Page 98 of Training the Heart

“Brad, thank you for answering that call and for reaching me. I’ll be sure to remove your number from her phone, but I don’t ever want to see you again. You were terrible to me, you abused me and I won’t forgive you. Don’t contact me anymore. Don’t use my new number. If you do, or you get your family to, I’ll be seeking a restraining order.” I cross my arms over my chest and stand as strong as I can for eight in the morning, on no coffee and a shit ton of adrenaline.

Wade stands firm beside me, and I know it takes everything in him not to hit Brad, but he doesn’t, he just rubs my back, maintaining his control as he speaks, backing me up.

“And Brad, if you ever have a time where you forget what Ivy just said, I’ll break every bone in your fucking body just to remind you, and you know what? My smile will grow with every single snap.”

Brad motions to get the hell out of this room; his jig of the caring ex is up and he knows it.

“She’s all yours,” he mutters, squeezing by Wade and out the door.

“That’s fucking right, she is,” Wade says in a tone I wouldn’t ever want to fuck with.

I breathe out a sigh, knowing that this may actually be the last time I see Brad. He would never want to run his father’s name through the mud, and a restraining order would do just that. I am wiping a tear off my cheek, reminding myself Brad Bellingham isn’t worth one single tear, just as my mama comes around the corner in a bed on wheels being pushed by a nurse.

I go to her immediately and hug her as best I can. Her face does have fabric burn on the entire left side and her wrist is in a cast. Her one eye is black and blue and she has what I assume is that nasty cut the doctor mentioned wrapped on her thigh, but she actually looks healthier than I’ve seen her look in a long time. Her eyes are bright and free from under-eye bags, and her smile is clear and full.

“Baby, I’m so glad you’re here. That was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m sorry I didn’t add your number in properly and Brad had to come,” she whispers in my ear.

I let her go when the nurse clears her throat.

“I’m supposed to get Mrs. Spencer set up so she can rest.Pain meds will make her sleepy.”

As if on cue, my mom yawns, and the nurse must sense myhesitation because she turns to me and says quietly, “Give me twenty minutes to settle her, go get a coffee, then you can sit by her side.” She pats my arm and smiles. “She’s going to be just fine. Looks worse than it is.”

It’s those words that sucker punch me right in the chest, so much so that the moment we’re outside the door, I break and Wade pulls me in close to his chest as I cry, stroking my hair and murmuring how strong I was and how proud of me he is.

I pull back from his now-wet shirt, and he wipes my tears off my cheeks.

“She was sober, she is sober. She was just trying to do the right thing and she stayed there all alone for an hour? She must have been terrified,” I sniff.

“She’s okay, she got here and she hasn’t had a drink in over two weeks, Ivy, that is something special.”

I nod; she’s never made it that long before. As far as I know, the longest she’s made it without a drink since my dad passed was eight days. I look into the room while the nurse and personal support worker help her get comfortable.

“I just feel so helpless, I wish there was something I could’ve done, something I could do.”

Wade tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and kisses my forehead.

“Come on, Trouble, I’ve got something we can do.”

CHAPTER FIFTY

Wade

“You never cease to surprise me, Chief,” Ivy says as she munches on a giant chocolate chip cookie in the hospital cafeteria.

She runs a finger over the little cotton bud taped to the inside of her elbow.

“I’ve never donated blood before. We have the same blood type, my mom and I.” She smiles. “I should do it more often—knowing how rare our blood type is, it’s needed.”

I look up at Ivy from my text conversation. I grin at her; she looks happy now, calm. I would do anything to see her like this all the time and know I was the one responsible. I’m planning to make it my fucking life’s purpose.

“Nash makes us go every year, ever since his parents died. I think he feels like he might be able to help someone else in their same situation,” I tell her as I continue my conversation with my mother over text.

She nods and stuffs the last bite of cookie into her pretty mouth.

“I get vat,” she mumbles around her cookie, and then takes a big sip of her juice. “I have to talk to the hospital about getting her into a rehab program. I have some savings and she needs it. She’sdone so well … if she had help, she might really have a shot at getting and staying sober. I’d hate for her to be on her own while we’re away over the next couple weeks and do a backslide.”

I’m already three steps ahead of her but I don’t want her to worry about all this right now. I just want her to be with her mom.

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