to start dating the exact moment he became your patient?” Jackson’s voice crackles through my phone speaker.

I wince, holding the phone away from my ear as my brother’s volume increases. After three days of ducking his calls, I finally answered this morning.

“We met before he became my patient. At the coffee shop near the training facility.”

Jackson snorts. “Emma, I’ve known you your entire life. You’re a terrible liar.”

Guilt twists in my stomach. Technically, we did meet before he became my patient—at the party last year, not at a coffee shop.

“You know his reputation. The guy’s a player. Remember what happened with his last PT?”

“That’s not how it happened,” I say before I can stop myself. “He was eighteen. She was the aggressor.”

“And you know this how? Mitchell’s version?”

“Yes, his version. Which I believe.”

“Look, Em, I’m not trying to be an asshole here. I’m worried about you. About your career. Dating a patient, especially one with Mitchell’s history—it won’t end well.”

The irony isn’t lost on me. If only he knew the relationship wasn’t real.

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m a grown woman, Jack. I can make my own decisions.”

“Fine. But we’re discussing this in person when I’m back in town next week. And tell Mitchell I’ll be watching him.” There’s a pause. “Just be careful, Em. I don’t want to see you get hurt again .”

The reference to Tyler doesn’t need to be spoken aloud. “I know. I’ll be careful.”

After I hang up, I flop back on my bed. What have I gotten myself into?

It’s been a week since Chase and I started our “relationship,” and already it’s more complicated than I anticipated.

Between Halloween night and the increasingly blurry lines between fake and real, I’m starting to question my sanity.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Chase: Game day! Excited to see you there, Blondie. Wear something sexy that makes West regret all his life choices.

Me: I thought the point was to be convincing as a couple, not to antagonize Tyler.

Chase: Why not both? Two birds, one stone. Very efficient.

I laugh.

Me: Good luck for today. I’m sure sitting on the bench will be tiring.

Chase: Ouch. And I don’t need luck. Just need you in the stands wearing my number.

My cheeks heat at the possessiveness in his words. The memory of Halloween night intrudes: Chase on his knees before me, his mouth working magic between my thighs, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at me.

We haven’t discussed what happened, maintaining our boundaries during PT sessions as agreed. But there’s a new tension between us, a current of awareness that wasn’t there before .

A knock at my bedroom door interrupts my dangerously vivid memories.

“You decent?” Maya calls. “Because we need to go shopping if you’re going to look hot for tonight’s game.”

I sigh. “Come in.”

She bursts in with her usual energy. “So, game day. What are we wearing?”

“We? You’re coming too?”

“Duh. I’m not missing your debut as WAG of the year.”

“I’m not a WAG,” I protest. “It’s just—”

“Fake, I know. But the rest of the world doesn’t know that, which means you need to look the part. So, Bears jersey or sexy casual?”

I hesitate. “Actually, I was thinking of wearing Chase’s jersey.”

Her eyes widen. “You have his jersey already?”

“No, but he mentioned it in his text. I thought maybe I could surprise him.”

“Oh my god, you are so not faking this anymore. You’re actually into him.”

“I am not,” I protest, though the heat in my cheeks betrays me. “It’s just part of the act. Tyler never let me wear his jersey when we were dating. This would really sell the relationship.”

Maya doesn’t look convinced. “There’s that sports shop at the mall that does custom jerseys in an hour. I’ll grab it for you.” She’s already pulling out her phone. “What’s his number?”

“Nine.”

“Home or away colors?”

“Home. The blue one.”

There’s a flutter of excitement in my stomach at the thought of wearing Chase’s name and number tonight.

It’s just for show, I remind myself. Nothing more.

“Ms. Anderson, could I have a word?”

I look up from the patient file I’m reviewing to find Mr. Peterson standing in my doorway. After shopping with Maya this morning, I decided to stop by the Bears facility despite having the afternoon off.

He closes the door before sitting, which immediately sends my anxiety spiking.

“I wanted to discuss something delicate. It’s come to my attention that you and Mitchell have developed a personal relationship.”

My stomach drops. “I see.”

“Now, I want to be clear. The Bears organization doesn’t have a strict policy against staff dating players. We’re all adults here. However, when it comes to the medical team, especially direct care providers like yourself, there are ethical considerations.”

I nod, guilt gnawing at me. “I understand, Mr. Peterson. My relationship with Chase has not and will not affect my professional judgment regarding his treatment.”

“I believe you. Your work has been exemplary. Mitchell’s recovery is progressing well. But perception matters in this business. Ideally, Mitchell would be reassigned to another PT. However, given his specific injury and your expertise, that would be a disservice to his recovery.”

Relief floods through me. “So…”

“So we’ll need to be careful. Keep your professional interactions above reproach. Document everything. And perhaps consider whether this relationship is worth the potential complications to your career.”

The warning is gentle but clear. As he leaves, I let out a shaky breath. That could have gone much worse.

Which would be fine if this were a real relationship. But it’s not. It’s a temporary arrangement with a clear end date .

So why does the thought of that end date fill me with dread?

The arena is packed when Maya and I arrive. My jersey draws approving nods, though a few give me curious looks. The Mitchell name is recognizable enough that people are clearly wondering about my connection to him.

We settle into our seats—excellent ones courtesy of Chase, just a few rows up from the glass with a perfect view of the ice and the players’ bench.

“Damn.” Maya whistles. “Your fake boyfriend has excellent taste in seats.”

The crowd roars as the team emerges for warm-ups. Chase appears last, still in his jersey but without equipment, his knee brace visible beneath his warm-up pants. He’s on crutches, making his way carefully to the bench.

My heart does a ridiculous little flip at the sight of him.

“Stop staring,” Maya teases. “You look like a lovesick teenager.”

I’m so absorbed watching the warm-up that I don’t immediately respond, or notice Tyler skating toward our section. It’s only when he taps his stick against the glass directly in front of us that I register his presence.

He’s staring at the jersey I’m wearing. His expression cycles through surprise, disbelief, and finally, anger. He says something I can’t hear through the glass, but it looks suspiciously like “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I stare back impassively, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Well, that was subtle,” Maya comments dryly .

As warm-up winds down, Tyler skates another loop, stopping and motioning for me to come closer to the glass.

“Ignore him,” Maya advises.

But curiosity gets the better of me. I lean forward.

“Nice jersey,” Tyler calls out, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t remember you ever wearing mine.”

“You never let me. Besides, this one looks better on me,” I reply coolly.

His jaw tightens. “You’ve known Mitchell for what, a month? And you’re already playing the devoted girlfriend? Seems desperate, Em.”

The barb finds its mark, but I refuse to let him see he’s rattled me.

“Not as desperate as sending flowers to your ex five years after she caught you cheating. Move on, Tyler. I have.”

His expression darkens, but before he can respond, a voice calls from the bench. “West! Get your ass in here. Warm-up’s over.”

Tyler gives me one last hard look before skating away. I exhale slowly.

“Holy shit,” Maya breathes. “That was intense. You okay?”

“Fine. It’s actually liberating.”

“I bet. And look who noticed your little exchange.”

I follow her gaze to the bench, where Chase is now standing, eyes locked on me. When he sees me looking, a slow smile spreads across his face.

He lifts a hand, circling one finger in the universal gesture for “turn around.”

Heat floods my cheeks as I realize what he wants to see. I stand, slowly turning to show him his name across my back, the number nine large and bold for everyone to see.

When I face the ice again, Chase is smiling. He presses his hand to his heart, mouthing something that looks like “You’re killing me, Blondie.”

Maya snorts beside me. “Yeah, totally fake. No real feelings there at all.”

I sink back into my seat. “It’s for show. Part of the plan. ”

But as the game gets underway and I find myself genuinely invested in every play, cheering for the Bears despite years of allegiance to my brother’s team, I have to wonder how much of this is still an act.

The Bears win 4-2, a solid victory that has the crowd on their feet. I find myself cheering just as loudly as the dedicated fans around us.

“Traitor,” Maya teases as we join the stream of people heading for the exits. “What would your brother say?”

“He’d disown me.”

My phone buzzes.

Chase: Meet me by the players’ exit? Security will let you through.

“Change of plans,” I tell Maya, showing her the message.

She rolls her eyes. “Go meet your man. I’ll wait for you. Maybe.” She’s already walking away. “Don’t have too much fun, Mrs. Mitchell!”

I make my way through the concourse toward the players’ exit, where security checks my ID before waving me through. The corridor is quiet compared to the public areas, though I can hear celebration from the locker room.

“There she is.”

I look up to find Chase approaching, still in his jersey. He’s leaning more heavily on his crutch than usual.

“Hey. Good game.”

“Better now,” he replies, his eyes dark as they rake over me in his jersey. “You wore it.”

“You asked me to.”

“I didn’t think you would.” He steps closer. “It looks good on you, Blondie.”

“Your teammate seemed particularly impressed.”

Chase’s expression darkens. “I saw. He give you trouble?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“I don’t doubt it.” His free hand comes up to touch the sleeve of the jersey, fingers trailing up my arm. “But I’m still going to have a word with him. ”

“Don’t. It’s what we wanted, right? For him to believe we’re together?”

“Right,” he agrees, though something flickers in his eyes. “Is that all it is, though? For show?”

After Halloween night, after the way he looked at me tonight, it seems inadequate to call this merely a performance. But admitting anything else feels too dangerous.

“You tell me. This was your idea, remember?”

Chase steps even closer, eliminating what little space remained between us. His hand moves to my waist, firm and possessive.

“My idea,” he repeats, voice dropping to a rasp. “But seeing you in my jersey makes me want to forget all the rules we set.”

My breath catches. “Chase—”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me tonight? Sitting on that bench, watching you with my name on your back. Knowing everyone in that arena thinks you’re mine.”

Heat pools low in my belly at the possessiveness in his tone. “Just for show, right?”

“Is that what you want it to be?” His gaze drops to my lips. “Because right now, all I can think about is taking you home and fucking you while you’re still wearing my jersey.”

The crude words send a shock of pure want through me. Instead of being offended, I hear myself say, “Is that so?”

“God, yes.” His hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me against him until I can feel exactly how much he wants me. “I’d have you keep just the jersey on. Nothing else. Would bend you over and take you from behind so I could see my name on your back while I’m inside you.”

My thighs clench at the vivid image. “Chase—”

“Mitchell! Media’s waiting, man.”

We spring apart as Donovan rounds the corner. “Sorry to interrupt, but Coach wants you for the post-game stuff.”

Chase sighs, frustration evident. “Be right there.” He turns back to me. “Rain check on this conversation?”

I nod, torn between relief and disappointment. “I should get home anyway.”

“Wait for me?” he asks, then leans in to press a quick kiss to my cheek. “Thanks for wearing my jersey, Emma. Means more than you know.”

As I watch him walk away, I reach up to touch the spot where his lips brushed my skin. It tingles, as if marked by something more significant than a casual goodbye.

Maya’s right. This is getting complicated. Lines blurring, feelings developing where they shouldn’t.

But I can’t bring myself to regret any of it. Whatever this is, I’m in too deep to turn back now. All I can do is hold on and hope that when our agreed-upon end date arrives, I’ll be able to walk away with my heart intact.

Though even that is starting to feel like a lie I tell myself.