16. Henry
Henry
Having Grace in the passenger seat is almost like driving with a squirrel hyped up on energy drinks riding shotgun.
The truck rumbles beneath us as I steer toward the train station, the late afternoon sun stretching long shadows across the road.
Grace sits in the passenger seat, her duffel bag wedged between her feet, practically vibrating with excitement.
She hasn’t stopped talking about this Red Cross convention since she got in the car.
“—and did you know the convention center has this huge atrium with, like, thirty-foot glass windows? It’s supposed to look like the wings of an eagle when the sun sets.”
I smirk, keeping my eyes on the road. “That so?”
“Yep,” she chirps. “And we’ll get to meet real trauma nurses who work in disaster relief. Like the kind who go to war zones. Maybe I’ll do that someday.”
I stiffen slightly but don’t comment. Instead, I reach for the safe question. “Who’s your chaperone?”
Grace sighs, dramatically flopping back against the seat. “Mr. Weaver and Ms. Dawson.”
I nod. Weaver’s decent. “And Dawson?”
She makes a so-so gesture. “She’s fine, I guess. A little too into school spirit.”
I snort. “Well, good. Just make sure you stick with them. No wandering off alone.”
Grace groans. “Uncle Henry, it’s a convention. What do you think is gonna happen? A Red Cross turf war?”
“Just be careful,” I say firmly.
She exhales dramatically, but there’s affection behind it, and after a little pause, she chatters away, again, alternating between talking about the upcoming Red Cross convention, the latest town gossip, and what snacks she packed for the trip—pausing only to dramatically gasp whenever she realizes she forgot something crucial.
“I knew I forgot something,” she mutters for the third time, rifling through her bag like she’s searching for classified documents.
“You have water, snacks, money, a phone, and a backup charger. What could you possibly be missing?”
Grace sighs dramatically. “The existential question of our time.”
I exhale, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Right. Try not to lose sleep over it.”
She snickers. “No promises.”
I shake my head, keeping my eyes on the road. The station isn’t far, but with Grace talking at full speed, it feels like a cross-country trip.
Then, just as I think I’m in the clear, she drops the question.
“So, do you love Emily?”
I nearly swerve off the road.
“What?”
Grace grins, looking way too pleased with herself. “You heard me.”
I chuckle, mostly to mask the sudden tightness in my chest. “Why do you ask?”
She leans back, arms crossed like a very smug interrogator. “Because you’re always looking at her in a strange way.”
“What strange way?”
“Like she’s the most interesting thing in the world.”
“What does that even mean? And why would you think staring at someone equals love?”
She shrugs, flashing a bright grin that shows her satisfaction in rattling me. “Dad looks at Mom the same way. And Dad definitely loves Mom.”
I don’t respond right away. Mostly because I don’t know how to.
Instead, I focus on the road, hoping the silence will discourage her. It doesn’t.
Grace tilts her head. “You do know my question requires a yes-or-no answer, right?”
I clear my throat. “It’s…complicated.”
She snorts. “That’s adult talk for ‘yes, but I don’t wanna admit it yet.’”
I grit my teeth. “No, it means adult relationships are complicated.”
Grace hums, unconvinced. “Mmm-hmm.”
I shoot her a warning look. “And you shouldn’t be worrying about my relationships.”
Grace smirks. “But I am.”
“Stop.”
“Nope.”
I sigh, massaging my temple. “You do realize you’re only fifteen, right?”
“Yeah. And?”
Lord, grant me patience.
She’s quiet for a beat, then perks up again. “Do you want to know if she loves you?”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” she drawls, “if you bring her to the family barbecue this weekend, I’ll find out for you.”
I groan. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t need a teenage spy meddling in my life.”
Grace gasps. “Meddling? I would never.”
I shoot her a look.
She grins. “Okay, fine, a little meddling.”
I sigh, changing the subject before she gets any ideas. “Tell me more about this convention. That’s a more appropriate discussion.”
She rolls her eyes. “Way to run away from real talk, Uncle Henry.”
I glance at her. “I’m serious.”
Grace sighs and makes a face. “You sound like Dad.”
“Good. Maybe I should be more like him to stop you from tormenting me.”
She grins. “That’s my duty as your niece, and you love me for it.”
I shake my head, but my lips twitch. “Yeah, yeah.”
When we pull up to the station, I spot the chaperones instantly—and a small group of teenagers huddled near the benches, some already waving as they recognize Grace as she grabs her bag.
Her chaperone—a very eager-looking redhead in her early thirties, Ms. Dawson, who I’ve run into a couple of times in town—waves us over, and I immediately get a bad feeling.
And standing off to the side is Ms. Dawson.
Red-haired, mid-thirties, wearing a dress that definitely wasn’t bought in the teacher section of any department store.
I sigh.
Grace notices immediately.
“Oh, this is gonna be good,” she mutters under her breath, sliding out of the truck.
I step out more slowly, squaring my shoulders as Dawson’s eyes light up the moment she sees me.
The woman straightens her blazer, tilting her head in a way that’s definitely practiced. “Henry Walker!” she calls, striding toward me, all smiles. “Well, this is a surprise.”
I offer a polite nod. “Ms. Dawson.”
“Oh, please. Call me Rebecca.” She tilts her head, hair swishing over her shoulder. “You know, you really should come by the high school sometime. The students always love seeing a hometown hero.”
I barely hold back a groan.
“I’ll think about it,” I say flatly.
She laughs like I just made a joke. “No, but really—maybe you could pop in next week? We’d love to have someone other than Mayor Logan giving speeches.”
I force a thin smile. “Not much of a speech guy.”
“Oh, come on.” She leans in slightly. “Maybe we should prepare what to say beforehand. I think we can discuss it over coffee?”
Jesus. I barely suppress a grimace. Grace, however, is absolutely enjoying this. She cackles behind the teacher, her phone out filming as she mouths ‘You’re in trouble.’
I clear my throat. “That’s…kind of you. But—”
Rebecca twirls a strand of hair. “Or dinner? My treat.”
I turn back to the woman, scrambling for an exit strategy. I rub the back of my neck. “I, uh…actually, I have a girlfriend.”
Her face falls. “Oh.”
Grace claps. “Yep. He’s very taken.”
Rebecca recovers quickly, forcing a polite smile. “Well, lucky lady.”
Grace grins. “The luckiest.”
I gently nudge her toward the train. “Get going.”
She winks. “Bye, Uncle Henry.”
Then, right as she’s about to board, she pauses.
Looks over her shoulder.
And shouts across the platform—
“DON’T FORGET TO INVITE EMILY TO THE FAMILY BARBECUE!”
Heads turn. Rebecca gasps. And I groan.
Grace waves. “Bye!”
Then she vanishes onto the train, leaving me with staring strangers and a chaperone who looks even more interested now.
I bolt for my truck.
The drive back from the train station is quiet. Too quiet. My thoughts churn, tangled in Grace’s words, repeating like a damn echo in my head.
"Do you love Emily?"
"You’re always looking at her like Dad looks at Mom."
"I’ll know if she loves you too."
Grace is just a kid, but she sees everything. The problem is—I don’t have an answer to the questions she poses.
Or maybe, I do.
Maybe I’ve had one for a while now, and I’ve been too much of a coward to face it. My hands grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles going white.
Because love—real love—might not be made for men like me.
It never lasts.
Not for my mother, who died giving birth to me.
Not for my father, who loved me and Sarah fiercely but still ended up in a wreck that stole his life.
Not for my best friend, Aubrey, who bled out in my arms in a place we never should’ve been.
The pattern is clear. Love for me is a dangerous proposition. It is something I don’t get to have and definitely don’t get to keep. If this is love, maybe for Emily’s sake, I need to pull back.
Emily’s car is still at the auto shop where I’d driven it the morning after the glass was smashed in. I drive straight to the auto shop, pulling into the lot. Emily’s been too busy to handle this herself, so I took it on myself.
The place is alive with the scent of oil, rubber, and metal.
“Tough break, Walker,” one of the mechanics calls out as I step inside. “The little lady’s car got busted up?”
I nod. “Window got shattered.”
The guy—Joe, if I remember right—shakes his head. “Damn shame. Women never respect their vehicles.”
I raise a brow. “Are you planning on saying that to my fiancée’s face?”
Joe laughs. “Hell no. I like my teeth where they are.”
Another mechanic, this one older and built like a damn tank, chuckles from the back. “Don’t worry, kid. Once you’re married, she’ll be nagging you to do the car stuff for her anyway.”
A chorus of married men in the shop chime in with groans and knowing laughter.
“Oh yeah, say goodbye to alone time, Walker.”
“Hope you like scented candles and throw pillows.”
“And good luck ever winning an argument again.”
I smirk, but it barely reaches my eyes.
Marriage.
The thought should feel foreign.
But it doesn’t.
It feels… easy. Like something I could see myself doing.
With her.
And that’s the problem.
Because she deserves better than me.
I leave the shop an hour later in Emily’s car, with the mechanic promising to drop mine off at the mayor’s house later. I’m headed for the house and my head is still a damn mess, thoughts churning around until something catches my eye.
A black SUV.
Stopped by the side of the road, just before the turn that leads into the town square with two men standing beside it, leaning against the hood.
Two men who don’t look like locals.
Something about them—the way they carry themselves—puts me on edge. I slow down, pulling to a stop beside them, rolling down my window.
“You need a hand?”
The bald one, standing closest to me, barely glances over. “Nope.”
I keep my tone neutral. “Car trouble?”
The second guy—dark-haired, wiry—shakes his head. “Just waiting on a friend.”
I lean an arm against the door. “Who’s the friend?”
The bald guy shifts slightly, his hand resting on his hip—where his shirt bulges.
A concealed weapon.
My spine locks. My senses go razor-sharp.
“You so much as breathe wrong,” the smooth tone of my voice carries all the threat I can muster, “I’ll put a bullet in your head and another in your groin before you even get that gun out.”
The guy freezes.
The other man immediately raises a hand. “Hey, easy there. No need for threats. We’re just passing through.”
I don’t blink. “Yeah? Then why does your buddy here think he needs to reach for something?”
The bald guy lets out a low chuckle, stepping back, raising his hands. “My bad. Didn’t mean to spook you.”
I don’t buy it for a second.
The second man tilts his head, his gaze assessing. “You a cop?”
“No.”
“Then why are you questioning us?”
I hold his gaze. “Small town. We notice unfamiliar faces.”
The bald one smirks. “That right?”
Neither of them looks away.
This isn’t just some passing-through nonsense. These guys aren’t lost.
I inhale slowly.
They’re either watching someone or waiting for someone.
And I have a damn good suspicion who.
But I don’t have a badge. And they know it.
After a long, tense moment, I tap my fingers against the wheel.
“Well. You boys enjoy your stay.”
Then I roll up the window and pull away. But as soon as I put some distance between us, I pull out my phone and dial Chief Tom.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Walker.”
“We might have a problem.”
His tone sharpens. “Talk to me.”
I keep my voice even. “Black SUV. Two guys. Hanging around on the road leading into town. One’s carrying.”
“Did they say what they’re doing here?”
“Something about meeting a friend. Didn’t say who.”
Tom exhales. “Think they’re tied to Emily’s situation?”
“Feels off,” I admit. “And they definitely didn’t like being questioned.”
A pause.
“I’ll send a couple of my guys to check them out,” Tom says.
“Good.”
Another beat of silence.
Then Tom sighs. “You worried?”
I rub a hand down my face. “Aren’t you?”
A dry chuckle. “Yeah. I am.”
I nod to myself. “Let me know what you find.”
“You got it.”
I hang up, my grip tightening around the wheel.
If these guys are watching Emily—if they have anything to do with the Black Talons—then we’ve got bigger problems than I thought.
I take a long route home, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, making sure I’m not being followed.
By the time I pull into the driveway, the sun is dipping below the horizon, casting long golden streaks across the cabin.
I kill the engine and sit there for a moment, gripping the wheel. Emily Carter is fast becoming something I can’t let go of. And if I don’t find a way to protect her from every danger—including me—
Then I don’t know how the hell I’m going to survive this.