Page 23 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

Chase

Chapter Thirteen

T he press conference feels like it lasts three lifetimes. All I can think about is Emma waiting for me somewhere in the building, still wearing my jersey, her words from our interrupted conversation playing on repeat in my mind.

Is that so?

I automatically answer reporters’ questions about the team’s performance, my recovery timeline, how it feels to watch from the bench. But my mind is elsewhere, fixed on green eyes and the sight of my name across her back.

Finally, Coach wraps things up. I make my way back to the players’ area as quickly as my single crutch will allow, disappointment sitting heavy in my chest when she’s no longer where I left her.

My phone buzzes, and I draw it from my pocket.

Emma: Had to go. Maya was waiting. Sorry for disappearing.

At least she didn’t just vanish without a word. Progress from last year.

Me: Team’s heading to Sullivan’s to celebrate. You and Maya should join us.

The three dots appear, disappear, then appear again. Like she’s typing, deleting, reconsidering.

Emma: Maya’s got an early shift tomorrow. Rain check ?

I frown at the screen. After the heat between us earlier, her sudden retreat feels jarring. Then my phone buzzes again.

Emma: Unless you want just me to come? I could catch an Uber.

The tension in my shoulders eases.

Me: I definitely want you to come. I’ll save you a seat. Text when you’re close and I’ll meet you outside.

I head straight for my car instead of the team bus, and just as I’m unlocking it, Donovan slides into the passenger seat like he owns the place.

“Skipping out on the team ride now?” he asks. “Bold move, Mitchell.”

“Figured I’d drive myself. Avoid the whole sardine-can experience.”

He smirks. “And here I thought you just wanted a moment alone to daydream about Emma in your jersey.”

“You’re really leaning into this whole nosy best friend thing tonight.”

“Hey, I just call it like I see it. And what I saw? Pretty sure that wasn’t ‘taking it slow.’ You two looked like you were seconds away from defiling the corridor.”

I’m grinning like an idiot, and he knows he has me.

“Is she meeting us at the bar?”

I nod. “Yeah. Without the roommate.”

His eyebrows climb. “Interesting development.”

Sullivan’s is already packed when we arrive, but our section is free with pitchers of beer ready. I claim a booth in the corner, strategically leaving the space beside me open for Emma. I order a club soda, garnering the usual ribbing about being a lightweight.

“It’s the pain meds,” I remind them .

Keller slides into the booth across from me. “Word is the PT will be joining us tonight. She’s pretty fucking hot.”

Something possessive stirs in my chest. “She’s also sitting right here when she arrives, so maybe dial it back.”

My phone buzzes.

Emma: Outside. Where should I meet you?

Me: Stay there. Coming to get you.

The cool November air hits me as I step outside. I look to the right, and there she is, standing under a streetlight, still wearing my jersey.

“Hey,” she greets with a small smile. “Sorry I’m late. Took forever to get an Uber.”

“You’re worth the wait, Blondie.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile widens. “Smooth talker.”

“Fair warning, it’s loud in there. And the guys are already giving me shit about you coming.”

“Let them,” she declares with confidence. “I can handle a bunch of hockey players.”

I follow her inside, enjoying the view of my name on her back. I place my hand on the small of her back to guide her through the crowd of teammates offering introductions and drinks. She handles it all with grace, declining alcohol in favor of a soda, laughing at the right moments.

“Reserved for the most beautiful woman in the room,” I tell her as she slips into the booth. A second later, I slide in beside her, and our thighs press together.

“You’re annoying.”

“Part of my charm.”

The conversation flows easily. Emma fits in better than I expected, trading friendly barbs with Keller and asking thoughtful questions about the game. I’m so caught up in watching her interact with my teammates that I don’t immediately notice Tyler’s arrival.

“Anderson,” he says, the slight slur indicating he’s had more than a few drinks. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Tyler,” she replies coolly. “Good game tonight.”

His gaze drops to her jersey, expression darkening. “Nice outfit. Team spirit and all that.”

I slide my arm around Emma’s shoulders. “My name brings out her eyes.”

His jaw tightens. “Bit soon for the jersey ritual, isn’t it? You two have been together what, a few weeks?”

“When you know, you know,” I reply. Emma’s thigh presses against mine under the table, a silent warning.

“And it just happens to be with the physical therapist. Convenient, given your history.”

The implication makes my blood boil. I start to rise, but Emma’s hand on my arm stops me.

“My relationship with Chase is none of your business. Just like your relationship with Carina is none of mine.”

The mention of Carina hits a nerve, and his expression twists. “Me and her are taking a break.”

“Sorry to hear that. Now if you’ll excuse us, Chase and I were having a nice time before you decided to make a scene.”

Tyler leans closer. “You’re making a mistake, Em. Mitchell’s using you. Ask around about what happened with his last PT.”

“I know exactly what happened,” she states, the certainty catching me off guard. “And I know who I trust. News flash: it’s not you.”

“You’ve changed.”

“I’ve grown up. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Donovan appears, clapping a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “West, we need you for a team photo. Management wants some social media content.”

He hesitates, then nods stiffly. “This conversation isn’t over, Emma.”

“Yes, it is,” I interject. “She’s made herself clear.”

After Tyler is led away, Emma releases a shaky breath. “Well, that was fun.”

“You handled it like a pro. He’s an asshole. I can’t believe him and Carina are on another break. ”

A small, satisfied smile curves her lips. “Karma takes her time, but she always arrives.”

The sight of that smile does something to my chest. Emma Anderson is tougher, brighter, more captivating than I expected.

And I’m increasingly, alarmingly into her.

The rest of the evening passes without incident. Tyler keeps his distance. Emma relaxes significantly, her body gradually softening against mine until she’s practically tucked under my arm, her head occasionally resting against my shoulder when she laughs.

It feels real. Not like we’re putting on a show. Just real—a man and a woman enjoying each other’s company, comfortable in each other’s space.

By the time the celebration winds down, it’s past midnight. Emma stifles a yawn against my shoulder.

“Want me to call you an Uber?”

She considers, then shakes her head. “Actually, would you mind giving me a ride? Surge pricing is probably insane right now.”

“Not at all. I’ve only had club soda all night.”

We say our goodbyes, enduring knowing looks and suggestive comments.

“Nice ride,” Emma comments as we approach my SUV.

“Thanks. I’ve modified the pedals so I can drive with this,” I tap my knee brace.

She gives me a look that’s pure PT disapproval. “You shouldn’t be driving at all with that injury.”

“How else would I get around? Carrier pigeon?”

“There’s this amazing invention called ‘asking for help.’ You should try it sometime.”

“I prefer self-sufficiency.”

“You prefer being stubborn.”

I can’t argue with that. The interior feels suddenly smaller with Emma in it. She gives me her address, and I input it into the GPS even though I already know the way .

We drive in comfortable silence, city lights reflecting on her face as I steal glances whenever traffic allows.

“Thank you,” she says suddenly. “For tonight.”

“For what part?”

“For not making a scene with Tyler. For letting me handle it myself.”

“You seemed to have it under control. Though I was ready to step in if needed.”

“I know. That’s why I’m thanking you. Most guys would have gone all caveman protector.”

“Is that what Tyler did?”

Her expression clouds. “Tyler was complicated. Possessive when it suited him, distant when it didn’t.”

I nod, understanding. “Carina was similar. Hot and cold. Made me constantly question where I stood.”

“Until you caught her with Tyler.”

“Until I caught her with Tyler. Though looking back, it was a blessing in disguise.”

“Same with Tyler and me. Took me longer to see it, though.”

The conversation drifts to lighter topics as we near her neighborhood. It’s easy. Natural.

I pull into her driveway, putting the SUV in park but leaving the engine running.

“Well, thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for coming tonight. The guys liked you.”

“They like that I wear your jersey. Makes you seem less unattainable.”

“Is that how they see me?”

“According to Keller, you’re ‘Mitchell the Mysterious.’ Apparently, you don’t socialize much off the ice.”

I shrug. “I keep to myself. It’s easier that way.”

“Easier how?”

“Fewer complications.” But even as I say it, I’m acutely aware of the complication sitting beside me.

Emma nods slowly. “Well, you certainly complicated my life. ”

“Regretting our arrangement?”

She considers for a long moment. “Not as much as I should be.”

The confession hangs between us, charged with implications neither of us seems ready to voice. Instead of responding with words, I find myself leaning across the console, drawn to her like gravity.

Emma meets me halfway, her eyes fluttering closed as our lips connect in a kiss that’s nothing like the hurried, desperate ones we shared on Halloween. This is slow, deliberate, an exploration rather than a claiming. Her hand comes up to cup my jaw as our mouths move together.

She tastes like the cherry soda she drank, sweet with a hint of tartness that fits her personality perfectly. I deepen the kiss gradually, giving her every opportunity to pull back. She doesn’t. Instead, her fingers slip into my hair, tugging slightly in a way that sends electricity down my spine.

This kiss has nothing to do with our arrangement, nothing to do with convincing others we’re a couple. There’s no audience here. Just us, crossing a line we’d drawn in sand rather than stone.

I’m the one who finally breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to rest my forehead against hers, both of us breathing harder than a simple kiss should warrant.

“That wasn’t part of the fake dating rules,” Emma whispers, her eyes still closed.

“No,” I agree, my voice rougher than usual. “It wasn’t.”

Her eyes open, meeting mine with vulnerability. “Chase—”

The sudden glare of headlights illuminates the car as another vehicle pulls into the driveway. Maya’s car.

Emma pulls back quickly. “I should go. It’s late.”

“Emma.” I catch her wrist gently. “We should talk about this.”

“Tomorrow. PT session at two, right?”

“Right. Tomorrow.”

She slips out with a murmured goodnight, greeting Maya in the driveway. I wait until they’re safely inside before backing out.

This arrangement is veering dangerously into territory that feels anything but fake. The lines are blurring—between pretense and reality, between professional and personal, between what we agreed to and what’s actually happening.

And the most alarming part? I don’t want to redraw those lines. I want more. More of Emma’s laughter when she’s relaxed. More of her body pressed against mine. More of her lips, soft and yielding under mine.

More of her. All of her. Real, not pretend.

As I drive home to my empty house, I acknowledge what I’ve been avoiding: I’m falling for my physical therapist. My fake girlfriend who’s only supposed to be pretending until the Bears-Wolves game at the end of the month.

After spending years avoiding entanglements, keeping relationships casual and uncomplicated, I’ve managed to develop feelings in a relationship that was designed to be anything but real.

And I’m not ready to let it go.