Chapter 12 #2
Regardless of the banter, there was heat beneath the words, something electric and dangerous. Emery recognized chemistry when she saw it, and whatever was happening between Ashley and Ethan could power the entire valley.
"You know what?" Emery gave Ethan a little elbow. He allowed her out, helping her to her feet. She stood, grabbing her jacket. "I'm going to head home. Leave you two to your very intense non-agreement."
"Emery—" Ashley started.
"Enjoy the night. You deserve it." Emery smiled at them both. "And Ethan? It was nice meeting you—seeing you again. I assume we came in contact with each other in high school.”
“Once or twice,” he said. “Get home safely.”
She left them staring at each other across the table, as if they were standing in the middle of the street, hands hovering over their weapons, waiting to see who got the first shot off.
As she navigated her way through the maze of people, she looked for the stranger with the baseball cap, but he was nowhere to be found.
Outside, the October night had turned crisp, the kind of cold that promised winter wasn't far off. Emery pulled her jacket tighter and started down Main Street toward the vineyard. It was only a twenty-minute walk, and the fresh air felt good after the warmth of the bar.
She'd made it half a block when a voice stopped her.
"Well, well. The woman of the hour."
Emery turned to find Callie Callaway leaning against a storefront, arms crossed, expression venomous.
"That interview was quite something." Callie pushed off the wall and moved closer. "All that talk about integrity and fighting back. Very inspiring. Also very pathetic."
"I'm not doing this with you." Emery turned to continue walking.
"Running away? How predictable." Callie fell into step beside her. "But then, running is what you do best, isn't it? Running from scandal, running from questions, running into Devon's arms like that's going to save you."
"What do you want, Callie?"
"Just to offer some friendly advice. Woman to woman." Callie's smile was sharp. "Devon's not yours to keep."
Emery stopped walking. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Whatever you think you have with him, it's temporary.
He'll get bored—he always does. A month, maybe two if you're lucky. I lasted six months, which makes me the record holder.” Callie stepped closer, invading Emery's space.
"So, enjoy it while it lasts. Because soon enough, he'll be done playing hero, and you'll be alone again, exactly where you started. "
"You're wrong."
"Am I? Ask yourself—has Devon ever had a serious relationship?
Ever committed to anyone for longer than a harvest?
" Callie's voice turned syrupy sweet. "He's a good time—a fun distraction.
But don't mistake kindness for love. He felt sorry for you that night at the bar, and now he's too nice to dump you while you're still a mess. "
The words hit harder than Emery wanted to admit. Because Callie was right about one thing—Devon had never been in a serious relationship. Had never committed long-term to anyone. What if this was just him being kind? What if she was reading more into it than existed?
"Stay away from me," Emery said, her voice shaking with anger and uncertainty.
"Gladly. Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were dealing with." Callie smiled. "Enjoy your walk home. Alone. You’re going to need to get used to that feeling.” She sauntered off, leaving Emery standing on the sidewalk with doubt curling cold in her stomach.
Don't let her get in your head, Emery told herself. She's trying to manipulate you.
But knowing someone was trying to manipulate you and being immune to it were two very different things.
Emery crossed toward the intersection, her mind spinning. Devon cared about her—she knew he did. But could he love her? Would he stick around when the crisis passed, and she was just... normal? Ordinary?
Headlights blazed from her left, a car accelerating from a side street. Emery's head snapped up, her body frozen in that terrible moment of recognition—she was in the street, the car was coming fast, too fast.
She tried to move, tried to throw herself backward, but her feet tangled, and the car was already there, the bumper catching her hip and spinning her around.
She hit the pavement hard, her head cracking against asphalt, and the world exploded into stars and pain and darkness.
The last thing she heard was the sound of tires squealing and the smell of burning rubber.
Then nothing.
The hospital waiting room smelled like disinfectant and burnt coffee.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the pitch making Devon's teeth ache.
He'd been pacing the same six-foot path for forty minutes, while Bryson sat hunched forward in a plastic chair, elbows on his knees, watching Devon's circuit with resigned patience.
"You're going to wear a hole in the floor," Bryson said.
"I don't care." Devon turned, retraced his steps, and turned again. He wiggled his fingers, shook his hands, made fists, and repeated the motions. "They said they'd come get me when she was done. That was an hour ago."
"It's been forty minutes. And they said stitches, X-rays, and a CT scan. That takes time."
"She was hit by a car. Hit and left in the street like—" His voice broke. He couldn't finish the sentence.
The call had come from Officer Chen thirty-five minutes after Devon had dropped Emery and his sister at the Copper Vine. Devon had broken every speed limit between the vineyard and Stone Bridge Memorial, Bryson white-knuckling the passenger seat and not saying a word about it.
They knew almost nothing. Hit by a car at the Main Street intersection. The driver didn't stop—a witness called 911. Emery was conscious when the ambulance got there but banged up.
That was it. That was all anyone would tell him.
The waiting room doors swung open, and Sandy Kane strode in. She wasn’t wearing her traditional uniform, but she’d strapped on her badge and weapon. Her expression was hard—a look that Devon had grown tired of. "Any word?"
"Nothing yet." Devon stopped pacing long enough to face her. "Please tell me you caught whoever did this."
“I wish that were the case. But we've got a partial plate from a witness, and we're running it now." Sandy pulled out her notebook. "Deputy Chen was first on scene. He was able to speak with Emery before they loaded her into the ambulance."
"What did she say?" Devon's heart hammered against his ribs.
"That she didn't see the car until it was almost on top of her. Said she was distracted, crossing the street, and the headlights came out of nowhere." Sandy flipped a page. "The car didn’t appear to swerve and clipped her. Could've been worse."
"I don’t see how," Devon said, barely able to form the words as a thick lump formed in his throat. "She's getting a CT scan because someone hit her with a car and drove off, but it could've been worse."
"The witness—did they see anything else?" Bryson asked.
"Actually, yes. They saw Emery arguing with Callie Callaway about five minutes before the accident. Heated conversation on the sidewalk outside the Copper Vine."
Ice flooded Devon's veins. "Callie was there?"
"According to the witness. But it couldn't have been Callie driving. The witness saw her walk in the opposite direction several minutes before the car came through."
"Are you sure?" Devon asked.
"Positive. Multiple people saw Callie leave the area on foot, heading toward her car, which was parked two blocks away." Sandy met his eyes. "I know what you're thinking, but Callie’s plate numbers don’t match the partial, and neither does the description of the vehicle.”
Devon wanted to argue, wanted to insist that Callie was somehow involved, but the logic didn't track. Callie couldn't have driven a car at Emery if she was on foot two blocks away. “What about Winston?”
“I can ask where he was, but I’ve got no reason to go any further than that.”
"What about the emails?" Bryson asked. "The fake ones using Gabe's name."
"I'm working on tracing the IP address. Should have something in a few days." Sandy closed her notebook. "I'd like to speak with Emery when she's feeling up to it. Follow up regarding the argument with Callie and what she remembers about the car."
"I'll let you know when she can talk," Devon said.
"Thanks. And Devon?" Her expression softened slightly. "I know this is scary. But we're going to find out who's doing this. All of it—the break-in, the forged documents, now this. Someone's going to make a mistake, and when they do, we'll catch them."
After Sandy left, Devon resumed pacing. The rational part of his brain knew she was right—investigations took time, evidence had to be gathered, cases needed to be built.
It wasn’t that long ago that this family was dealing with the murder of Sean and the subsequent setup of Grant.
But the irrational part of his brain, the part that had watched Emery get publicly humiliated and targeted and now hit by a car, wanted immediate answers and immediate justice.
The waiting room doors burst open, again, and Ashley rushed in with Ethan Blackwell right behind her.
Devon's vision went red.
"Where is she?" Ashley asked, her face pale and eyes wet. "Is she okay?”
"Why the hell did you let her walk home alone?" Devon's voice came out harsh, accusatory. "You were supposed to be having a girls' night. You were supposed to be looking out for her."
Ashley flinched like he'd slapped her. "Devon—"
"And what the hell are you doing here?" Devon turned his fury on Ethan. While he’d never personally disliked the man, or the Blackwells, he struggled with how easily Ethan had disappeared from his sister’s life.
It hadn’t been the same as when Riley had left.
There was a reason for that, and as painful as it had been, there had also been a goodbye.
“This is family business. You need to leave. "
"I was too upset to drive, and—"