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Caleb
One year later
Abby slams the side of her hand down on the thin board with a loud “Hiyah!” It breaks with a resounding crack.
“Fuck yeah,” Dean cheers quietly in the stands next to me.
“Good job, peanut!” Briar squeals.
I’m holding my phone to record the entire thing as she bows to her sensei with a beaming smile on her face. When she spots the three of us in the crowd, she waves while practically bouncing in place.
I wave back, making sure to look her in the eye instead of at the screen of my phone. I want her toknowI was watching. When she looks back at her childhood and all of her accomplishments, she’ll remember us being here and cheering her on.
As they take her white belt and replace it with a yellow one, Abby looks so excited I feel myself starting to get emotional.
Everyone applauds, all of the students on the mat bowing together.
Afterward, Abby comes running toward us. “You are such a badass,” Dean says as she wraps her arms around his legs.
“Can we get pizza?” she asks excitedly.
“Sure,” Briar replies, taking her hand.
As the four of us leave the gym, Abby and Briar in front, I place a hand on Dean’s back affectionately. I don’t miss the way other people, specifically dads, glare contemptuously, but I’ve learned to brush it off by now.
Since Abby joined karate almost a year ago, the other parents have shown their curiosity every time we’ve shown up with our daughter. Sometimes, it’s just me and Dean. Sometimes, Dean and Briar. And sometimes, all three of us.
Briar says I show off too much, never shying away from holding their hands or showing affection, but deep down, I do it for the version of myself I kept quiet for so long.
I won’t change myself to make room for other people’s close-minded biases.
With that, I squeeze Dean a little bit closer.
As we reach the parking lot, I kiss Dean on the side of the head. The sleeve of my shirt rides up, exposing the large black-and-white angel tattoo on my forearm.
There’s a matching one on Dean’s arm. We take our angel with us wherever we go.
* * *
After pizza, the four of us head home. As we pull into the driveway, there’s a new Theo Virgil song playing on the radio, and I smile to myself as Dean and Abby sing along.
I’ve messaged my little brother nearly every day since that night, mostly with pics of Abby.
His new album has been a huge success, and I know this is going to mean a lot for his hidden identity, but for now, I try not to be the overprotective (to a fault) pain in the ass I was before. I simply cheer him on and offer support where I can.
The only person in my family who knows about my brother, as it turns out, is my mother, who revealed to me that she’s known his whereabouts this entire time. I can’t say I was surprised, though.
There’s nothing Melanie Goode can’t do.
My father’s case continues to drag on, but it’s a footnote in my story at this point. If I remember to check the news, I might hear about a new development. But as far as I’m concerned, that day he threatened Dean and Abby, he stopped being my father.
And the peace I feel now is astounding.
Like Isaac said, I’m not entirely free. The cancer that is Truett Goode burrowed its way into my psyche, but at least this cancer has a cure—the three people in this car with me.
“What do you say we do some renovations in the apartment tonight?” I ask as we climb out of the SUV.
Doing renovationsis our code for sneaking out after Abby’s asleep and doing ungodly, filthy, and exquisite things to each other in Dean’s old apartment. Since he’s officially moved into the house, the space has essentially turned into our sex den of sin.
