Page 90 of Knot Her Beta

“I like it when she fusses, too,” Jared whispers. “But I also enjoy fussing over her, so when we’re both in a mood, it becomes a fussing war.”

Grady snorts. “Noted.”

I grab more cups, and we fall back into the rhythm of unpacking, the clatter of dishes filling the space between us.

After a few minutes, Emily walks into the kitchen, the sleeves of her flannel rolled to her elbows, exposing strong forearms. She stops beside the counter where Grady sits, attention dropping to his bad leg stretched out beside the boxes.

“How’s the knee?”

Grady meets my eyes over her shoulder, and I keep my face neutral, unpacking a saucepan with more attention than it deserves.

“It’s sore,” Grady says.

Emily doesn’t hesitate to step forward, resting her hand on his thigh above the knee, her fingers curling around the muscle. Her thumbs locate the joint, and she begins to work.

Grady’s breath catches, and his shoulders drop an inch, tension bleeding out of him, and his head tips back to rest on the cabinet behind him. “Oh, that’s good.”

Emily’s hands move in slow, firm circles, working the stiffness from the ligaments around his kneecap.

Her fingers find the spots where the pins sit beneath the skin. “You’ve been on it too much today.”

“I’m fine,” he protests as he relaxes under her ministrations.

“No, you’re not.” Her hands don’t stop. “Did you take care of it while you were back east? Did you remember to do your stretches and hot compresses?”

Grady’s eyelids crack open, and I see the calculation happen in real time. The moment he decides to give her what she’s asking for, not because he needs it, but because she does.

“No,” he admits. “They put me back in my childhood bedroom, which is on the second floor. I had to go up and down the stairs every time I needed anything.”

Emily rumbles with discontent.

“And my dad’s cars sit close to the ground. It was a struggle every time I had to climb in and out, and my cane kept catching on the doorframe.” His words take on a plaintive rhythm. “There were meetings all day, and dinners that ran late. By the time I got back to my room, I was too exhausted to do the stretches, and I didn’t want to bother anyone for a hot compress when I didn’t have the energy anyway.”

Emily’s jaw tightens, the muscle along her cheekbone flexing, and her fingers dig deeper into the muscle above Grady’s knee. “You should have spoken up.”

“I did. Before I even got there, I reminded them of my limitations.” Real bitterness replaces the plaintive whine. “But they decided that if they just ignored the injury, it would go away. Which meant they made no accommodations.”

“Assholes,” I mutter.

Emily’s hands work the joint with renewed focus, her thumbs circling the kneecap while her fingers knead the tendons on either side. Grady’s leg relaxes under her touch, the muscle yielding. A soft sound escapes him, halfway between a sigh and a groan.

“Next time, you call,” Emily says. “I don’t care what time it is. I don’t care if you’re in Boston or Timbuktu. You call, and I’ll talk you through the stretches over the phone if I have to.”

Grady’s mouth curves. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t ma’am me.” She pinches him high on the thigh. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” His hand finds her shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of her flannel. “That’s why I’m saying yes.”

Behind Emily’s back, where only Grady can see, I mouth, Thank you.

An understanding passes between us, that of two people who love the same stubborn Alpha and have learned, in different ways, how to give her what she needs.

Emily works Grady’s knee for another minute, while around us, the cabin continues its transformation from an empty shell into a home.

Eventually, Emily’s hands slow, her thumbs gliding one last time over the hinge of Grady’s knee before she straightens. “Better?”

Grady flexes the joint, testing it. “Much.”