Page 103 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

“Not technically, no. But he has handled everything for the family, from gunshot wounds to broken bones. If you’d rather go to the hospital, though, we can do that.”

“Only if I have to,” she said, looking down. “I’m worried about my wrist.”

“I am too. But we will handle whatever it is. Babe, what hap—”

“Alright,” Salvatore said, cutting me off. “Let’s get you all taken care of.”

I pulled Caitlin’s legs over mine, letting her rest her face in my neck as Salvatore got to work.

She really did handle it like a champ, only letting out a little whimper when she saw the bloody gauze on the tray. But Salvatore was quick to move it out of her line of vision as he finished up.

Next out came the saw, which had Caitlin stiffening as Salvatore cut off the cast to reveal a shockingly bruised wrist and forearm. I, for one, let out a held breath when I confirmed there was no bone sticking out of the arm. The bruising and swelling were to be expected.

“Let’s just hope for a small miracle that there isn’t displacement,” Salvatore said. “Then we can just recast it, and you two can be on your way. I have a feeling there’s a lot of pampering in your future.”

“I won’t even rag on you about all the junk food,” I agreed.

Caitlin shot me a weak smile, her eyes small and heavy.

“Your head hurts, huh?” I asked, reaching to rub her temples.

“I can get you something for that.”

“I have her original prescription at home. But something for just now would be good.”

With that, she was medicated and taken for an X-ray while I stood anxiously in the waiting room, ordering every kind of comfort food I could think of to be delivered to my apartment.

“It’s not displaced,” Nero told me as he came out from the back. “Salvatore said the fracture has extended, but it will heal on its own. She will probably need to be in a cast for two months. And need a lot of physical therapy. And, obviously, it’s going to hurt like a bitch for a while.”

“Thanks for the update.”

A few minutes later, Salvatore led a slow-moving, blank-faced Caitlin back into the room where we mostly sat in silence as he carefully recasted her wrist in a light purple instead of the white she’d had on before. Then took a second to sign it, something that got a small smile out of her, before telling us we were all set.

I didn’t love how withdrawn Caitlin was on the ride back to my apartment, then the walk back inside. She didn’t even say anything as I led her into the room, stripped her out of her bloody and dirty clothes, and put her into my roomiest sweatshirt.

I was hoping she would volunteer what happened. I didn’t want to have to pry the information out of her. But when she just sat there, staring at the wall, I swallowed back the discomfort and reached for her hand.

“Cait, what happened?”

She glanced up at me, her lower lip trembling.

“Hey, whatever it is, I can handle it.”

She nodded and exhaled a shaky breath.

“My dad was at my apartment.”

My stomach jolted, but I tried not to react externally. She’d never get through it if I freaked her out.

But if that motherfucker put his hands on her…

“He was panicked, saying he was involved with the wrong people. I, um, I assumed—”

“You assumed he meant me.”

“Yes. And he was asking for my help.”

“Hey, I’m not going to judge you if you wanted to help protect your dad. Even from me.”