EPILOGUE
Two weeks later, Avery was back in the hospital with a bunch of flowers for Finley. He wasn’t himself. He was sitting up in bed, but his spirits were low. He greeted her without fanfare, with little more than a nod, before he turned away.
“How you doing?” she asked.
“Not good,” he said.
Avery had heard it all from the doctor. His spine had been bruised; walking would be difficult, and he took a bullet to the lung. He might never be able to run, or breathe the right way again. It all depended on his strength of will, and his therapy, but the signs were there: if he gave up and didn’t do exactly what the doctors told him to, maintaining his position as a police officer in one of Boston’s most prestigious departments would be difficult.
“You’ll be back in no time,” she assured h
