Chapter 10 #2
Thank you for the flowers. You didn't have to.
The response came immediately.
Grant Knight
Yeah, I did.
Three words. No elaboration. She didn't know what to do with that, so she set the phone down and looked at the flowers instead.
"Emmy." Harper's voice cut through. "Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere." Emmy took a sip of coffee. "Just thinking."
"About Tyce?"
"About—" She stopped.
Teaching moments. 4.2 million followers. A frame-by-frame breakdown of her grip while she slept.
And underneath all of that, like a splinter she couldn't stop touching: Grant's face at 0:47. Grant's voice behind the clubhouse, quiet and certain: He set you up. Her own voice, sharp with humiliation she'd aimed at the wrong person: I don't need you to rescue me.
"About how stupid I am," she finished.
"You're not stupid."
"I defended him. To Grant. I told Grant he was being paranoid, that Tyce was just—" She laughed, and it came out broken. "That Tyce was helping my career. Opening doors. And the whole time, Tyce was setting up his shot. Literally. He was positioning me for content."
Harper's eyebrows climbed. “Grant tried to warn you?”
“Yesterday. After it happened. He found me behind the clubhouse and told me exactly what Tyce had done, and I—" Emmy's throat tightened. "I told him I wasn't a little girl. That I didn't need his protection. That I was a professional."
"Oh, Em."
"And then I walked away. Back toward the parking lot where Tyce was waiting to drive me home." She stared at the flowers on her counter. "Grant was right about everything. And I chose Tyce anyway."
"You didn't know—"
"I should have. That's the thing. I'm supposed to be good at reading people. That's my entire job. And Grant saw through Tyce in five seconds, and I spent weeks telling myself Grant was just being overprotective."
The flowers sat there, white and elegant, from a man who'd watched her choose wrong and sent an apology anyway.
You're right. I'm sorry.
Right about what? That she could handle herself? That she didn't need protection? Or right that she'd been blind, and he was sorry she'd had to learn it this way?
Emmy stared at the arrangement. 2.3 million people had watched her worst moment. Her boss might fire her Monday. Tyce Duke had turned her humiliation into a content strategy.
And she couldn't stop thinking about Grant Knight at 0:47, arms crossed, watching her fail.
That was the thing she couldn't say out loud.
Not to Harper, not to anyone. The video wasn't the problem.
The video was embarrassing, but embarrassment faded.
What kept her up last night, what had her refreshing a frozen frame instead of drafting her resignation letter, was the look on his face.
The way he'd known. The way she'd told him he was wrong and then proved him right in front of everyone.
She didn't know what that meant. She wasn't ready to know.
"More coffee?" Harper asked, already standing.
"Yeah," Emmy said. "More coffee."
West
Dinner? I'm near your place.
Emmy frowned at West's name. West didn't do spontaneous anymore—not without prompting.
Pre-Brynn West would've shown up unannounced, DoorDashed enough food to feed an army, and fallen asleep on her couch.
Married West texted first, checked his calendar, undoubtedly ran the whole plan past his wife before hitting send.
Emmy
Sure. Where?
He named a place two blocks from her apartment.
Emmy changed out of her robe for the first time all day, wrestled her hair into something that wouldn't frighten small children, and walked over.
West was already seated at a corner booth, half-hidden behind a massive fiddle leaf fig.
He stood when he saw her, and for a moment she just looked at him.
There were a few shining silver threads in his brown hair now.
When had that happened? He was only thirty-two.
Their father had gone gray early too—always said it was a sign you'd picked the right woman.
He'd also gotten thinner in the face, which was weird because Brynn's cooking was significantly better than his bachelor-era rotation of protein shakes and takeout.
Maybe it was the season. Maybe it was the baby stress.
He looked older. More tired. More like a person with actual responsibilities instead of her idiot brother who'd once bet her fifty dollars he could eat a whole watermelon and then threw up in Mom's hydrangeas.
He pulled her into a hug that lasted three beats too long.
"You saw it," she said into his shoulder.
"I saw it."
"And you drove forty-five minutes to check on me."
"I was in the area."
"You're never in the area anymore. You live in Newton. This is the opposite of your area."
West released her, gesturing for her to sit. "Fine. Brynn sent me. She said, and I quote, 'your sister is spiraling and you're going to go make sure she eats real food.'"
"I'm not spiraling."
"You're eating croissants for dinner, aren't you."
"I had two croissants. That's a light snack, not a spiral."
West's mouth twitched. "Sure."
"Thank god Dad thinks TikTok is a communist data-harvesting operation and refuses to click links. If he'd seen it, he'd already be on his way over with a blood pressure cuff."
"Mom's been running interference. She told him it was a video of you accepting an award."
"An award for what?"
"She didn't specify. You know how he is—he heard 'Emmy' and 'award' and stopped asking questions."
They ordered. The server left. The silence that followed was too careful, too gentle. West was working up to something.
"Just say it," Emmy said.
"I'm not going to lecture you about Duke."
"Good. I've already had that lecture."
"From who? Dad?" West snorted. "What did he say, something about reading people's auras?"
"From Grant, actually. He tried to warn me about Duke before the whole—" She waved her hand vaguely. "Disaster."
"Wait." West frowned. "Grant was right there and he didn't stop it?"
"He was behind the ropes. It's not like he could've—"
"Hang on." West was already pulling out his phone, swiping. "I want to see where he was standing."
"West, please don't—"
But he was already watching, squinting at the screen. Emmy stared at her plate. She didn't need to see it again. She had every frame memorized.
West winced. "Jesus, Em. Your swing really is awful. You look like you're trying to hit a pinata."
"Thank you for that."
"There." He jabbed at the screen. "Is that him? Behind the rope?"
Emmy didn't look. "Probably."
"That's definitely him. I recognize that stupid cap he always wears." West watched for another few seconds, then looked up, frowning. "If Grant was right there, why didn't he step in? Stop it before you—" He gestured at the phone. "You know."
Emmy's fork scraped against her plate.
Because I told him not to. Because I said I wasn't a little girl who needed protecting. Because I walked away from him and straight toward the disaster he'd warned me about.
"It happened fast," she said. "And besides, what was he supposed to do? Run out and rescue me in front of everyone? People would've thought—"
She stopped.
West waited. "Thought what?"
Emmy's face went hot. "Nothing. Just—it would've been a bigger scene.
Two athletes getting into it at a charity event, you know how people are.
They'd assume—" She was fumbling now, reaching for something that made sense.
"You know how the tabloids love pairing you guys up with whatever woman you're standing next to.
Grant didn't need that, and neither did I. "
West's expression was pure confusion. "Pairing him up with—what, with you?"
The way he said it. Like the concept was so foreign it didn't even register as a possibility. Like she'd suggested Grant might be paired with the champagne cart, or the flagpole.
"No, I just meant—forget it." Emmy stabbed at a cherry tomato. "The point is, he tried to warn me, I didn't listen, and here we are."
"Okay, but—" West was still frowning, still stuck on the thing she wanted him to move past. "Why would anyone think you and Grant were—that would be like—" He made a face. "That would be weird."
"I said forget it, West."
"No, I know, I'm just saying—"
"Can we please talk about something else?"
West studied her for a moment. She could see him deciding whether to push—the same calculation he'd been doing since they were kids, weighing his curiosity against her temper.
He picked up his burger.
"Fine. But you know I'm right about Duke. Guy's always been—"
"West."
"Okay, okay." He took a massive bite, talking around it. "Different topic. Ultrasound."
Emmy seized the subject change like a life raft. "How was it? Tell me everything."
West's whole face changed. It was like watching a light come on—everything softened, opened up, went embarrassingly gooey. She'd never seen her brother look like that before Brynn. Now it was his default setting.
"It was..." He shook his head, lost for words. "You could see the heartbeat. This tiny flicker. Like a little pulse of light." He pulled out his phone again, scrolling past the video that Emmy was grateful to see disappear. "Here—Brynn said I could show you—"
He turned the screen toward her. Gray and white static, the familiar blob shape of early ultrasounds. And there, in the center, a small rhythmic flutter.
Emmy's throat went tight.
"That's a person," she said. "That's an actual person in there."
"I know." West's voice was rough. "Wild, right? In like six months that's going to be a whole human who calls me Dad. I'm going to be responsible for keeping it alive."
"You can barely keep plants alive."
"I know! That's what I told Brynn! She said babies are more resilient than ferns, which, honestly, is a low bar."
Emmy laughed—a real one, surprising herself. "You're going to be a good dad."
"You think?"
"Yeah." She handed his phone back. "I really do."
West pocketed the phone, then stole a piece of bread from her basket. Some things never changed.
"So how much trouble are you in?" he asked. "With the Ferrance woman?"
"I don't know yet. She said we'd 'discuss it Monday,' which could mean anything from a warning to a firing."
"She can't fire you for being bad at golf."
"She can fire me for being a viral embarrassment associated with her brand."
"That's bullshit."
"That's business." Emmy pushed a cherry tomato around her plate. "I'll figure it out. I always do."
West was quiet for a beat. "You know you can come stay with us for a bit, right? If you need to get out of the city. We've got the guest room."
Emmy looked at him—her idiot brother with his silver threads and his baby on the way and his life in Newton that didn't include her the way it used to.
"I miss you guys," she said quietly. "The city's not the same since you moved."
West's face softened. "Come to dinner this week. Brynn's been asking about you. And we could do lunch after one of my practices—there's this place near the facility that does amazing tacos."
"I'd like that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Let me just—" She gestured vaguely at her life. "Get through Monday. See if I still have a job. Then I'll text you."
"Okay." West reached for the check first. She opened her mouth to protest and he gave her a look—the one that said don't even try it. "Call me if you need anything. I mean it."
"Tell Brynn thank you." The words caught in her throat, came out scraped. "For sending you."
"She knows you wouldn't ask." West stood, pulling her into another too-long hug. "Love you, Em."
"Love you too."
This time, she thought she might actually mean it when she said she'd call.
Emmy walked home in the cooling evening air. The sun was setting, painting the buildings gold and pink, and she tried to focus on that instead of the conversation replaying in her head.
That would be like—that would be weird.
The complete bafflement in West's voice.
The way he'd looked at her like she'd suggested something absurd.
In West's mind, Grant existed in a fixed category: family, brother, permanent fixture.
The idea of Grant as anything else didn't just seem unlikely to West—it seemed impossible.
Like suggesting the sun might rise in the west tomorrow.
Emmy had known that, of course. She'd grown up in the same house, watched the same friendship, understood the same unspoken rules.
So why did West's confusion make her feel so alone?
She climbed the stairs to her apartment, unlocked the door, and stood in the quiet for a moment.
On the kitchen counter, the white roses and pale green hydrangeas were starting to open wider. The card was still propped against the vase where she'd left it.
You're right. I'm sorry. — G
She'd told him she didn't need protecting. He'd apologized for trying.
And now she was standing in her apartment, replaying the look on her brother's face when she'd accidentally suggested that she and Grant could be seen as—
As what?
Emmy turned away from the flowers and went to take a shower. She stood under the hot water until it ran cold, and she didn't think about Grant Knight at all.
She was very deliberate about that.