12. Henry
Henry
I’ve woken up in worse ways.
To the sounds of gunfire. The panic of an indoor sandstorm. The sound of a Kevlar vest being zipped up for the last time before a mission that’ll probably end badly.
But this?
This is new.
Sunlight filters through the old curtains, streaking warm gold across the bed. The sheets are tangled, half on the floor, half twisted around my legs. The air smells like lavender from Emily’s shampoo and something else—something soft and warm and entirely her.
And then there’s Emily herself.
She’s lying on her side, elbow propped up, cheek resting against her hand as she watches me. Her hair is an absolute mess—wild waves falling over her shoulder, still carrying the proof of everything we did last night.
Her expression is quiet.
Contemplative.
Like she’s looking at something she isn’t sure she should want and that does something weird to my chest.
I smirk, voice still rough from sleep. “You watching me, Carter?”
She startles slightly, blinking, then huffs. “No.”
I arch a brow. “You sure? Because that was a very intense stare.”
“I was thinking,” she says, rolling onto her back, stretching her arms above her head.
“About?”
She turns her head, looking at me with something unreadable in her green eyes. Then, too fast, she shrugs. “Nothing.”
Liar.
But I don’t press because that look lingers. It’s been years since anyone looked at me like I was something more than a broken soldier.
And that? That’s something I don’t have the bandwidth to process right now. The sound of Emily’s phone buzzing on the nightstand fills the room.
She grabs it and sits up, swinging her legs off the bed. “I need to take this.”
I watch as she pads across the room, disappearing downstairs.
And just like that, the warmth is gone. I frown. It’s probably nothing. Probably the hospital. Or Maggie. Or Grace asking if she can rope me into another ridiculous outing.
But still. She left the room for it, and that’s something she doesn’t do. I don’t like that she’s keeping something away from me. Scrubbing a hand over my face and exhaling, fuels me to sigh before finally pulling myself out of bed.
Something’s shifting inside me.
The last two weeks haven’t just changed my routine. They’ve changed me.
The constant edge I’ve been living on? It’s not as sharp.
The weight I’ve been carrying? It’s lighter.
For the first time in years, I feel…
Relaxed. And the worst part? It’s because of her—Emily Carter—the woman who wasn’t supposed to be anything but a job. Quickly finding a pair of sweatpants, I push my legs into them, yank on a shirt, and head downstairs.
Emily’s at the kitchen table, phone set down, head in her hands.
Something about the way her shoulders are hunched makes my gut tighten. I clear my throat. “Everything okay?”
She snaps upright, too fast, a smile way too forced stretching across her face. “Yeah! All good.”
Bullshit.
But I let it go.
For now. I move to the stove. “What do you want to eat?”
Emily leans her chin on her palm, watching me like I just asked her to explain quantum physics. “You’re cooking?”
I smirk, cracking an egg into a pan. “I do own a kitchen, Carter.”
She snorts. “I just assumed you survived on, like, protein powder and regret.”
“Regret isn’t a food group.”
She grins. “Neither is protein powder, but I know you drink it.”
She’s not wrong.
I shake my head, flipping the eggs as she picks up her phone again, typing something.
A flicker of something irritating slides through me.
“Everything okay at work?” I ask casually.
She hums. “Some patients are doing better. Some aren’t.”
I glance over my shoulder. “You know Logan’s using you to score political points, right?”
Emily waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
I arch a brow. “You don’t care?”
She shrugs. “His wife’s been good to me. You hate politics, don’t you?”
I scoff. “They’re messy.”
She smirks. “Because you’re a straight-arrow soldier?”
I place a plate in front of her, smirking right back. “Because I hate bullshit.”
She laughs, shaking her head as we start eating.
And for a second, it’s easy.
Until her soft voice breaks the silence again—
“So, what’s your plan today?”
I chew, considering. “Heading to the police station. Checking in with Tom.”
She hums. “Actually… I was thinking you could do something else.”
I set my fork down, eyeing her. “Carter.”
She bats her lashes. “Walker.”
I sigh. “What thing?”
She beams. “A town event. Luncheon. You know, socializing.”
I groan. “Absolutely not.”
She gasps. “You don’t even know who’s going.”
“I don’t care.”
She smirks. “Chief Tom will be there.”
I scowl. “Sarah put you up to this.”
Her grin widens. “It was a collaborative effort between your sister, your niece, and me.”
I lean back, crossing my arms. “And what does Grace have to do with this?”
Emily presses her lips together, like she’s debating something. Then she sighs, softening. “She… she just wants you to go out more.”
Something tugs at my chest.
Because Grace—damn her—is smart.
She knows I’ve been hiding.
She knows I’ve been trying to stay out of life, instead of living it.
One hand runs down my face. “What time?”
Emily gasps. “Are you actually saying yes?”
“Three p.m.” Couldn’t hold back a grumble from sneaking out.
She practically glows. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
I shake my head, muttering. “You’re trying to socialize me.”
She pats my cheek, smirking. “You’ll live.”
I grab her wrist, pulling her in for a kiss. She melts into it, fingers twisting into my shirt. And for a second, I forget about everything—my past, my guilt, my reasons for keeping distance.
It’s just her. Just this.
She pulls away, breathless. “I gotta run. Hospital things.”
A little smirk is permanently fixed on my lips now. “Running late?”
She huffs. “Because someone distracted me.”
I grin. “Not my fault you’re easily distracted.”
She glares. Then, just before heading for the door, she glances over her shoulder, eyes glinting with something unreadable.
“Don’t forget. Three p.m.”
And then she’s gone. Leaving me standing there wondering why the hell I’m not fighting this harder.
***
At exactly three fifteen, I step into the town hall, already regretting my decision to come.
The place is packed—men and women in their best business attire, council members shaking hands like they’re sealing million-dollar deals instead of discussing the latest Harmony Springs ordinance about road repairs.
The air is thick with murmured conversations—scheming, gossip, polite but calculated laughter. I can already feel the politics in the room, the underlying hunger for influence and control, and I hate it.
I scan the crowd, considering the quickest way to slip back out when—
“There you are.”
Emily.
She approaches with a beaming smile, her green eyes bright, looking too happy to see me.
I narrow my eyes. “You sound surprised.”
She loops her arm through mine, ignoring my deadpan tone. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show.”
I glance around, my discomfort growing by the second. “I considered not coming.”
She laughs, dragging me deeper into the crowd. “Well, I knew you’d hate it, so I found a corner where no one will bother you or ask for thrilling war stories.”
I smirk despite myself. “Sounds almost tolerable.”
She grins. “Oh, it will be.”
As promised, Emily leads me toward the safest place in the room—next to Chief Tom Harrison, who is leaning against a high-top table, sipping what I assume is definitely not just iced tea.
Tom smirks as I approach. “Well, well. Didn’t think you’d actually show, Walker.”
I grunt. “Neither did I.”
Emily squeezes my arm. “See? You’re already socializing. Progress.”
Tom snorts. “That woman’s got you wrapped around her finger, son.”
I scoff. “That’s not—”
Tom just chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
Before I can argue, Logan steps onto the stage, his politician smile firmly in place as he taps the mic.
“Thank you all for coming! Before we get started, I’d like to introduce someone who’s been doing incredible work for this town—Dr. Emily Carter.”
Applause fills the hall as Emily flashes me a knowing smile before heading toward the stage.
Tom nudges me. “Admit it, you’re impressed.”
I watch as she steps up, graceful and confident. “Never said I wasn’t.”
Tom grins. “So, how long before you realize you’re in trouble?”
I don’t answer. Because I already know.
When Emily returns, she barely has time to take a sip of her drink before she looks at me with that mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Dance with me.”
I blink. “Absolutely not.”
She sighs dramatically. “Henry, I have at least five men lined up waiting to ask me to dance.”
I scowl. “Who?”
She smirks. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, you can save me, or I can spend the next twenty minutes politely smiling while someone tells me about their great-great-grandfather’s corn farm.”
I exhale through my nose, glaring at her.
She raises a brow, lips twitching. “What’s it gonna be, soldier?”
Tom wheezes a laugh beside me. “She’s got you, Walker.”
I mutter a curse under my breath.
Then, begrudgingly, I hold out my hand.
Emily grins. Tom just shakes his head, chuckling.
The second my hand finds hers, something shifts.
The noise, the crowd, the polished politics of the luncheon—it all fades as I lead her onto the dance floor.
I rest my hand on her waist, her palm warm in mine, and suddenly, this doesn’t feel like an obligation.
It feels like something else.
Something dangerous.
She tilts her head, her breath feathering against my jaw. “You’re not bad at this.”
I smirk. “Don’t get used to it.”
But my heart is pounding, my body is betraying me.
Because this? This feels right.
And for the first time, I wonder if being wrapped around Emily Carter’s little finger isn’t such a bad idea after all.
“Take me home,” she whispers suddenly.
I freeze.
She leans in, pressing her body subtly against mine. “The way you’re looking at me is making me want something you can’t give me here.”
Heat coils in my gut.
I don’t argue.
We slip out unnoticed, laughing as we step into the truck.
“I hate these things,” I mutter as I pull onto the road.
Emily hums, amused. “I like them.”
I glance at her. “You used to them?”
She shrugs. “Not really.”
I frown. “Something you learned from your mom? Like Sarah?”
Her expression shifts.
And just like that, the lightness vanishes.
I instantly regret asking.
I clear my throat. “Forget it.”
But she shakes her head. “No… I want to tell you.”
I don’t know why that makes my chest feel tight. Once we get home, I pour us both a glass of wine, settling beside her on the couch.
She stares into her glass for a long moment. Then, finally, she speaks.
“My childhood wasn’t… easy.”
I stay quiet, letting her set the pace.
She exhales. “My parents had this toxic love. They’d break up, get back together, fight—physically. I used to hide behind my bedroom door, waiting for it to be over.”
I grit my teeth, anger curling in my gut.
“My mom left my dad for another man,” she continues. “A drug dealer. He got her hooked on meth. And my dad… he lost it.”
I already know where this is going, and my stomach twists.
“He hit him too hard,” she whispers. “Kyle fell, hit his head, and that was it. My dad went to prison for fifteen years.”
I exhale slowly, my fingers tightening around my glass.
“I swore I’d never let violence be a part of my life again,” she murmurs. “That’s why I picked men like Dane. Safe. Predictable.”
My chest tightens. “And yet, here you are. With me.”
She looks up, something unreadable in her gaze. “Yeah.”
Silence stretches between us.
Then, softly, I say, “You’re safe with me, Emily.”
She leans into me, resting her head on my chest. “I know.”
And something about that—about her trusting me—makes me want to burn the whole damn world down just to protect her.
After a while, she dozes off in my arms. Shifting carefully to lay her down on the couch, I wait to see her settle before I slip an arm under her, carrying her upstairs and tucking her in.
The normal routine before going to sleep is to check the security around the house, so I head out to confirm everything is locked up tight.
But as I walk back inside, I notice her phone screen glowing with a text. My hands fiddle around the phone as I confirm that the number is unsaved.
Tell me where you are…
A chill rolls down my spine. I reach for it, my fingers itching to unlock it, but—
“Henry?”
Her voice is soft, sleepy. I inhale sharply, turning toward the stairs.
“I’m coming,” I call back, grabbing her phone and taking it upstairs with me.