A man appearing to be about sixty or so was in Brynnon’s face, and it was clear the guy was pissed.
What the fuck?
“You’re wrong,” Brynnon’s sharp voice seethed. “And you need to leave before I call for security.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Grant’s voice grated. He was by her side in seconds. The relief in her eyes when she swung her gaze to his was like a punch to his gut.
“The truthwillcome out.” With that, the man walked away, disappearing down the hall. Grant started to go after him, but a small hand on his chest stopped him.
“Let him go.”
“Who was he?” Grant demanded.
“Just a reporter.”
“What the fuck did he want?”
Though she tried to hide it, Grant saw the tremor in her hand as she removed it from his chest. “Nothing.”
“Sure as hell didn’t look like nothing.” He did a visual sweep of her body.If he hurt her, I’ll fucking kill him.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”
His eyes shot to hers.
“I’m fine, Grant. Really.” Brynnon lowered her arm. “He was just after a story that doesn’t exist. That’s all.”
“Apparently, he didn’t get the memo.”
“Right?” She shook her head. “That came out of nowhere, for sure.”
“What’s the non-existent story?”
Brynnon took a breath to compose herself. “Nothing important. I promise.” Seeing he wasn’t convinced, she added, “This sort of thing happens all the time. An overzealous reporter catches wind of something theythinkmight be their chance to land a big story. They try to dig up dirt on a U.S. Senator or his family only to find out it’s completely bogus. Seriously, let’s just forget about it and go see Angie and the kids. After, we need to call your friend and set up an appointment to get you fitted for your tux.”
Begrudgingly, Grant agreed and walked her back to the party. But as he waited for Brynnon to say her goodbyes and give out hugs, he thought more about the man he’d seen talking to her. He’d appeared bitter. Angry. Not exactly characteristics he’d expect to find in an overzealous reporter. Maybe a trip to the paper where the guy worked would help put the uneasy feeling in his gut to rest.
Grant stood back as Brynnon doled out hugs to each and every child there. As they started to leave, he heard a voice holler out for him.
“Bye, Grant! Remember what we talked about!”
He turned and gave Kenny a wave.
A look of shock spread over Brynnon’s face. “Shut the front door. Is that an actual smile I see?”
Clearing his throat, Grant returned to his usual state of indifference, muttering, “Cute kid.”
Brynnon gave him a knowing grin. “I see you met Kenny. That explains it.”
“What’s his story?”
Her lips flattened slightly. “When Kenny was four, he was diagnosed with Neuroblastoma. It’s a rare type of cancer that most commonly affects children. From everything I’ve read, most don’t even survive past the age of five, but Kenny’s a fighter. His doctors chose an aggressive course of treatment that took him to the brink of death. But he went into remission three years ago.”
“How old is he, now?”
“He just turned eight last month.”
Grant pushed the elevator button and waited. “So, if he’s in remission, why is he a patient here?”
