Page 70 of Wrapped Around My Heart
She was right, just like she normally is. After meeting with my brother’s doctor, I was seconds away from seeing red. If Ari wasn’t about to give birth, I probably would have been on the first plane out to Oregon to beat my aunt with a hockey stick.
The doctor had only gotten snippets of information, but the gist of it was there. Tristan was malnourished, dehydrated, and had a nasty infection from a scar on his back that wasn’t treated. There were signs of abuse too, but I asked the doctor to only share what was detrimental to his current health. If my brother wanted me to know what he had been through, I would listen, but it didn’t feel right to hear it from someone else.
They started him on antibiotics and fluids after lightly sedating him so they could get a full picture of what is wrong. My heart was shredded by the time I made it down to see him around one in the morning.
He was half awake and broke out in tears the second he saw me.
“He’s getting some rest. They want to keep him under observation to watch the infection for another twenty-four hours, but it’s looking better. The police left a while ago after finally realizing we’re not changing our minds about pressingcharges.” I close my eyes, only for them to snap back open when the image of the bruising on his arms pops in my mind.
Ari reaches out, placing her hand in mine and resting her head on my shoulder.
“We’ll get him whatever help he needs,” she whispers. I tilt my head down to kiss the top of my head.
“I’ll handle that,” I tell her, not wanting her to worry about me and Tristan after just giving birth.
Her grip tightens and she shakes her head. “You will not handle anything on your own. He’s your brother. That means he’s family.”
This woman…
“How are you so calm about this? He held a knife to you and?—”
“And wasn’t in his right mind. He was running on fumes, delusions, and teenage hormones. He needs us, needs a family. Something we have plenty of, by the way. You know for a fact the second my mom finds out about him, she’ll be demanding to help.” Ari brings our joined hands up to her lips and kisses mine. “I love you. We’re in this together, Dean. I won’t change my mind about that.”
Just like it always does when she says those three beautiful words, my heart takes off like a horse at the races.
“But maybe we keep the knives away from him for a while,” she whispers after a couple seconds and there’s no holding back my laughter.
“You are way too good for me.” I rest my head against the top of hers again. “I love you too, Freckles.”
Epilogue
ARIANNA
1 year later…
“Dean is going to lose his mind,” my mom says with a delighted laugh.
“I can’t believe we actually pulled this off,” I reply, adjusting my hold on Clara as she wiggles in my arms while trying to get a better look at the rink where we stand.
At just over a year old, our little girl is obsessed with everything hockey, much to Dean’s delight. Any chance he gets, he will bring her to hit the ice with him. The second she took her first step, he was online ordering her skates.
“Dada!” Clara shouts, pointing to where the Bobcats team is emerging from the locker rooms and onto the ice. As if he heard her, Dean looks directly toward us, his wide grin visible even from where we stand by one of the gate accesses.
He flies toward us. How he moves so flawlessly with all his pads and gear on will forever be mind-boggling. Skidding to a stop, he sends ice chunks flying toward the plexiglass, which sends Clara into a fit of giggles as she reaches out to slap her hands against the glass. Dean blows us both a kiss, shooting mea wink before turning to find his spot in front of the net for warmups.
“Lala!” Clara calls out, spotting my brother seconds before he zooms past, banging on the panels as he passes. When she really works for it, she’s getting better at saying his name, but all progress goes out the window when she’s excited. Plus, it’s really fun to get away with calling my brother Lala simply because his niece does.
“Uncle Landon!” my mom reaffirms for her, waving at him with my daughter.
As each of the players pass by in the warmup laps, they all pause long enough to acknowledge Clara, who screeches and shouts right back at them.
The visiting team, the Colorado Yetis, hit the ice and Clara switches to roaring at them every time they pass. A wonderful habit she learned from my father, who taught her different sounds to call out for each team. Personally, my favorite is whenever they play against the New York Nighthawks, and she tries to caw like a bird at them.
I shake my head but laugh at my daughter’s antics just as the announcer calls out his intro for the puck drop.
“You sure you want to bring her out there with you?” my mom asks. She is here to help in case Clara can’t handle going out there.
I glance over my shoulder, where the surprise Coach James and I had been working on since the end of last season stands off to the side. When I look at my daughter, I know the answer.
