18. Henry
Henry
The steering wheel creaks under my grip as I make another slow pass through town, eyes scanning every shadow, every parked car, every unfamiliar face.
The men from the black SUV have vanished. Chief Tom sent his deputies out after I reported them, but by the time they arrived at the spot, they were gone—like ghosts melting into the town. That alone tells me they weren’t just passing through.
Those men are still out there.
I can feel it in my gut—the same gut instinct that kept me alive through ambushes and firefights in places so hot and hellish that even the devil would’ve been asking for air-conditioning.
They were watching, waiting.
Waiting for what, exactly, is what’s gnawing at me.
And now, three days later, I still haven’t been able to shake the feeling that they’re here. Somewhere. Hiding in plain sight, biding their time.
I grip the wheel a little tighter, my eyes flicking to every parked car, every dark alleyway as I drive through town.
But even as I scan my surroundings for potential threats, my mind keeps drifting.
To her.
To Emily.
Ever since the barbecue, something’s been off with her.
She’s still her usual self—sharp-tongued, quick-witted, always busy with her training sessions at the hospital—but there’s a shadow in her eyes now. A melancholy that wasn’t there before.
I’ve caught her watching me, too. A few times, when she thought I wasn’t looking. A soft, searching kind of gaze, like she was trying to figure me out—and maybe, trying to figure herself out, too.
And every time I’ve asked her what’s wrong?
She’s just smiled. Brushed it off.
But something’s changed.
I just don’t know what.
I pull up in front of Rocker’s Café, flipping the truck into park and stealing a glance at the stack of books in the passenger seat.
I’m supposed to be dropping them off for Grace—she’d called earlier, asking for them for some school essay she has to write in a few weeks.
The kid’s got a way of making me do things I wouldn’t do for anyone else.
I glance toward the café windows, planning to head inside—
And then I see her.
Emily.
She’s standing near the counter, one hand on her hip, the other gripping a cup of coffee, her dark hair a little messy, tumbling over one shoulder in a way that makes something inside me go tight.
She’s animatedly speaking to someone and then I see who she’s talking to.
Dane.
Every cell in my body locks up.
Emily’s ex stands way too close, a smug tilt to his posture, hands shoved casually in his pockets like he’s exactly where he belongs.
I don’t like it. Don’t like how comfortable he looks. Don’t like how this—them—might be something familiar to her in a way I’ll never be.
I grip the steering wheel. My protective instincts scream at me to get out of the car and put myself between them. My jealousy—the part I’d rather pretend doesn’t exist—wants to throw him headfirst into the street.
But instead, I sit there. Watching.
Because she told me once I wasn’t her type. That she didn’t go for men like me.
And I believed her.
So, if Dane was her type—the clean-cut doctor, the well-dressed, well-mannered, all-American safe choice—maybe I should just let the right man win her back.
Maybe that’s what she wants. Maybe that’s why she’s been distant.
I tell myself to stay in the car. To let her make whatever choice she needs to make.
But then I notice the way Dane is looking at her, that smug expression. Like he owns her. Like he’s just waiting for her to come back to him.
And suddenly, I’m shoving the door open and stepping out before I can talk myself out of it.
I can’t stay out of this.
Not when she’s involved.
Emily suddenly walks out, gets into her car, and drives away without even seeing me—Dane heads back to a table, all too comfortable, sipping his coffee like he’s got all the time in the world.
I step into Rocker’s Café, the scent of coffee and fresh pastries filling the air. The place is busy, as always, but I zero in on Grace immediately.
She spots me and beams. “You just missed Emily!”
I grunt. “Yeah. I noticed.”
Grace gives me a look and I glance toward the counter, where Maggie is watching me like I’m about to set the place on fire. One glance at Dane again and something sharp and ugly coils inside me.
I don’t hesitate.
I cross the café, chair scraping against the floor as I sit down across from him.
He looks up, lazily stirring his coffee. “Well. If it isn’t the fiancé.”
His tone is so condescending I nearly crack the damn table in half with my grip.
Instead, I lean back, voice calm. “What are you doing here?”
He takes a slow sip. “Enjoying my coffee.”
I give him a hard stare. “With Emily?”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “She was just being polite.”
I don’t like the way he says it. Like he’s playing a game I don’t know the rules to.
I don’t like the way he looks—too smooth, too calculated. The kind of guy who hides knives behind smiles.
“I need to know,” I say, keeping my voice level, “what your intentions are with her.”
Dane chuckles, shaking his head. “Wow. Straight to the interrogation, huh? You military types really don’t have much patience.”
I don’t rise to the bait. Just stare.
Finally, he sighs, setting down his cup. “If you must know, Emily and I go way back. She used to need me.” He tilts his head. “Tell me, does she need you?”
Something in my chest tightens.
Because I don’t know the answer to that.
Dane leans forward. “She told me everything, you know.”
“Did she?”
He nods. “Told me whatever this is between you two is temporary.”
My jaw locks.
Dane smirks, eyes gleaming with something malicious. “Relax, soldier,” he drawls. “She’ll come back to me eventually.”
Every muscle in my body tenses.
I could break him in half.
It would be easy.
But just as my fingers twitch, ready to move—
A cup lands on the table between us.
“Coffee,” Grace chirps.
Both of us turn to her.
She gives Dane an unimpressed once-over before fixing me with her usual smirk. “Are you gonna drink it, or should I dump it on his head for you?”
Dane huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Charming kid.”
I don’t blink. “She takes after me.”
Dane stands, brushing off his suit. “Well. This has been fun.”
I don’t respond.
He adjusts his sleeves. “See you around, Henry.”
I say nothing as he walks away, leaving the café with the same cocky swagger I’d love to knock off his damn face. Instead, I let out a slow breath, pressing my fingers to my temple.
Grace slides into Dane’s now-empty chair, kicking her feet up. “That guy sucks.”
I grunt.
She crosses her arms. “What’d he say?”
I shake my head. “Nothing important.”
Grace snorts. “Sure. It’s just his smile that got that look in your eyes.”
I rub a hand down my face and exhale, standing. “I gotta go.”
“Where?”
I grab my keys. “For a drive.”
She groans as I head for the door. “You take care of yourself, Uncle Henry!”
I don’t respond, and instead head out as quickly as my legs can carry me. Because if I stay in this café any longer, I might break something or someone. And I don’t know which one would be worse.
The next three hours are spent circling through town, eyes sharp for any sign of the men who disappeared before Chief Tom’s deputies could track them down. But Harmony Springs, despite its peaceful facade, is a damn maze when someone wants to stay hidden.
And now? I’ve got nothing.
Nothing except the uneasy feeling settling deeper in my chest, like a weight pressing on my ribs.
It gets heavier when I pull into the driveway and see the glow of light spilling from the cabin windows. Emily’s home.
The tension in my shoulders doesn’t ease, though. If anything, it coils tighter. Because she’s part of that weight too. And I don’t know what the hell to do about it.
The house is lit when I pull into the driveway, and for some reason, that small, simple fact settles something in my chest.
Emily’s home.
Not that I was expecting her to be anywhere else, but knowing she’s inside, probably curled up with a glass of wine and those ridiculous fuzzy socks she likes, makes the weight of the day ease just a little.
I kill the engine, gripping the steering wheel for a second longer than necessary. The conversation with Dane is still gnawing at me, his smug words looping through my mind like a bad song I can’t turn off.
"She’ll come back to me eventually."
I should have broken his damn nose.
Instead, I let him walk away. Because unlike Dane Jacobs, I know when to pick a fight.
Tonight, however, isn’t the night.
I step out of the truck, shaking off the thought as I head inside.
Emily is at the stove, stirring something in a pot, and the scent of garlic and butter hits me like a sucker punch.
She glances over her shoulder as I enter. “Oh, good. You’re home.”
Home.
That word shouldn’t make my chest go tight, but it does.
She eyes me carefully, probably noticing the tension in my shoulders, the way my jaw is locked tight like I’m bracing for something.
“What’s for dinner?” I ask, my voice coming out gruffer than I intended.
She lifts an eyebrow. “Food, obviously.”
A corner of my mouth twitches despite everything. “No kidding. What kind of food?”
She smirks. “The edible kind.”
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head as I take a seat at the table. “You’re impossible.”
She brings over two plates, setting one in front of me before taking a seat across from me. It’s some kind of pasta dish, creamy and rich, and if I wasn’t so wound up, I might actually take the time to appreciate it.
Instead, I watch Emily.
She’s distracted.
Twisting her fork in her food, staring at her plate like she’s trying to solve some impossible riddle.
I wait a beat before speaking. “Something on your mind?”
Her eyes flick up to mine, and for a split second, I see hesitation there. But then she sighs, setting her fork down. “Dane.”
Of course.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to stay neutral. “What about him?”
She shifts in her seat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He won’t let it go. Keeps pressing. Keeps finding ways to be around.”
My grip tightens around my fork. “You told him to back off?”
“Obviously.” She huffs out a breath. “But Dane doesn’t take no for an answer very well.”
Something sharp tugs inside me, an old, familiar anger I’ve spent years keeping in check.
Emily sighs. “I just—I don’t know. He’s unnerving me.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. “I saw you two today.”
Her head snaps up. “At the café?”
I nod, pushing a piece of pasta around my plate. “Looked like a real friendly conversation.”
Her expression tightens. “It wasn’t.”
I lift an eyebrow, waiting.
She exhales, crossing her arms. “He just showed up, okay? I wasn’t expecting him. I don’t want him here.”
Something in me eases at that. Just a fraction.
But then she keeps going, her voice dipping into frustration. “I told you before—he’s in town for the hospital, not for me. And he’s just… being Dane.”
My grip on the fork tightens again. “Right. And being Dane includes what, exactly? Stalking you? Pushing his way into your life?”
Her eyes flash. “That’s not what I said.”
“No, but that’s what’s happening.”
She lets out a short laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I don’t need you to go full Navy SEAL on this, Henry. I can handle it.”
My stomach twists. Can she?
Because all I can think about is her car window being shattered, the shadows lurking outside the house, the unease in her voice.
My hands balls into fists. “Yeah. Well, just because you can handle something doesn’t mean you should have to.”
She watches me for a beat, something softening in her eyes. But then she straightens, her expression guarded. “Dane isn’t the problem, Henry.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah? Feels like a problem to me.”
Emily exhales, pushing her plate away. “What is this? Are we actually fighting over Dane right now?”
I shake my head, standing abruptly. “No. We’re not fighting. Because it’s none of my damn business.”
Her face flickers with something—hurt, maybe. But I don’t give myself time to analyze it.
I just walk out of the kitchen and the moment I step into the bedroom, I regret it.
Not the walking away part. Not the none of my business part.
But the way I said it. The way I let my frustration bleed into my words, leaving her with nothing but silence.
I’m not good at this.
Not good at feelings. At talking. At figuring out where the hell the line is between protecting someone and wanting them.
Emily is something I wasn’t supposed to want.
And now I don’t know what to do with it.
I sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over my face.
I should go back out there. Apologize.
But then I hear her moving around the kitchen, the clatter of dishes, the sound of the faucet running.
And I know she’s shutting down, too.
So instead, I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Listening to the silence between us grows louder.
And I hate every second of it.