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“But I believe we will,” Adele said. “We will see them both in heaven.”
Bryce fought the urge to roll her eyes.
“That’s not what I meant. I thought you could explain we can’t fly like angels, no matter how long you wear wings.” Bryce worked at her voice being level. “They might understand your explanation better than mine.”
They sat in silence, taking turns staring at the door or at the room’s clock. Then Harvey spoke, his voice gentle.
“We’d like you to reconsider us having the girls full time. As their guardian. Perhaps this accident with Addison is a sign that guardianship is too much right now. You’re a young single woman.” Harvey’s face wasn’t accusatory but earnest. “You’ve done your best, but maybe with this job in Niagara Falls, you’ll have another door opening for you. Adele and I are ready to be the girls’ full-time guardians, which would allow you to live your life.”
Bryce wanted to shoot backI am living my life. And this is what Bentley and your daughter wanted—me as their guardian, not you two.But she refrained. Much as she didn’t want to admit it, a part of her missed her old life. This internal conflict must have shown on her face, because Adele spoke up, her face growing soft with kindness.
“Please, just think about it. We don’t meet with the judge until after you return from Niagara Falls. Wouldn’t it be nice—more peaceful for everyone—if we came to the trial wanting the same thing?”
Left unspoken was that the judge would hear about this broken leg and the fact that Bryce was in another part of the building when it had happened. While no parent was realistically with their wards every minute of every day, this accident had happened on her watch. Nothing she said would change those basic facts.
Then the door opened and a petite woman in a white coat entered, heading to Harvey and Adele.
“I’m Kiersten Sweet, the medical student on rotation with Dr. Morelli. Are you Addison Weatherford’s guardians?”
“Yes,” Adele and Harvey said, and Bryce’s face went hot as she cleared her throat.
“Technically, I’m her legal guardian at the moment. They are her grandparents.” Bryce stepped over and shook Kiersten Sweet’s hand. The med student had a strong grip and wore her dark brown hair cut in a shoulder-brushing bob. Yet something about her face looked familiar. Maybe she’d come into the restaurant? “I’m Bryce Weatherford, and Addison is my niece and ward. How’s she doing?”
“Oh, Bryce.” The woman’s face brightened. “You’re the woman my sister, Kate—Kate Sweet-Matthews—told me makes the best soups in town. Your niece is fine, and I have good news. Dr. Morelli was able to get her fractured tibia aligned without having to take her to the operating room. You’re welcome to come be with her as they cast her leg.”
As they followed Kiersten out of the waiting room and down the hall, Bryce ventured a question. “How long will she be in a cast? Does she—can she walk on it?”
“She’s non-weight-bearing right now. Dr. Morelli will give you more details, but the break was clean and, given time, will heal with no issues.” Kiersten chuckled. “Also, your niece has charmed the socks off everyone. She’s wheedled her way into a rainbow-colored cast, which requires five different boxes of colored fiberglass material to be opened and isneverdone. But your niece has a way about her. She’s delightful, and you should be so proud.”
“When can we take her home?” Harvey asked. “I’m guessing she’ll need to be in a place without stairs, correct?”
The woman shrugged. “Stairs are a definite no for a few days until she learns how to get around on her crutches.”
“Then she’ll recuperate at our place.” Harvey sounded smug, and Bryce resisted the urge to glare at him. “We have a ranch-style house with no stairs. That would be best, wouldn’t it?”
“For now,” Kiersten agreed, and Bryce felt as though the universe was conspiring against her. But when the door to the casting room opened, Bryce pushed aside her mounting despair. She visualized the Bentley wings tattooed on her lower back and reminded herself of her brother’s belief in her.
And she tried to ignore the mounting evidence showing he might have been wrong.
Chapter 19
Although Ryker had meant to call Bryce on Friday as soon as he’d checked in to the hotel, the drive from Wellsville to Smithtown had taken hours longer than expected with the heavy Long Island weekend traffic. As soon as he and Tarun had downed a couple of burgers for dinner and gotten into their respective rooms, Ryker had flipped on ESPN, dropped into bed, and immediately fallen asleep. Saturday proved even harder for him to carve out time for a call to Bryce. The morning flew in a whirlwind of paperwork and orientation classes at the Paws of War training center with other vets and first responders who, like him, were getting a service dog. They spent all day learning what to expect from their dog, dos and don’ts, and got to meet and chat with several area vets who’d already been matched with dogs and heard their experiences and words of wisdom.
“I’d plateaued in my recovery with my psychiatrist, and I battled PTSD, as well as my TBI,” one young Army vet said, referring to his traumatic brain injury received in combat. “The statistics are that almost twenty veterans take their lives every single day—double the rate of civilians—and while they tell you here that the dog isn’t a cure-all for everything, it’s been nine months since I matched with Liberty. And I credit this dog for me being here today. I can go out in crowds without the anxiety, my night terrors have lessened—this guy wakes me up before they escalate—and I’m off all medication except for aspirin.”
Ryker watched the veteran, a stocky, tough-looking man in an Army sweatshirt who stood in the center of the gymnasium-like space as Liberty nudged at his hand. The guy’s stoic expression softened as he reached down to stroke the flanks of his brindle Rottweiler–Jack Russell mix. The dog had a scar crisscrossing his face from above his eye to the side of his snout.
“Liberty was taken from a group that operated a dogfighting ring. This dog was used as bait to train bigger, fiercer dogs. It makes me sick to think what he went through,” the man said, and the dog head-butted his thigh until the Army vet reached down to pet him again, his hands caressing the dog’s ears as the Rotty mix panted and turned his grinning face back to the crowd. “Just there, Liberty sensed my anxiety, and he’s trained to head-butt me, or lick my hands, even jump up on my chest, until I pet him, which in turn eases my stress. It’s true what they say here—their work helps on both ends of the leash.”
Ryker’s heart squeezed at their obvious bond. Sunday—tomorrow—he and the other vets in his orientation class would meet their dogs, and see if they matched. He’d never wanted anything so badly in his life.
After Saturday’s session, he and Tarun had stuck around, chatting with the vets who’d come that day to pay it forward to the organization. He’d forgotten all about his phone, having put it on silent for the day of training, and it wasn’t until he was in his room after showering that night that he pulled it out. In addition to texts from Zander, Drake, and his mom, all variations of “Hope everything is okay,” he saw that he had a missed call and a text from Bryce.
Bryce’s text said she’d been on the phone with her lawyer discussing the upcoming guardianship trial and hadn’t been able to answer his earlier call. She finished by asking if everything was okay and, knowing her plate was full, he’d sent her a thumbs-up—the same response he’d sent to the rest of his family. He wanted to call Bryce back, but a glance at the clock showed it was past midnight. He knew she was driving to Niagara Falls in the morning and he didn’t want to chance waking her—she had a busy day with dropping the girls at their grandparents’, then hitting the road for the almost-three-hour drive.
Instead, hoping to be that bright spot in her Sunday morning before she left for Niagara Falls, he sent her a mechanic joke before bed.
What’s the name of every mechanic’s favorite movie?…Lord of the Springs. Drive safe.
