20. Henry
Henry
I toss and turn on the couch, shifting every few minutes, but no position feels right. The couch is too damn short, the pillow too damn lumpy, the blanket is too damn warm, and every creak in the old house feels like an accusation.
But none of that is why I can’t sleep.
It’s her.
It’s Emily.
And it’s her voice, the rawness in it, the way her words punched through me like a bullet.
"Do you see me?"
Damn her. Damn her for asking something I can’t answer.
Because I do.
I see her in every way a man can see a woman.
I see her when she’s laughing at something stupid Grace says. I see her when she’s lost in work, biting her lip in concentration. I see her when she’s curled up on the couch late at night, fighting sleep but refusing to let herself rest.
I see her. More than I should. More than is safe.
She’s under my skin, behind my ribs, wrapped around my damn lungs, making it impossible to breathe. But I can’t acknowledge that. Not when it puts her in danger.
Loving me—hell, even liking me—has never ended well for anyone. And I can’t lose Emily.
Not like that.
Not like them.
I stare at the ceiling, my arms crossed behind my head, waiting for morning to come so I can get out of here before she wakes up. Before I have to face her again. Before I see that look in her eyes.
The one that tells me she’s slipping away.
By the time the sky lightens, I know sleep isn’t happening.
So, I do what I always do when my head’s too full—
I walk. I tell myself I’m just going for a walk. That I need fresh air. That it has nothing to do with avoiding Emily.
Lies.
The morning air is crisp, biting through my T-shirt, but I barely feel it. My boots crunch against the pavement as I move through the quiet streets, thoughts battling in my head.
Being with Emily—really being with her—means opening myself up to something I swore I’d never have again.
She makes me want to, and that’s dangerous.
Because what if I can’t be what she needs? What if I ruin her the way I ruin everything else?
I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they stick, clinging like burrs in my mind.
The town is just waking up, the smell of coffee and fresh bread wafting from Maggie’s café, the streets dotted with early risers. People nod at me as I pass, but there’s something off in their expressions. A shift.
I shrug it off until I step into the small grocery store to grab a bottle of water I push inside, the bell jingling overhead, and immediately feel the shift in the air.
Rob, the kid at the counter, freezes when he sees me.
And it’s not just him.
The older couple by the fruit section glance my way, whispering to each other. A man near the dairy aisle shoots me a look before pretending to examine a carton of milk.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise.
I walk up to the counter, crossing my arms. “Morning Rob?”
Rob swallows hard. “Uh—morning.”
I arch a brow. He fidgets, eyes darting everywhere but at me as I set the water down in front of him.
Rob clears his throat, ringing up the bottle like it’s the most stressful transaction of his life while he practically vibrates with discomfort.
I narrow my eyes and lean on the counter, lowering my voice.
“Rob.”
He flinches. “Yeah?”
“What do you know that I don’t?”
Rob looks around like I just asked him to commit treason. “I—uh—I really gotta stock the—uh—chips.”
I stare him down. “Wanna tell me why’s everyone looking at me like I just robbed a bank?”
He crumbles in three seconds flat. “There was an… incident last night.”
My jaw tenses. “What kind of incident?”
He swallows hard. “Something about you and your woman at the gala. Somebody—uh—played a recording. Of you two arguing. Over the loudspeakers.”
My stomach drops.
“What?”
Rob winces. “The whole town heard it.”
I don’t wait for details. I don’t even take my damn water.
I’m out the door and dialing Emily before I fully register what I’m doing.
No answer.
I call again.
Nothing.
I whip around, back to the truck, throwing the door open with more force than necessary.
Next call—Maggie’s café.
Grace picks up.
“Uncle Henry,” she greets, but her tone is cautious.
“Where’s Emily?”
A pause.
Not good.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb, kid. Where is she?”
Another pause. Then a sigh. “She’s not here.”
I grip the steering wheel. “Please tell me when she comes in.”
“Uncle? What the hell happened last night?”
“What did you hear?” I fire back.
Grace hesitates before launching into an explanation—someone got ahold of a recording of Emily and me arguing at the gala and played it for the whole damn town and it includes the part where she’d said our relationship wasn’t real.
My teeth grind hard as my hand turns the wheel toward a narrow street. Every old gossip in Harmony Springs now knows I’m a lying bastard and Emily—Emily probably is going to get it worse.
“Is it true, Uncle?” Grace sighs.
“Yeah. Probably.” I grind out.
“I don’t think so. I think you guys are real.”
That’s all I need to hear. I hang up. And I drive straight for the town hall, the only other place I know Emily might be waiting. By the time I reach the town hall, my blood is pure adrenaline, my patience nonexistent.
Inside, instead of Emily, Dane is standing at the front of the room, addressing a group of townspeople like he’s some beloved public servant.
Smug. Smiling like a man who thinks he’s just won.
His eyes light up when he sees me storming toward him and I don’t slow down.
“Ah, Henry,” he drawls, still smirking. “Come to discuss the ethics of deceiving an entire town?”
I punch him in the face.
Gasps echo through the hall, chairs scraping as people jump back.
Dane stumbles, but he recovers, wiping blood from his split lip.
“Finally,” he mutters. “Thought you’d never break.”
He swings. I dodge. His form is sloppy, all ego and no training. I land another blow—right to the gut. He doubles over, wheezing.
“Jesus—”
“This is for Emily,” I growl, shoving him back.
Dane swings again—wild, desperate. I catch his wrist, twisting it just enough to make him yelp.
“Stay the hell away from her,” I warn, voice low and lethal.
He glares, panting. “She doesn’t belong to you.”
Rage burns through me, but before I can do anything else, the front doors slam open.
“Enough!”
Chief Tom strides in, two deputies on his heels.
Fantastic.
The moment the Chief’s gaze lands on the scene—Dane bruised and bloody, me standing over him like I’m debating whether or not to end him—he sighs.
“Damn it, Henry.”
One of the deputies steps forward, pulling handcuffs from his belt. I roll my shoulders, already resigned.
Dane wipes his mouth and straightens, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “Violence, again?” He clicks his tongue. “Not the very behavior Emily would never tolerate in a real fiance.”
I lunge, but the deputies grab me before I can finish what I started.
Dane grins.
And I realize—I might have just given him exactly what he wanted.
I’m thrown into a holding cell in the police station. The cell is small, the walls boring, and the bench uncomfortable as hell. A deputy—one of the younger ones who clearly idolizes me—ushers me inside with an apologetic look.
“Sorry, Henry,” he mutters. “Just a formality.”
I don’t bother responding.
I should be thinking about how to get out of here. About how Dane is probably with Emily right now, spinning this to his advantage.
Instead, all I can think about is her. And how I’ve messed everything up.
About an hour later, Chief Tom drops into the chair outside the bars, shaking his head at me like I’m a particularly disappointing student.
“Hell of a morning,” he comments.
I scowl. “Are you here to lecture me?”
“Nah. Just to inform you that Dane is pressing charges.”
I inhale sharply. “Of course, he is.”
Chief Tom leans back. “Congratulations. You played right into his hands.”
I rub my temples. “I know.”
The Chief watches me, something like sympathy in his eyes. “You’re not a stupid man, Henry. So tell me—what the hell were you thinking?”
I wasn’t. Or maybe I was.
Maybe I was thinking about how Dane is the last person Emily needs in her life. Maybe I was thinking about how I’d rather be in this damn cell than let that smug bastard get away with hurting her. Maybe I was thinking about how much I see Emily. How much I need her. How much I—
No.
I stop that thought before it can form.
Chief Tom gives me a look. “Someone has to pay your bail.”
I slump back against the bench, frustration thrumming through me.
I should’ve kept my cool. Should’ve been smarter.
But the second I saw Dane smirking, taunting me, talking about Emily like she was his—I lost it, and it felt good putting my fist in his face, and I could’ve knocked him out dead cold if I wanted to
And that’s my only regret now—that and the question of how Emily would look at me now that I’ve broken her cardinal rule. Would she look at me and see a violent brute?
For the first time since this whole thing started—
I feel like I might’ve really lost her.