Bradford Brawler (Bradford Bastard 2)

Addie laughs again, and I have to remind myself how fucking lucky we are that we’re even blessed with the ability to hear her laugh. This could have ended in tragedy, and there was a good chance that I was never going to see her again. I should be thanking anyone who has the ability to put a smile on her face, even if it’s my father, and while she’s laughing with him, she’s not shrinking back into that dark place or remembering the terror she felt when Colby forced himself inside of her.

A heavy smack hits the back of my head and I whip around to find my mother glaring at me. “Quit with the scowling,” she says under her breath, trying not to draw attention. “You look like someone crawled up your ass with hot sauce. Is it so hard to pretend to be happy for your sister?”

I give her a blank stare. “Hot sauce? Really?”

Mom tries to hold my stare, but a wide grin cracks across her face, her eyes lighting with silent laughter and making that coldness in my chest begin to thaw. “That was a good one, right?” she says, her brows bouncing as though she’s the funniest person on Earth. All I can do is shake my head. For those seven long weeks, that spark in her eyes dwindled down until I was sure I’d never see it again. I’d never seen her looking so defeated in my life, but now, she’s never been happier. Which, unfortunately for me, means that she’s right back to cracking the most inappropriate jokes at the worst time. I swear, this woman lives just to humiliate me.

There’s a soft knock on the open door, and every conversation falls silent as all eyes zone in on Dr. Arton, the best neurologist in the country. We’ve been waiting for this moment all week. There has been test after test, checking Addie’s brain function and motor neurons … whatever the fuck that means. But today we find out if she gets to come home.

Dr. Arton strides across the room, putting himself right at Addison’s bedside and giving her a proud smile. “Passed with flying colors,” he tells her, holding up the tablet that’s been attached to his hand since the second we first met him. “You’re going home.”

Addie gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as she whips around and gapes at Mom, who’s already sobbing with happiness. “Are you shitting me?” Addie questions, glancing back to the doctor.

“Language,” Dad grunts before standing on Addie’s other side and offering Dr. Arton his hand. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for my girl, Doctor. We are forever in your debt.”

Dr. Arton nods and gives Dad a forced smile. “Just doing my job,” he says before turning to Addison. “Now, you’re not entirely off scott free. You’ll need to continue taking your medications for the time being. I know you don’t like them, but unfortunately, it’s a necessary evil in your case. I’ll need to see you every few months for scans to ensure your brain is functioning as it should. Emerging from a coma can be … difficult. It’s a lot to process, missed time, confusion, memory loss. I know these aren’t symptoms that have affected you, but I strongly recommend talking with a specialized therapist who deals with patients like yourself. On top of that, I’d like you to continue your physical therapy. You lost a bit of muscle mass and your body is still weak. Twice a week should be fine for now. However, when you’re ready to start dancing again, you can speak with your therapist regarding a more intense schedule.”

Mom nods. “Of course. Whatever we can do to make this journey easier for Addison, we’ll do it.”

“Wonderful. I’ll leave some recommendations with the nurses’ desk,” Dr. Arton says, giving Mom a real smile, nothing like the forced one he’d offered my father. The doctor turns back toward Addie, looking chuffed to be telling her goodbye. “In the meantime, I’m signing off on your discharge, so while your parents fill out a bit of paperwork, you can figure out what you’re going to do with all these flowers and balloons.”

Addison glances around the room with a cringe, taking in the vast array of gifts she’s received over the past two weeks as if only now realizing what a massive job this is going to be. “Oh, umm … yay.”

I snort a laugh and shake my head as my sister glares daggers at me. “Chill out,” I say, far too amused by this. “I’ve got the Mustang in the parking garage. You go home with Mom and Dad, and I’ll sort this shit out.”

“Huh,” Addie says, watching me with a strange curiosity. “I should slip into a coma more often if this is the type of treatment I’m going to get from you.”