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I gasped as she held me tight. Wendy was a powerful hugger. I patted her back awkwardly. I wouldn’t have thought we were at the hugging stage having only met a few times, one of those times trash talking her during a three-legged race competition, but I wasn’t going to say that.
It was nice being hugged by Dillon’s sister. It made me feel closer to him.
She pulled back and shook her head, laughing softly. “Sorry. It’s just that he’s been talking about you so much, I feel like I already know you. I flew up here to be moral support for him tonight if you didn’t show, and now this.”
“He thought I wouldn’t be here? I work for the team.”
Wendy shrugged. “Oh, you have turned that man inside out. He doesn’t know what to think. I was supposed to be his drinking buddy, if he was right.”
“I’m here. And I was planning on talking to him. I just…I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, you could start with calling him a big dumb idiot. Then you could call him a buffoon.”
“I like oaf.”
“Good choice.” She smiled, but her eyes were filling with tears. “Do you know anything?” she asked, her thumb jerking back towards the closed door. I shook my head and hugged her again. I wasn’t going to get her worried by rumors.
“Oh, hey,” I said, stepping back so I could introduce my Dad. “Dad, this is Wendy, Dillon’s sister. Wendy, this is my dad, Miguel Branch.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, offering her hand.
My dad shook it and winced. “Uh, strong grip.”
“Shoot,” Wendy said. “Sorry. I’m nervous. When I’m nervous, I forget myself.”
The training room door opened, and, Juan Carlos, the Bruisers’ head physical trainer, stepped out.
“Wendy?” he said, and Wendy stepped forward. “He thought you might have broken a few jaws to get down here. He wants to talk to you.”
“Okay,” Wendy said, and vanished into the room. I could hear her start to yell at Dillon, but I couldn’t see them.
“Juan?” I asked. “How bad is it?”
“Ruptured achilles,” he said, his face grim. “We have to get him back to Boston for surgery.”
He went back into the room, shutting the door behind him and I collapsed against the wall.
Without the grace of God and an excellent surgeon, a ruptured Achilles tendon could be a career ending injury. Even if he did fully recover, there was a good chance he wouldn’t be the same.
“Honey,” Dad said, wrapping me in his arms. “Don’t start borrowing trouble.”
There was yelling inside the room. Something hit a wall.
“He will need you to be calm. Steady.”
The way my father had been calm and steady for me when my career ended.
If I never considered how deeply my love ran for my father, I knew it in that minute. He’d gotten me through the hardest thing in my life and now he was standing next to me during what could be the second hardest. Because now it was my turn to be there for Dillon.
“What are you going to say to him?” Dad asked me.
“He might not want to see me.”
“He’s been saying good night to you every night for four weeks. He wants to see you. But what will you say?”
“No clue,” I admitted.
“Strong plan. Is there any place I could get us some coffee?” I gave him my badge and pointed him in the direction of the staff coffee room.
