"Because you had to. Because of West."
"I didn't have to do anything." No teasing now. No deflection. "I could have hired anyone in the country. I choseyou."
The court felt smaller. The net felt farther away. Emmy felt like she'd missed a stair in the dark.
"Why?" Barely above a whisper. "Why did you say yes when we both know it's the last thing you wanted?"
That muscle in his jaw. The one that only moved when he was trying not to say something.
"Because I know you."
Simple. Direct. Like it was obvious.
"You'd walk onto that court next week and get destroyed rather than admit you couldn't do it. So if you're going to do it—" He held her gaze. "You're going to be prepared."
He wasn't just helping her. He was arming her.
"Now get in stance." Grant stepped back, voice shifting to coach. "Keep your knees bent."
He walked back to the baseline. "Okay," he called out. "Forget form. Instinct only. Fight or flight, Em. Choose fight."
He slapped a ball toward her. It had pace.
Emmy reacted without thinking. She lunged, swung, and the ball ricocheted off her strings with a satisfyingthwack. It sailed over the net.
"Ugly," Grant judged, but he was smiling. He scooped it up and fired it back. "Again."
Emmy scrambled left. Hit it back.
"Again."
He hit it right. Emmy sprinted, her new shoes squeaking violently, and shoveled the ball back over the net.
"Keep your feet moving!" Grant yelled. "Don't plant! Dance, Em!"
"Iamdancing!" she shouted back, gasping as she chased a shot into the corner. She whacked it cross-court.
Grant adjusted his speed, meeting her chaos with controlled precision. Playing with her, but also playingforher—keeping the ball alive so she had to keep running.
"Is that all you got?" Emmy panted, resetting in the center.
Grant's eyebrows shot up. He caught the ball in one hand, looking delighted.
"Careful, Princess. I'm playing at ten percent."
"Give me twenty." Emmy was panting, flushed, possibly insane. "I can take it."
Grant's slow, wicked grin spread across his face. "Okay. Twenty."
He served.
Spin on the ball that made it kick sideways. Emmy yelped, stumbling, but she framed it back.
Grant moved in. Drop shot.
Emmy sprinted. "Youjerk!"
"Run!"
