“I don’t either,” I admit. “I’m tired of the constant struggle. I’m tired of having such a small, difficult life. But there are things I’ll sacrifice and things I won’t. And I refuse to sacrifice the people I care about to make my life better.”
Something that looks like pain crosses his eyes, just another flash.
“Okay,” he says. “In that case, it doesn’t make sense for me to try to convince you otherwise. I’ll take you home.”
Strangely I feel like crying again.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t want to make things harder for you either.”
His face is an unreadable mask and I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing.
He puts a heavy hand on my leg.
“I was hoping we could work something out,” he says, “but I don’t need you to protect me, Sasha. You need to worry more about yourself and less about other people. I don’t mean that you should become a selfish loser like your father, but I wonder if you work so hard on keeping other people happy because you’re afraid of being alone with your own pain.”
I recoil like he’s hit me. He pats my leg and stands up.
“I’m going to take you to my family’s doctor first,” he says. “I don’t want your injury getting worse, and the least we can do is cover the cost of x-rays.”
I’m so thrown off. That’s it? He basically traps me in his apartment for two days and then it’s to the doctor, and then home when I don’t agree to his terms? I want to believe he’s different from his father, but I’m having a hard time with this. Sure, he wasn’t the one who brought me here—P.J. had made it very clear that James Carney wanted Finn to ‘deal with me.’ But it’s hard to believe Finn would just give up on his father’s orders if it means consequences for him. I’m missing something here, but I don’t know what it is.
He leaves me so confused. It’s better that I take my chances away from him.
Finn helps me down to his ridiculous car. A Range Rover. Neat. I have no idea how much one of those costs, but I bet it’d cover a year or two of tuition.
The doctor’s office is in a small building up on Beacon Hill. At least the SUV won’t seem out of place here. There are stairs, though. I’m so tired of stairs.
Finn sees me struggle and carries me up the few steps. My body buzzes when he puts his hands on me, and I wish it wouldn’t.
I hate how much I want him to touch me.
He sets me on the top step and rings the bell.
An older gentleman answers the door. “Ah, Finn!” he says, smiling broadly. “And this must be Sasha.”
I’m too nervous to smile.
He ushers us inside. Finn takes my jacket, hanging it on a peg in the waiting room.
That seems like the wrong word for it. It’s like we’re in someone’s house. I’ve never seen a doctor’s office in someone’s house before.
“Come with me, young lady. You’ll wait here?” He’s looking at Finn, who nods.
The doctor takes me into an exam room. It’s not the sterile, overly bright environment I’m used to. I’ve been to a lot of doctors these past six months. The room is furnished with a few nice armchairs and a settee, which the doctor tells me to sit on.
“Ms. Saunders,” the doctor says, pulling up a rolling stool and sitting in front of me. “Finn tells me you had an encounter with his father’s thugs?”
I’m taken aback, and he sees the surprise register on my face.
“It’s the worst kept secret in Boston, my dear. I’m Dr. Smith, by the way.”
“How do you know the Carneys?” I ask.
“I’ve treated them for years,” he says. “I don’t approve of a lot of what they get up to, but I took an oath, and I’ll fix anyone up who comes to me.”
“Does Finn bring, I mean, do other people who’ve been hurt…” I don’t know how to ask the question.
“Finn isn’t the scrapper of the family. That’s Patrick. But no, I don’t get a steady stream of the family’s victims coming in here. I asked him to stay in the waiting room because I need to know if you’re safe and if you need me to call the police for you. Do you understand what I’m asking, Ms. Saunders? Did Finn do this to you?” He points at the bruising on my neck.
“No,” I sigh. “Some guy named P.J. Hennelly.”
“Do you want me to get the police?” he asks again. “I’ll stay with you. You won’t be alone.”
It feels like a punch to the gut. I struggle to keep from breaking down into sobs. This stranger cares more about me than my own father. He’s got kind eyes. I’m probably incredibly stupid for trusting someone just because I think they have kind eyes. Maybe I’m more broken than I thought.
Or maybe I just need to badly remember that there are men in the world who fix things instead of breaking them. Men who care. This doctor with the kind eyes seems to reach beyond my scars and pull out feelings I’ve pushed deep down to survive. The pain Finn alluded to earlier.
“It won’t help,” I manage. “The police came last time and…”
“Last time?” he says, his voice going flat.
I reluctantly pull my phone out of my bag and show him the medical file I keep on it.
He wraps his hand around the bottom of his face, covering his mouth, nose, and chin as he reads through it.
“Even if they have his name they won’t pursue it, Dr. Smith. They have a lot of connections. P.J. Hennelly may get arrested, but he’ll just end up dead. And then maybe I will too. I’ve been working on the case to organize the casino staff.”
Dr. Smith hands me my phone. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he says, the pain evident in his voice. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. I’m going to take a quick x-ray of your ankle, and then I’m going to run an idea past you.”
After the x-ray, he has me wait in the exam room while he takes a look at the film.
“No breaks,” he says, entering the room and shutting the door behind him. “Just a sprain, but with your history your body is going to have a pretty intense inflammatory response. I’m going to fit you with an air cast, and I want you to wear it for a few days. I’ll get you some crutches too. Keep off of it if you can, but if you can’t, make sure to use the crutches for at least three more days. Ice and ibuprofen.”
He sits on the stool in front of me.
“I think you’re right about the police, but there’s more than one way to corral James Carney.” He pats my knee. “James’ wife has been in for stress. That casino cost them more than they’d like to admit, and they need everything to run as smoothly as possible. No bad press.”
Oh. I had no idea. I figured the Carneys hate unions because of a general disdain for the working class, but this is an added incentive to keep wages low and staff silent.
“You understand what I’m saying, Sasha? Tell your story to the press if you have to. Write something up and leave it with a friend. Tell him you’ll pull the trigger if anything happens to you or anyone else involved.”
“But what if no one cares? He’s got so many people in his pocket.”