Page 119 of Blitzing Emily

She’d been pulling the yarn so tightly on the needles she couldn’t get her needle back into the work. She tossed the knitting onto the couch cushion, picked up the remote, and flipped on the TV.

She needed noise. Any distraction from her thoughts would do. She flipped channels until she landed on ESPN. After all, they might have something about Brandon. She grabbed up the knitting again, watchingSportsCenterfrom the corner of her eye. She ripped out the row she had ruined.

Emily’s head snapped up from her work when she heard the announcer say, “We have a breaking story tonight in the Brandon McKenna saga. For those who’ve been breathlessly monitoring the situation, this story has taken an unbelievable twist. Brandon McKenna, all-planet defensive end for the Seattle Sharks, discovered his ex-girlfriend, model Anastasia Lee, was pregnant with what he was told was his daughter, Delilah. By the time the baby was born, McKenna was engaged to opera diva Emily Hamilton. That engagement evidently ended. We’re not sure, because neither McKenna nor Miss Hamilton will answer questions about it. Despite the fact McKenna took another DNA test recently, he’s been showing off photos of the tyke to anyone and everyone in the Sharks locker room. Happily ever after, right? Let’s go to the tape.”

The tape showed Brandon emerging from the team headquarters and making his way through a knot of reporters to his car. Her heart beat faster to see the man she still loved. The camera flashes were blinding, and one reporter stuck a microphone in his face.

“Brandon, is it true that paternity tests show that Delilah is not your daughter?”

“No comment.”

“We have unconfirmed reports that Miss Lee lied that you were the baby’s father.”

“No comment.”

Brandon’s face looked cold and unyielding, as though it were carved out of granite. His lips were pressed together so hard they were white. Nobody else, though, seemed to glimpse the anguish Emily saw in his eyes.

“How do you feel about this?” another reporter asked.

Brandon whirled on the guy. “How would you feel about it?” He finished pushing his way through the crowd and climbed in his Land Rover. He pulled away without another word.

The guys onSportsCenterwere still talking, but Emily wasn’t listening. Her stomach had dropped away. Cold chills swept over her. “Oh, no,” she gasped out.

She was wrong. He’d tried to tell her. Tell her? Hell, he begged, and she didn’t listen. She threw his words back in his face. She called him a liar, and told him she could never trust him. She’d made the worst mistake of her life.

The memories of the last few minutes she spent with Brandon came back with sickening clarity. Brandon pleaded with her to listen, and Emily ignored him. Even worse, everyone told Emily she was making a mistake, and she ignored them all, too. Her fear of being hurt overshadowed her willingness to take a risk. She was going to spend the rest of her life knowing she tossed away the best thing that had ever happened to her out of fear and insecurity.

She ripped out another row of her knitting, but dropped it on the coffee table when she realized she couldn’t concentrate. She walked to the window that looked out over San Francisco and gazed at the falling dusk. She could go to the coffee shop downstairs and get a bite to eat. Who was she kidding? She had lost her appetite, maybe permanently. She reached out to pick up her handbag, accidentally dumped it over, and her smart phone shot out onto the carpet.

She still had his number. She wondered if she had the guts to use it. She hit the “Brandon-cell” stored contact, and waited. It rang, and rang. Finally, his voicemail picked up. “Hey. It’s McKenna. You know what to do.”

There was so much to say, and Emily couldn’t speak. She finally hit the “end call” button. The silence of the room enveloped her.

EMILY RETURNED HOMEon an early-morning flight from San Francisco two weeks later. Nobody she loved waited for her at baggage claim, and right now, she wondered if anyone would again. She wanted to talk with Brandon. A hundred times she’d reached for her phone, pulled up his number in her contacts list, and chickened out.

She ventured out into a cold, drizzly Seattle morning. She was meeting Amy for coffee and a chat before Amy’s store opened for the day. Emily’s schedule was insane right now: A voice lesson, a costume fitting for an upcoming production, an afternoon rehearsal with Seattle Symphony. She was singing in their holiday performance ofThe Messiah.

Emily stepped inside the Starbucks across from Amy’s shop. She’d been to their stores around the world, but she had to smile when she noted the lone, still-dripping umbrella propped against the front door frame. The only people in Seattle that used them with any regularity were tourists. She breathed in the tangy scent of ground coffee. The slight humidity of heat and multiple other customers wearing damp clothing brushed her skin. Yes, she was home again.

Amy seemed uninterested in Emily’s recitation of the appointments that crammed the calendar on her smart phone. She sipped her coffee and raised an eyebrow.

“You still haven’t called Brandon.”

Emily fiddled with the cardboard sleeve on her coffee cup. She didn’t meet Amy’s eyes.

“If we weren’t in public, you’d be getting the chicken arm motions and the bok-bok-bok,” Amy told her. “You can do this. Call him.”

“It’s the holidays. It’s football season. He’s probably busier than I am.”

“You’re miserable,” her double-crossing sister pointed out. “Put yourself out of your misery. Make a move.”

Jake Tollifson, the grandson of the nice woman Emily had met at the opera benefit, called several times while Emily was in San Francisco to ask her out. She kept telling him “no.” He kept asking. Dating wasn’t even a consideration, at least for her. All she could think of was Brandon, and how stupid and stubborn she’d been.

Amy broke off a piece of doughnut and popped it in her mouth, giving Emily a tiny headshake as well.

“We are going to have quite an argument if you keep this up,” Emily warned. “I told you, Brandon and I are over.”

“He still loves you,” she argued.

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