Catch But Don't Release

Chapter 20

Emily’s breath caught the moment she opened the door.

Brody stood there.

Not polished like he was at work. Not composed like the man who ran an entire corporation with steady hands and a sharper mind. He looked… human. Concern etched into the lines of his face, tension sitting in his shoulders, his eyes searching hers the second they met.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then his voice came, low and gentle, as if he didn’t want to startle her.

“Emily… I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Something in her chest loosened at the sound of him. The fear, the confusion, the leftover adrenaline from Elijah’s outburst—it all softened under the warmth of his presence.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, though her voice betrayed how shaken she still was.

Brody’s jaw tightened, subtle but unmistakable. “I didn’t like what I saw tonight.”

There was no anger in his tone. Just quiet frustration, the kind that came from caring too much and trying not to show it.

“He shouldn’t have grabbed you,” he added, softer now. “No one should ever put their hands on you like that.”

Emily swallowed, her pulse fluttering. “It… it surprised me. He’s never acted like that before.”

Brody nodded slowly, but his eyes darkened with something protective, something he wasn’t saying out loud.

“I didn’t want you going home alone after that,” he admitted. “I needed to know you were safe.”

The honesty in his voice wrapped around her like a blanket. He wasn’t here to interrogate her. He wasn’t here to judge her for meeting Elijah. He wasn’t even here to talk about himself.

He was here because he cared.

More than he probably should.

Emily stepped back just enough to open the door wider, her heart thudding in her chest.

“Do you… want to come in?” she asked softly.

Brody hesitated for only a moment—just long enough to show he was trying to be respectful—before he nodded and stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him.

Emily walked toward the kitchen with slow, steady steps, trying to calm the flutter in her chest. She didn’t want him to see how rattled she still was — by Elijah, yes, but also by the fact that Brody was here. In her home. Looking at her like she mattered.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asked over her shoulder. “Tea? Water?”

Brody didn’t hesitate. “Tea would be fine.”

But his voice had that low, warm edge that told her the drink wasn’t the reason he stayed.

He followed her — not too close, not crowding her, but close enough that she felt the weight of his presence at her back. When they stepped into the kitchen, he stopped near the counter, leaning one hand against it as he watched her move.

Emily reached for the kettle, filling it at the sink. She could feel his eyes on her — not in a way that made her self‑conscious, but in a way that made her feel… seen. Like he was memorizing the small, ordinary pieces of her life.

She set the kettle on the stove and turned toward him with a gentle smile. “Have a seat. The tea will be ready in a minute.”

Brody didn’t sit right away. He just looked at her — really looked — as if he was trying to read every emotion she was trying to hide.

Finally, he pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it, but his posture stayed alert, his attention fixed on her.

“Emily, I would like to talk about Elijah—”

Before he could finish, she turned sharply, her voice gentle but firm. “Brody, I don’t know what got into Elijah, but he’s not like that. And I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. Please.”

Brody’s jaw flexed. He shook his head slowly. “Okay. I understand. He’s your friend, but he was wrong to act—”

“Stop. Please.” Her voice cracked just a little, and that was all it took.

Brody stood so quickly the chair legs scraped softly against the floor. In two steps he was in front of her, his hands coming up to rest on her shoulders — warm, steady, grounding.

“Hey… okay. Okay,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

Emily’s breath trembled, and before she could say anything else, Brody pulled her into him — not forcefully, not impulsively, but with a kind of quiet certainty, like he’d been holding himself back all night and finally let instinct win.

Emily didn’t hesitate. She melted into him, her forehead pressing against his chest, her hands curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt. His arms wrapped around her, strong and protective, holding her like he was afraid she might fall apart if he let go.

They stood like that for a long moment — the kind of moment that felt suspended in time. His heartbeat was steady beneath her cheek. Her breathing slowly matched his. The world outside her apartment faded until there was only the warmth of him and the safety of his arms.

Brody lowered his chin slightly, his breath brushing the top of her head. “It’s okay” he whispered, barely audible.

Emily closed her eyes. For the first time since the incident with Elijah, she actually believed it.

Then—

The kettle screamed.

The sharp whistle cut through the quiet, jolting them both back into the present. Emily startled slightly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Brody didn’t drop his hands right away; his thumbs brushed her shoulders once, as if making sure she was really steady before he let go.

He cleared his throat softly, stepping back but not far. “I… think your tea is ready.”

Emily nodded, cheeks warm, breath still uneven. “Yeah. I should… get that.”

But neither of them moved for a beat too long — both of them still caught in the echo of the moment they’d just shared.