Chapter 23 #2
I stack plates in the cabinet. “Yeah, she’s good at appearing strong around others.”
The smile fades. “What do you mean?”
“Em was anxious while you were gone.” I start stacking bowls. “Kept checking her phone every five minutes.”
Grady stares at me. “Emily Wilson? Anxious?”
“She hides it well.” I place the last plate in the cabinet and turn to face him. “She doesn’t show it the way most people do. She builds things. She bakes bread until her arms ache. She takes apart the kitchen sink and puts it back together for the third time. But yeah. She worries.”
“About what?” Grady’s brow furrows. “Not me, I hope.”
“You, a little. Em frets when someone she cares about is struggling.” I start unwrapping bowls that match the plates. “But the bigger issue is that Auren showed up at the cottage.”
The colander hits the counter with a soft clatter. “What? When?”
“The Saturday before you returned. Leif was over, and we were watching a movie.” Fresh anger burns through me at the memory. “He brought suitcases. Said the Omega House asked him to leave, and he just expected Emily to let him move back in.”
Grady’s jaw tightens. “What happened?”
“Emily told him no. I was so fucking proud of her.” I lift out a pot to give my hands a task to focus on. “But it shook her. Bad. After he left, she... she kind of fell apart. It’s good Leif was there. I’m not sure I would have been enough.”
I don’t tell him about what Leif and I had done to pull her back from spiraling.
“Before Auren left, he said that Emily still owed him.” I place the pot on the stove. “And that we’d be hearing from his lawyers.”
Grady’s face darkens. “Owe him what? Didn’t he kick her out of her own pack?”
“Yeah, and she gave him everything he demanded, even though he had two new rich Alphas to take care of him.” I clench my teeth before I force my jaw to relax.
The sounds of the move continue around us, with footsteps on the stairs and Holden calling out for help with the bed frame. Quinn’s quieter now, still sitting where Emily put her.
“She’s been going through her paperwork at night, but she can’t figure out what he’s talking about.” I unwrap a second pot. “And not knowing is eating at her.”
Grady reaches into the box for a stack of cups to unwrap. “Do you think it’s an empty threat to extort more out of her?”
“Maybe.” I sigh. “I wouldn’t put it past the manipulative asshole. But Emily doesn’t work well with maybes, and the fact that she doesn’t have an answer is keeping her up at night.”
Grady’s quiet in thought as he unrolls packing paper and sets down the glasses one by one.
“So can you let her fuss over you?” I whisper, not wanting the others to hear.
Grady’s brow pinches. “Do you really think that will help?”
“She settles when she’s taking care of people.” I take the glasses from him and put them in the cupboard beside the plates and bowls. “It’s how she processes and quiets whatever’s rattling around in that stubborn head of hers. It’s not about you needing it. It’s about her needing to give it.”
Grady sucks on his lower lip in thought. “Yeah, I don’t mind doing that for her. I…kind of like it when she’s fussing.” He lets out a little huff. “Never thought I’d hear myself admit that.”
“I like it when she fusses, too,” Jared whispers. “But I also enjoy fussing over her, so when we’re both in a mood, it becomes a fussing war.”
Grady snorts. “Noted.”
I grab more cups, and we fall back into the rhythm of unpacking, the clatter of dishes filling the space between us.
After a few minutes, Emily walks into the kitchen, the sleeves of her flannel rolled to her elbows, exposing strong forearms. She stops beside the counter where Grady sits, attention dropping to his bad leg stretched out beside the boxes.
“How’s the knee?”
Grady meets my eyes over her shoulder, and I keep my face neutral, unpacking a saucepan with more attention than it deserves.
“It’s sore,” Grady says.
Emily doesn’t hesitate to step forward, resting her hand on his thigh above the knee, her fingers curling around the muscle. Her thumbs locate the joint, and she begins to work.
Grady’s breath catches, and his shoulders drop an inch, tension bleeding out of him, and his head tips back to rest on the cabinet behind him. “Oh, that’s good.”
Emily’s hands move in slow, firm circles, working the stiffness from the ligaments around his kneecap.
Her fingers find the spots where the pins sit beneath the skin. “You’ve been on it too much today.”
“I’m fine,” he protests as he relaxes under her ministrations.
“No, you’re not.” Her hands don’t stop. “Did you take care of it while you were back east? Did you remember to do your stretches and hot compresses?”
Grady’s eyelids crack open, and I see the calculation happen in real time. The moment he decides to give her what she’s asking for, not because he needs it, but because she does.
“No,” he admits. “They put me back in my childhood bedroom, which is on the second floor. I had to go up and down the stairs every time I needed anything.”
Emily rumbles with discontent.
“And my dad’s cars sit close to the ground.
It was a struggle every time I had to climb in and out, and my cane kept catching on the doorframe.
” His words take on a plaintive rhythm. “There were meetings all day, and dinners that ran late. By the time I got back to my room, I was too exhausted to do the stretches, and I didn’t want to bother anyone for a hot compress when I didn’t have the energy anyway. ”
Emily’s jaw tightens, the muscle along her cheekbone flexing, and her fingers dig deeper into the muscle above Grady’s knee. “You should have spoken up.”
“I did. Before I even got there, I reminded them of my limitations.” Real bitterness replaces the plaintive whine. “But they decided that if they just ignored the injury, it would go away. Which meant they made no accommodations.”
“Assholes,” I mutter.
Emily’s hands work the joint with renewed focus, her thumbs circling the kneecap while her fingers knead the tendons on either side. Grady’s leg relaxes under her touch, the muscle yielding. A soft sound escapes him, halfway between a sigh and a groan.
“Next time, you call,” Emily says. “I don’t care what time it is. I don’t care if you’re in Boston or Timbuktu. You call, and I’ll talk you through the stretches over the phone if I have to.”
Grady’s mouth curves. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t ma’am me.” She pinches him high on the thigh. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are.” His hand finds her shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of her flannel. “That’s why I’m saying yes.”
Behind Emily’s back, where only Grady can see, I mouth, Thank you.
An understanding passes between us, that of two people who love the same stubborn Alpha and have learned, in different ways, how to give her what she needs.
Emily works Grady’s knee for another minute, while around us, the cabin continues its transformation from an empty shell into a home.
Eventually, Emily’s hands slow, her thumbs gliding one last time over the hinge of Grady’s knee before she straightens. “Better?”
Grady flexes the joint, testing it. “Much.”
“Good.” She pats his thigh and turns toward the living room. “I’ve got more boxes to bring in. Stay put.”
She’s gone before he can respond, boots heavy on the hardwood, her orders cutting through the chaos.
Grady stares after her, his hand still resting where hers was, and the flush has returned to his cheeks, lighter this time. “She really is special.”
I stack the last pot in the lower cabinet and close the door. “Yeah. She is.”
But so is Grady. He gave her exactly what she needed, just as pack should.
Grady slides off the counter, grabs his cane, and tests his weight on the bad leg. “We should finish these boxes before she comes back and finds me walking around.”
I hand him a messy stack of dish towels. “Probably wise.”
As Grady folds the towels, his bad leg braced against the cabinet, I hope, with a fierceness that surprises me, that he stops hesitating soon and realizes that he belongs with us.