Page 108 of Say You Will

“I’m not yours to worry about anymore.”

Shocked silence descends before she regroups. “You can’t tell a mother to stop worrying about her own child. I don’t know what that man is telling you, but you’re not safe there. You can’t trust a man who tries to keep you away from your own family.”

“Mom, I’m giving you the courtesy of a phone call to tell you this because I know if I didn’t, you’d find some way to convince yourself that any text or email I sent didn’t come from me. This is me telling you that our relationship is over. You’re not good for me. I’m better, stronger, and so much happier without you in my life.”

She gasps. “He’s brainwashed you. You need help.”

“When you took me to live with you in the UK, it was because I made the critical error of telling you I was happy.”

“It was Christmas. I was there for the holiday to see you. I didn’t want to tell you this. I knew it would hurt you, but . . . I raninto Henry on that trip. He came on to me. I told him I wasn’t interested because you were in love with him, and he laughed at you. He was cruel. I knew I had to take you with me, then. I had to get you away from him before he broke your heart.”

I breathe in deeply. I’m not even angry at her. I’m tired. “Do you know when you’re lying? Or do you convince yourself your made-up version of events is the truth?”

“It is the truth. Don’t punish me because you don’t like to hear it,” she screams.

“I’m not punishing you. I’m done. I don’t want to hear from you again. I won’t take your calls. I hope you find something that satisfies you and makes you happy. Goodbye.”

I hang up and block her number. Maybe I’m numb. Maybe the confrontation first with Penelope Stanton, then my father, paved the way. Maybe I waited so long to do this and hashed it out in my mind so many times that when I finally did it, it was anticlimactic.

Maybe my heart is so broken by Henry’s betrayal that I don’t have room to feel devastation over my mother. Instead, I feel nothing but relief.

A steadythunk . . . thunk . . . thunkstarts up behind the cabin. I walk back to the kitchen to clear the table and clean up our dinner. Somehow, Henry found my favorite chicken piccata recipe, or at least a very close version of it. A glance at his plate reveals he picked off every caper from his own chicken. The man made me something he hates, just to please me.

No. To manipulate me.How could I forget it so quickly?

There aren’t many dishes to wash, but I have a feeling it’s going to take me a long time to clean up a couple plates and a few pots and pans. Because above the sink, a window offers a hint of Henry hard at work at the corner edge of the yard.

I resist the urge to get a better look for all of five seconds, but the steady sound of metal splitting wood has me more curiousthan I can stand. Before I even decide to do it, I’ve moved into the small utility room off the kitchen. Cautiously, I crack open the back door.Please don’t let him catch me watching him.

Henry tosses two pieces of wood onto an already chest-high stack, then resumes his wood splitting, going at the logs like they’ve personally attacked him.

Henry ignored his jacket when he left, but his skin glistens with sweat, regardless of the forty-degree temperature. Bits of bark cling to his black T-shirt, neck, and arms as he swings.

I know nothing about splitting wood, but he must, because every strike is practiced and efficient. His biceps and forearms flex with corded muscle, and the early evening sun brings out auburn highlights in his hair. Under his shirt, Henry’s pecs twitch with every swing. A familiar grunt of exertion leaves him as the axe makes contact, and heat pools in my pelvis. The last time I heard him make that sound was this afternoon when he was inside my body.

He sets his axe aside, tears the remainder of the log into two pieces with his bare hands, and tosses them onto his growing pile of firewood. When the wood has left his hands, Henry takes off his glasses and drags the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face revealing the ridges of his toned abdomen and the defined V of an Adonis belt.

Then, breathing heavily, he sits on the huge log he’d been using to brace the wood and drops his head to his hands. He stays like that for long moments, staring at nothing. Finally, he stands, returning his glasses to his face and glancing toward the cabin.

His gaze catches on mine through the crack in the door, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

I close the door with a snap and lean against it, my heart thundering in my chest.

The sound of metal tearing through wood begins again.

thirty-four

Henry

Run | Snow Patrol

Iclean and prepthe blade on the maul, then hang it with the other tools in the shed, lingering longer than necessary with the scents of fresh-cut oak and blade oil. I want to keep going and wear myself out, but that would be stupid when I have work to do and an unknown threat lingering around us like a bad smell.

I kick the shed door shut behind me with unnecessary violence as I head back to the woodpile. Lawrence has gone to extraordinary lengths to attempt to come between Franki andme. It’s not a stretch to suspect him as our unsub. He was already on my list of suspects, but now he’s flown straight to the top. Normally, I’d be the one heading the investigation and leave our asset with someone else to guard, but Franki isn’t an asset. She’s the love of my life. I don’t trust her protection to anyone else.

I rub my chest and breathe through the ache. She can barely stand to look at me. She thinks I betrayed her with divided loyalties to her and MPD. She should know that she’ll always come first for me.

I load my arms with firewood to haul inside and try to work past the regret to make a plan to fix this. Whywouldn’tshe believe my loyalties are divided? When I saw her again for the first time, I’d imagined her on alistof priorities, as if she wouldn’t be right there at the top, every single time. She doesn’t realize that I’ve changed. If I could go back to the night of the reception, I’d handle everything differently.

---