Page 125 of Check & Chase
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.”
