Page 125 of Say You Will

With Guinevere’s accomplices secure, Dante stomps over to Spencer.

“What the hell were you thinking? You knew we were almost here,” he says, voice hoarse.

“I couldn’t let them take Franki or the dog.”

“You didn’t know there weren’t bullets in that gun. She could have shot you. Hehityou.”

Spencer lifts a hand to his swollen jaw. “You would have done the same.”

Dante leans into Spencer, his forehead resting against the other man’s. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Spencer closes his eyes and admits, “I was quite terrified myself.”

Dante mutters, “What am I going to do with you?”

“You’re going to kiss me,” Spencer says.

Dante huffs. “Finally.”

With my arm around Franki, I lift her to stand and lead her toward the cabin. I’m a nosy bastard, but even I can appreciate that the two of them deserve some privacy. “Let’s get some ice on that cheek of yours and let me get a look at you.”

Franki pulls away from me, and I tighten my grip briefly, before releasing her and setting Oliver on the ground. If she needs space, I’ll give her sp—

She staggers two wobbly steps and loses the contents of her stomach. I rush to catch her, my gaze raking over her. I haven’t assessed her injuries, yet. I knew she was limping and had the bruise on her face, but she hasn’t said anything.

I resist the temptation to sweep her into my arms as she lists against me. Instead, I assist her to lie on a clear section of grass. Franki’s skin is pale and waxy, her normally tan complexion ashy. Perspiration beads on her forehead, and she appears to be having trouble focusing her eyes.

All the dire things that could be happening inside her flood through me in near panic. What happened before I arrived? Is she bleeding internally? Fractured skull? Shock?Has she been dying as she stood beside me and didn’t say a word?

“How’s the air situation? Any trouble breathing?” Her pulse is rapid and thready beneath my fingertips.

“No.”

“Excellent. Follow my finger with your eyes. There you go,” I say gently.

Her tracking isn’t good, and her pupils are uneven. “Not trying to be a buzzkill, gentlemen. But I could use a hand,” I snap, some of my panic breaking past the calm demeanor I’m presenting for Franki’s sake.

Franki whimpers as I prod her head, seeking injuries beyond what I find on her face.

“Can you tell me where it hurts?”

She seems to shore up her energy before she speaks. “Everywhere. But I’m pretty sure I broke my arm.”

Spencer arrives and stands at my left. “Dante is bringing the first aid kit.”

“Take Oliver inside and put him in our bedroom. Stay with him a few minutes. Give him his treats. Confirm an ETA on our backup. We’re not waiting on them to get Franki to medical care.”

Spencer goes, taking one anxious wiener dog with him.

Dante drops a first aid kit on the grass beside me, opens it, and gets to work cleaning the scrapes on her face.

I reach for the scissors to cut back the sleeve on her right arm. The one I’d have noticed she’s been favoring if I’d been thinking clearly.

As I cut, Franki fights back a scream through gritted teeth, though I do my best not to jostle her. When I reveal her forearm and wrist, I look up to meet Dante’s eyes, then back down at the swollen, discolored, misshapen mess of her arm. Her hand hangs at an odd angle. A buzzing turmoil inside me threatens to crack my self-control, but I speak dispassionately. “Concussion. Likely fractured cheekbone, fractured distal radius and ulna.”

This was the same arm her mother had yanked on. The pain would have put most men on their knees, but she’d fought through it and kept going.

“Who knew you were such a badass, Franki?” Dante cleans the cut on her cheek and presses an ice pack to her face.

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