Page 145 of Check & Chase
At the door, she pauses, looking back at me with eyes that have gone from stormy to hollow. “I hope this works out the way you think it will, Chase. I hope protecting me was worth it.”
And then she’s gone, the door closing with a soft click that somehow sounds more final than any slam could have.
I stand frozen in my living room, the enormity of what just happened washing over me in waves. This wasn’t the plan. Instead of helping the situation, I’ve driven away the one person who matters most to me.
I collapse onto the couch, my head in my hands, a horrible emptiness spreading through my chest.
I did this.
In my desperate attempt to save Emma’s career, I may have lost Emma herself.
Emma
Chapter Thirty-Two
I’ve gotten really good at pretending to be asleep.
It’s been eight days since I walked out of Chase’s house with my heart in pieces, eight days of functioning on autopilot. Eight days of Maya tiptoeing around me like I’m made of glass, of alternating between rage and numbness, of staring at my phone waiting for a call that doesn’t come.
“Emma.” Maya’s voice drifts through my bedroom door, followed by a soft knock. “You awake?”
I consider not answering, but that would only delay the inevitable check-in, the worried looks, the gentle suggestion that maybe I should eat something or take a shower.
“Yeah,” I call back, my voice rough from disuse.
“I made coffee. And Aunt Judith called. She wants to go over your official statement for the ethics commission before tomorrow’s hearing.”
Right, the hearing. The reason for this whole mess. I’ve been so consumed by the breakup that I’ve almost forgotten the actual threat to my career.
Maya lingers in the doorway after I emerge. “You look like crap.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it in the most loving way possible. But seriously, Em, it’s been over a week. You need to shower, eat real food, and remember you have a life beyond Chase Mitchell.”
The words sting because they’re true. “I know.”
“Look, I know this isn’t just a regular breakup. But you’re letting him win.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“The hell it isn’t,” Maya counters. “He decided what was best for you without consulting you. He broke things off ‘for your own good.’ If that’s not some patriarchal bullshit worth fighting against, I don’t know what is.”
She has a point, one that stirs the embers of anger that have been smoldering beneath my grief. Chase did decide for both of us. And I let him, walking away instead of standing my ground.
Maybe it was the stress. Maybe that’s why I was so cruel, so final with him. My whole world felt like it was crumbling—my job, my reputation, everything I’d worked for since my accident. When he suggested we break up, it felt like the last straw.
“You’re right,” I admit, the words like acid in my mouth. “I hate that you’re right, but you are.”
“Of course I am. Now, get your ass in the shower. We have work to do if we’re going to clear your name.”
An hour later, showered and dressed in real clothes for the first time in days, I’m sitting at our kitchen table with a pile of documents. Aunt Judith, Maya’s honorary aunt and my newly acquired legal counsel, peers at me over reading glasses.
“The good news,” she begins, tapping a stack of papers, “is that the access logs clearly show Andrea Flores accessing your treatment notes outside of her normal duties. The timestamps are damning—late at night, weekends.”
“And the bad news?”
“The bad news is that perception matters as much as facts in these situations. You were involved with a patient, even if you recused yourself properly. That’s enough to create doubt in some minds.”
