Page 44 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

Chase

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I t’s been four weeks.

Four weeks of stolen mornings in bed; of Emma slowly getting comfortable with the skating rink in my backyard; of quiet dinners and lazy Sundays that feel like building something real and lasting.

Four weeks of falling deeper in love with her every single day, watching her heal in ways that have nothing to do with my knee and everything to do with her.

And now it’s time to face the music.

The media room feels like an interrogation chamber, bright lights beating down on me while twenty cameras capture every micro-expression. My dress shirt sticks to my back despite the air conditioning, and I resist the urge to loosen my tie.

“And how’s the knee feeling now, Chase? Four weeks since your last evaluation and your return to practice. Are you ready for your first game back?”

I shift in my seat, flexing my leg under the table. The familiar twinge is there, but it’s nothing compared to the searing agony of those first few weeks. The knee that Emma helped rebuild, session by painstaking session .

“Knee feels great,” I say, leaning toward the microphone. “I’ve been told I’m cleared for play with some precautions, though I’ve been skating full contact in practice for a week now without issues. I’m ready.”

My mind drifts to Emma. Just thinking about her makes my mouth curl into a smile, which I try to hide by taking a sip of water. I fail spectacularly, because the next question is exactly what I expect.

“There have been rumors circulating about your relationship with one of the team’s physical therapists, Emma Anderson. Can you comment on that?”

Every head in the room leans forward like sharks scenting blood. Coach tenses beside me—he warned me about this, suggested I stick to “no comment” or some carefully crafted non-answer prepared by the PR department.

But I’m done pretending.

“Emma and I are together. It’s not a rumor.”

The room erupts with follow-up questions, voices overlapping in their hunger for details. I hold up a hand, waiting for silence.

“Look, I know what some of you are thinking. There’s been speculation about the timeline, about whether our relationship was appropriate given her role on the medical staff.

So let me be clear—we followed all protocols.

As soon as things between us became serious, Emma recused herself from my care. She’s been nothing but professional.”

“Is it true you were dating while she was still your physical therapist?” someone calls out.

I hesitate, weighing how much to share. The truth is messier than what I just presented—our fake relationship that became real, the way we fell for each other despite every reason not to.

“Emma and I knew each other before she joined the Bears’ staff,” I say carefully. “Our relationship has evolved over time, but we’ve always been mindful of professional boundaries.”

Not exactly a lie, but not the full truth about our arrangement either. Some things are just for us .

“There are also rumors that your ex-girlfriend, Carina Reed, has been seen at your practices recently. Any comment?”

I clench my jaw, the question hitting like a slap shot to the chest. Of course they bring her up.

“Ms. Reed has no connection to me or the team. I’d prefer to focus on hockey.”

Coach nods approvingly and steers questions back to the upcoming game. I answer on autopilot—talking about line combinations and defensive strategies—while my mind drifts to Emma and the life we’re building together.

Forty minutes later, the press conference finally wraps up. I stand, stretching my legs and nodding to Coach, who grunts his approval.

“Not bad. Though I could have done without the love story.”

My phone buzzes as I head toward the locker room.

Emma: Just watched your press conference. You looked very handsome in your suit. Can’t wait to take it off you later.

The message sends heat straight through me, and I’m grinning like an idiot as I type back.

Me: I’m holding you to that.

Emma: Oh, I’m counting on it.

I’m pushing through the locker room doors when a commotion down the hall catches my attention. Raised voices echo from the direction of the training room—one male, one female, both sharp with conflict.

“You can’t just barge in here and start making accusations.”

“I’ll do whatever I damn well please! Where is she? Emma!”

Shit. I know that voice .

I sprint down the hallway, my knee protesting with each step, and round the corner to find exactly what I fear.

Carina stands in the middle of the training room, her face flushed with anger as she yells at a bewildered security guard.

Her usually perfect appearance is disheveled—hair escaping its careful styling, makeup smudged, designer dress wrinkled like she’s been pacing for hours.

Three of my teammates hover nearby, looking uncomfortable, while several medical staff press themselves against the wall like they’re trying to become invisible.

“Carina,” I say sharply. “What the hell are you doing?”

She whirls toward me, eyes wild with the kind of desperation that makes people dangerous. “There you are! Tell your little guard dog here to back off. I need to talk to your precious Emma.”

“She’s not here,” I state firmly, moving closer while keeping my voice level. “And even if she was, she has nothing to say to you. You need to leave.”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” she hisses, stepping into my space with aggressive familiarity. “Not until I set things straight. You two think you’re so clever, don’t you? Playing your little games?”

Tyler steps forward from where he’s been watching against the wall.

I’m still getting used to seeing him around after all the trade talk and suspension drama.

Management decided they needed his offensive skills too much to let him go, and his lawyer worked some magic.

The tension between us hasn’t fully disappeared, but it’s different now—less hostile.

“Carina, come on. This isn’t the place.”

“Shut up,” she snaps at him before turning back to me, her voice dropping to something low and bitter. “You said we were on a break! Not permanently done. And then I see you in the papers with her? The girl from the party last year?”

Her eyes narrow as the pieces fall into place, and I feel the temperature in the room drop ten degrees.

“I didn’t realize it was her back then,” she continues, voice gaining strength with each word. “I knew Tyler’s ex was named Emma, sure—but I never connected the dots. Not until now. Not until I saw her properly and remembered how you disappeared that night. You snuck off with her, didn’t you?”

My blood runs cold. I glance around the room, acutely aware of our audience—teammates, medical staff, security. This is exactly the kind of drama that feeds gossip mills for months.

“We weren’t even together until well after the party, Carina. Now, you can either leave or security will escort you out.”

“She stole you from me! She planned this whole thing, worming her way onto the team’s staff so she could get close to you!”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” To my surprise, it’s Tyler who speaks. He steps between me and Carina, facing her. “Emma took the job because she’s qualified. She didn’t even want to be near hockey players after—”

“After what happened with you,” I finish for him, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “Emma wanted nothing to do with me because she associates me with her ex, who cheated on her.”

Carina’s face twists into something ugly. “Don’t you dare try to blame this on me and Tyler. We made a mistake. One mistake.”

“Actually,” Tyler says quietly, looking genuinely remorseful, “it was more than once.”

The room goes dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. Carina turns to him, eyes wide with betrayal.

“Tyler!”

He shrugs, suddenly looking older than his years. “I’m done lying, Carina. For you, for anyone. What we did to Chase was wrong. What I did to Emma was wrong. And I’m not going to stand here and let you insult her for finding happiness with someone who deserves her.”

I stare at my teammate, stunned. This is the last thing I expected from Tyler West.

“You’re taking their side? After everything?”

“There are no sides,” Tyler responds, sounding tired. “Just people trying to move on. ”

“Security,” I call, finding my voice again. “Please escort Ms. Reed out of the building.”

“This isn’t over,” she spits as the security guard takes her arm. “She’s not right for you, Chase. She’ll never understand you like I do.”

I watch her being led away, a weight lifting from my shoulders that I didn’t realize was there.

For so long, Carina has been this specter hovering in the background of my life, this unfinished business that kept me from moving forward completely.

But looking at her now—desperate, bitter, clinging to something that died ages ago—I feel nothing but relief.

“Thanks,” I say to Tyler once she’s gone and the crowd disperses.

He nods, avoiding eye contact. “She deserves to be happy. You both do.”

Before I can respond, he walks away, disappearing into the locker room.

I pull out my phone and text Emma.

Me: You’re not going to believe what just happened.

Game day. The energy at the arena is electric, crackling through the air like lightning before a storm.

I’m feeding off it, bouncing on my toes in the tunnel as I count down the minutes until we hit the ice for warm-ups.

Months of watching from the sidelines was torture—being so close to the game I love but unable to participate, reduced to cheerleader status while my body healed.

I need this like I need air.

The lights in the arena dim, and the crowd roars as our hype video plays on the Jumbotron. My teammates start filing toward the ice, each caught in their own pre-game ritual—some tapping sticks, others mumbling prayers or running through mental plays .

Mine is simple: three taps of my stick on each side of the tunnel, and then…

Emma.