"I never interrogate. It's called conversation, Emmy, and if done correctly it perpetuates itself."
He opened the door, and there was Grant.
He'd showered and changed since the game—dark jeans, a gray henley that stretched across his shoulders, hair still dampat the temples. She'd seen him like this a hundred times over the years—post-game Grant, satisfied and loose. But he hadn't made it to one of these dinners since spring, maybe earlier. The season, her job hunt, life pulling everyone in different directions.
"John." Grant stepped inside, already bracing himself. "Good to see you."
"You took three significant hits in the fourth quarter." Dad didn't move from the doorway. "I counted. The one on the scramble—your head snapped back. Did the training staff check you?"
"Cleared by medical. All good."
"Medical clearance is not the same as actual wellness. Symptoms can be delayed. Are you experiencing any dizziness? Sensitivity to light? Difficulty concentrating?"
"I'm experiencing difficulty getting past the front door." But Grant was smiling—patient, warm, twenty years of practice with her father's particular brand of love. "I promise I'll tell you if my brain starts leaking."
"That's not funny."
"It's a little funny." Grant caught Emmy's eye over Dad's shoulder. "Hey, Em."
"Hey." She kept her voice the exact temperature of normal. "Good game. That fourth-quarter drive was—what was it, Dad?Surgical?"
Dad shuddered. Grant ducked his chin, and his gaze held hers a beat too long before she looked away.
"Thanks. West was the one making plays."
The door opened behind Grant, and West and Brynn tumbled in on a wave of cold air and leftover adrenaline. A bruise was blooming on West's cheekbone, purple edging toward green, but he didn't seem to notice. He was still talking, gesturing with his hands the way he always did after wins.
"—and then Morrison just sat down on the safety, Brynn, literally sat on him, and the ref didn't even call it—" He spotted Grant and clapped him on the shoulder. "Tried to catch you after the press conference but you ghosted. There he is, though. The surgeon himself."
Emmy caught Grant's eye again. He pressed his lips together, fighting a smile.
"Living room," Dad said. "Both of you. The ice packs are ready."
West was already moving, familiar with the routine. Grant followed, squeezing Emmy's shoulder in commiseration as he passed.
Brynn appeared at Emmy's elbow, unwinding her scarf. "West talked the entire drive over. I know more about Morrison's blocking technique than I ever needed to." She smiled, easy and fond. "Good game, though."
Mom emerged from her study with ink on her fingers and a distracted smile. "Did we win? The cheering sounded positive."
"We won, Mom."
"Wonderful. You get your speed from me, you know." She patted West's arm as she passed.
"Dinner's ready," Serle announced from the kitchen doorway. "Before the chicken gets cold."
The dining room settled into familiar chaos—Dad still listing symptoms Grant should monitor, Mom asking West if he'd ever considered how jousting techniques might apply to modern football blocking, Brynn catching Emmy's eye with the patient amusement of someone who'd married into this family with full knowledge of what she was getting.
"So, Emmy." West reached for the bread basket. "How's the new job? You're being weirdly quiet about it."
Emmy felt Grant go still across the table. Her fingers found the stem of her water glass.
"It's going well. Really well, actually. I signed my second athlete client this week."
"Two clients already?" Brynn looked impressed. "That's amazing. What's it like? The matchmaking process, I mean. I've always wondered how it actually works."
Emmy relaxed into the question. Safe territory. "It's part psychology, part detective work. You start with intake forms, but those only tell you what peoplethinkthey want. The real work is figuring out what they actually need." She tore off a piece of bread. "Someone might say they want ambition, but what they really want is someone who makes them feel ambitious. There's a difference."
"That's fascinating," Brynn said. "So you're reading between the lines."
