Page 84 of Crossroads of Love

How did I never know these things?

“Me too,” I say.

For a moment, we just sit there, holding each other’s gaze, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. Then Jayla shifts, pulling her hand back and crossing her arms over her chest, her expression turning more serious.

“I just want you to be happy, Mom. I love that I get my uncle back in the process.”

I pull her into a tight hug, feeling a surge of gratitude for this incredible, thoughtful, and resilient girl I get to call my daughter. “Thank you, Jay. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she murmurs against my shoulder, her arms wrapped around me just as tightly.

When we finally pull apart, I feel lighter, like a weight has been lifted.

There’s a knock on the door, and I look at Jayla quickly.

“Are you expecting someone?” I ask her.

“It’s probably Uncle G. He can’t seem to stay away from you for too long.”

I stand and walk over to the front door. When I open it, I’m surprised to see Hank standing on the other side.

“Lena,” he says gruffly.

His thick Southern accent is no longer there and replaced with one I don’t recognize. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and my stomach tightens. Something about the look in his eyes and the change in his accent scares me.

“Hank? What are you doing here?”

He’s never been to my house before. It’s rare for anyone in town that I don’t spend time with personally to just show up at my house unannounced. Something is off.

“We need to talk.”

“I’m off, spending time with my family, Hank. If you have an issue, it needs to go to the sheriff’s department, and they’ll deem if it’s necessary for me to be notified.”

“I can’t take this to the sheriff’s department.”

He steps forward, and I half close the door as I stand in the way so that he can’t get inside.

Is he here to ask for more money? Is he here to blackmail me since Henry is gone?

“Can I come inside?”

“No, you may not. Hank, this isn’t okay. You shouldn’t be at my house after hours.”

“Lena, I’m not the enemy here.”

“Where’s your accent?” Jayla asks from behind me.

His eyes flash angrily as his gaze flits to her.

“Jayla, go back into the living room.”

She glances back at me when she hears my tone. She doesn’t ask questions, just does as asked.

Thank goodness.

“Lena, please.”

“No, Hank. This isn’t appropriate. If you have something that needs to be addressed, you can come to the office on Monday or call dispatch. This is my time with my daughter, and I won’t have that disturbed.”

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