Page 126 of Say You Will

“Henry did,” she says.

She’s right that I’m not surprised by her strength. “Any other broken bones we need to look at? Or are you keeping all the good stuff to yourself?” I ask, deliberately casual.

She speaks through her teeth, her face contorted in pain. “Might have a dislocated shoulder. Sacroiliac joint is out of place.”

Only the fact that Franki needs me prevents me from returning to the people currently in restraints and enacting torture. They should suffer as she suffers.

I’m no stranger to delivering pain, but the knowledge that I’m going to have to hurt Franki to help her has nausea rising. I could hustle her straight to the helipad, but if I don’t stabilize her first, everything will be worse in the long run.

“I need to splint these fractures now. Then we’ll get you in the air.”

She gives a tight nod.

“I’m resetting the bones. It’s going to hurt. Feel free to call me terrible names.”

“Gaah!” An incoherent cry rips out of her as I realign the bones in her arm, then secure a splint.

When it’s done, she pants, and I press my cheek to her uninjured one. “I’m sorry.”

Her breathing slows. “I’m okay.”

I tug her sacroiliac joint back into alignment, then straighten and watch her face carefully. “The longer we wait to realign your shoulder, the worse the swelling becomes, but if you’d prefer to wait for a more controlled environment, it’s your call.”

“Do it now.”

I knew she’d say that. She’s not avoiding my eyes or looking around her in fear. I haven’t broken her trust. She screams when I complete the process, then closes her eyes, tears squeezing beneath her lids. I ease her against me. “Shhh. Breathe, love. It’s over. I promise. It’s over.”

“Thank you.”

I press my mouth against her temple, holding her to me. “I really want to kill them.”

“But you won’t. And that’s what matters.”

“Acting like the ‘good guy’ is unspeakably tedious. I don’t like it.”

The sound she makes is weak and quiet, but, somehow, she manages to laugh. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

thirty-nine

Henry

Three Days Later

The Man Who Can’t Be Moved | The Script

Ipass Grandmother Rosea cup of tea, then lower myself into an armchair.

“And how is the girl?” Grandmother refers to Franki as “the girl” because she’s having trouble remembering names, though she’ll never admit to it.

“Franki is going to take some time to heal.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Positioned diagonally from me, Grandmother sits stiffly in her chair in my Park Avenue penthouse and lifts the delicate porcelain cup to her lips.

“Franki is resilient. She’ll make a full recovery,” I say.

Grandmother glances toward the bedroom hallway then back at me with a disapproving pinch of her lips. She’s not a fan ofcohabitation, as she refers to it.

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