Defending Her Dignity (Renegade Love Bodyguard Novel Book 3) Page 22

  34

  Lawrence

  “So, did you know that Fiona had filed a court order to have your name removed from her birth certificate?” Roman asks.

  Isabel has fallen back asleep and the rest of us, minus Oded, who has gone for a coffee run, are sitting on the other side of the curtained-off hospital room. The overheard fluorescent lights cast us all in a sickly shade of jaundice yellow, highlighting our puffy, exhausted eyes and tired complexions.

  I shake my head. “No. And I didn’t know Peter was the father, either. I had no idea the two of them would ever stoop this low to try and hurt me.”

  For the last hour, we’ve been replaying the facts from the night over and over again. None of us can get over the shock of tonight’s events. The police had checked in with an update, alerting us that they were filing formal charges against Fiona, who had pleaded guilty to every charge—including shooting Peter. When he had aimed the gun at Isabel, her maternal instincts had finally kicked in and she had grabbed the gun and turned it on her step-brother/lover, firing the fatal shot.

  “And the police confirmed that it was Peter who also hired that guy who tried to shoot you in the house?” Daphni asks.

  I nod. “It was all Peter. He was the one who hired the guy to grab Isabel at school, then someone to try and kill me at the house. Fiona told them that she didn’t know Peter had tried to kill me. Apparently, she had been trying to convince Peter to assert his paternity over Isabel for years and form their own, twisted family. And when the opportunity came up for Peter to take over Monroe, he decided he might as well kill two birds with one stone.” I look back over my shoulder at Isabel sleeping peacefully on the bed. “He knew that if anything ever happened to Isabel, it would destroy me. So he made Fiona believe that he wanted Isabel too, and who knows? Maybe it was his plan all along to kill her.”

  At my side, Gabby inhales a sharp breath. “And it was Fiona that ended up saving her? And killing Peter?”

  I nod, still not entirely sure I believe it myself. “Apparently, she was so distraught after killing him, she didn’t even notice Isabel calling for the police.”

  A sharp ringing interrupts us. Daphni digs her phone out of her pocket and groans. “Law, it’s dad again. He’s been calling like, all night.”

  I feel my body tense as I reach for the phone. I had been putting off speaking to him all night, but at this point, I just want to get it over with. I take the phone from her and take a deep breath before answering the call.

  “Yes Dad?”

  “Lawrence? Is that you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on!? I got a call from the chief of police saying my son had been shot! What trouble have you gotten yourself into now?”

  I blow out a frustrated huff of air. “Not me. Your other son.”

  “Peter?” he asks, startled. “What happened to Peter?”

  “Well, for starters he kidnapped Isabel, tried to murder her, shot my girlfriend, and then got himself shot by my ex-girlfriend, who happens to be his current girlfriend and step-sister.” I still can’t fully believe the words, even as they leave my own mouth.

  “Lawrence, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Peter’s dead, Dad. Fiona shot him. He tried to kill my daughter, so I’m honestly not really too torn up about it.”

  “Don’t be heartless, Lawrence,” my father admonishes.

  “Heartless? Dad, he tried to kill my daughter. He may have killed the woman I love. How am I being heartless?”

  “Enough of this. We need to talk and strategize how to play this for the press.”

  I shake my head. “No, we don’t. I’m done.”

  “Done? What does that mean?”

  “Dad, are you even going to ask how Isabel is? Your own granddaughter?”

  “Of course I was, but we need to come up with a plan.”

  “No, we don’t,” I repeat.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying it’s over. I quit. Consider this my resignation—effective immediately.”

  “Lawrence, you can’t be serious. You should be ecstatic, with Peter out of the way. Monroe is all but yours.”

  Of course that is exactly what my father would think. And he’s calling me heartless? Does that man think of anything besides his company and himself? Suddenly the idea of turning into my father, being a slave to Monroe, sends my stomach turning with disgust. After almost losing everything tonight, the last thing I want to do is return to Monroe and inherit this twisted throne.

  “I don’t want it,” I tell him.

  “You don’t want it?” he asks, disbelievingly.

  “No. I don’t want your life. I almost lost everything today. I can’t afford to lose my soul, too.” I don’t wait for a response before I disconnect the call. I look up to see the stunned faces of all my siblings watching me.

  “You quit?” Daphni asks.

  “You love her?” Gabby asks at the same time.

  Both their eyes are wide and disbelieving as they watch me. I blow out a long sigh and rub my hands down the front of my pants, shrugging my shoulders. “I did. I quit,” I reply. “And yeah, I love her.”

  35

  Lawrence

  When the door to our hospital room pulls open, I feel my heart rate kick up by a few hundred beats per minute. It’s nearly eight in the morning, and we’ve been here for almost ten hours now. Yael has been in surgery the entire time. So when the doctor walks in, we all jump out of our seats.

  “What’s the update?” I ask as the first one to reach the doctor.

  “She pulled through,” he says, his tired eyes revealing the toll the surgery had taken on him. “As we had feared, the bullet did enter the stomach and pass through the colon. Thankfully, the damage to the internal organs was minimal, and we were able to repair it. We did a perihepatic packing of her stomach and towel-clip closure of her abdomen. She will need several weeks of recovery, but she will pull through.”

  “Thank God,” I hear Gabby whisper at my side, and I sink down to the empty chair, dropping my head into my hands. I feel the knot twisting in my stomach finally begin to unravel. Across the room, Oded shuffles to the side to call Yael’s father and give him the update.

  After taking a quick moment to collect myself, I look up at the doctor. “Where is she? Can I see her?”

  The doctor shakes his head. “She’s in post-op. She’s still under, and we want to make sure we can manage her pain before we wake her up. When she’s well enough, we will let you know.”

  “Please,” I beg. “Just let me see her.”

  Before the doctor can open his mouth to object again, Daphni stands up from her seat. Marching toward him with her hands on her hips, she stands behind my chair, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Doctor, you must understand that we are all incredibly anxious, and my brother would like to see his girlfriend. We understand it’s not protocol, but we are so worried. And,” she adds with a sweet smile, “if you could do this small favor for us, perhaps we could express our gratitude at the hospital’s next fundraiser. We are so committed to giving back to our community.”

  The doctor perks up and looks briefly over his shoulder, as if to see some hospital administrator waiting to chastise him. There’s no doubt he knew who we were when we arrived. Just the fact that we are in the hospital’s private room and the name Monroe on the bill would be enough to alert him to that fact. Still, I appreciate Daphni’s extra coaxing when he offers me a quick nod.

  “Five minutes,” he warns.

  I hold up my hands and nod in agreement. “I just need to see her.”

  “Follow me.”

  I jump out of my seat and press a quick kiss to Daphni’s cheek before following the doctor out of the room. He keeps a clipped pace despite his obvious fatigue as he leads me down one winding hallway to another. We arrive to a set of double doors and he pushes them open to reveal another hallway. The ICU.

  “She’s in t
he third room on the right,” he says. “Five minutes,” he repeats, tapping on his watch.

  I nod and walk down the hall until I reach Yael’s room. Large glass doors are closed with a curtain pulled across to offer her some privacy. I slide open the door and step inside. The sound of a low hum and the occasional beeping of the patient-monitor device are all I hear once I close the door behind me. Yael is lying on the bed, her brown hair spilling around her on the stark white pillow. Her eyes are closed, her skin paler than usual. She has a brace around her neck to keep her head upright, and there’s a tube in her nose leading to a small machine at her side. The blanket is pulled up to her chest, and her hands rest at her sides, with one finger covered in a grey plastic clip to monitor her heart rate.

  Seeing her like this is terrifying. She looks so fragile, so unlike the Yael I had last seen just yesterday in her uniform of combat boots and ripped jeans.

  I pull a chair to her side and slip her hand in mine. Her hand is warm, and I’m so thankful for that. I turn her hand over and press a kiss to the center of her palm before covering her small hand with mine.

  “Yael, if you can hear me…” I start, unsure of what to say. I’ve never had the luxury of talking to Yael when she couldn’t interrupt me, or roll her eyes, or walk away. I hate that. I want her to call me an idiot, shrug her shoulders or bite her lip — I’ll take anything. I’ll give anything, to have her be able to insult me, destroy my ego, touch me, kiss me. And so I decide to tell her that.

  I brush away a piece of hair from her face and trail my thumb down her cheek. “Yael, how did you do it? How did you manage to make me both the happiest and most miserable man in this world? You scared me so fucking much, Yael. I thought I might lose you. And all I could think about was how I never got the chance to tell you how much I loved you, how much you meant to me. You can’t leave me again. I love you.”

  The last words leave my lips on a whisper as I dust a soft kiss on her cheek. A part of me hopes that she’ll feel my touch, hear my words and wake up. But I know this isn’t a fairytale. There’s been far too much heartache for this to ever be mistaken for something like that.

  36

  Yael

  “Beep. Beep. Beep.”

  I wince at the unfamiliar beeping sound that seems to have pulled me out of a long, bizarre dream state. I try to move my head, but it feels stiff and locked in place. Even with my eyes closed, I can sense that I’m in a room with bright lights. My mouth is dry, and my tongue feels swollen. Slowly, I peel open one eye. A flood of white light hits me, and I close my eye before waiting another few seconds to try again, giving myself more time to adjust. When they are both open, I look around the room. My neck is in some kind of brace, and I can’t turn to look around at my surroundings. The popcorn ceiling above me doesn’t offer too many clues. I feel weird, a bit numb. The sounds are all dull, muted and every moment feels glacially slow.

  Only when I hear the crack of an overhead PA system and the page for a “doctor Roberts to come to nurse station B” do I put the pieces together. I’m at a hospital.

  I open my mouth—my skin is dry around the edges of my lips—and try to speak, but my voice is hoarse and my throat raw. I wiggle my fingers and feel a warmth covering my left hand. When I move my arm to lift it to my face, the warmth leaves my hand and I hear my name.

  “Yael?”

  Instantly, I see Lawrence’s face looking down on me, the fluorescent lights overhead casting him in a soft glow, and I have to wonder if I’m dreaming. He looks down at me, a smile stretching across his face.

  “You’re awake,” he says, before he disappears. I can’t see where he’s going, but in the few minutes he’s gone, I stretch out my arms alongside me and wiggle my toes. I have no idea where I am—except that I’m in some hospital—or how long I’ve been here.

  The last thing I remember at this point is being in that motel room with Isabel. And Peter and Fiona were there. And Peter shot me. At the memory, I instinctively bring my hand up to my side, remembering the pain of the bullet passing through me, and how my hand had been soaked in my blood. What had happened next? I can’t remember. Isabel. I need to see Isabel.

  I feel a hand wrapping around mine and then see Lawrence again. “It’s okay, baby, the doctor’s coming.”

  “Isa,” my voice comes out in an unfamiliar croak and Lawrence shakes his head, his hand caressing my cheek.

  “Don’t speak yet, Yael. They had to intubate you a few days ago, so your throat is all scratched.”

  I blink my eyes furiously, trying to get him to understand. I swallow, the friction in my dry mouth making me cringe. “Isabel,” I try again, my voice coming out broken and raspy.

  Lawrence smiles and rubs my cheek with his thumb. “Isabel is okay. She’s at school right now. She’s been visiting you. I’ll bring her to see you this afternoon.”

  Hearing confirmation that Isabel is safe releases the debilitating weight of all that fear, and I finally relax. A second later, I see a doctor enter the room and stand over me.

  “Welcome back, Ms. Benoudiz. How are you feeling?”

  I lift my free hand and motion to my throat. “Water,” I manage to say.

  He nods. “Yes, your throat will be a little sore. Only natural. We’ll get you some water. But you’ll need to take small sips. Once you orient yourself a bit more, we’ll remove your neck brace.” He offers me a genuine smile before slipping out of my peripheral. I hear him say a few words to Lawrence before leaving the room. A moment later another unfamiliar face appears, carrying a small cup of water and a straw.

  “Now, we’re going to need to prop you up a bit before we give you some water. I’m going to adjust the bed, so hold tight,” she says, and I hear a loud hum as the bed slowly starts to raise, setting me upright.

  “Can I give it to her?” I hear Lawrence ask from my side.

  “Sure, honey. But make sure she goes slow, okay? I’ll come back in a few and check in on you.”

  I hear the sound of the door slide open, and then closed, as Lawrence comes back into my sight. This brace bullshit is annoying. He holds the cup of water to me and I open my mouth. When I suck down on the straw and the water slides down my throat, I want to audibly moan. This has got to be the best water I have ever tasted.

  The small action has me exhausted, and I fall back onto the pile of pillows behind me. Lawrence sits on the bed beside me and wraps his hands in mine again. When he looks down at me, I feel my heart clench as my last memories suddenly flood back. I remember everything.

  I close my eyes, trying to push the images away. But it doesn’t work. I can feel the ugly, shaggy green carpet beneath me. The smell of the gunpowder as the bullet left the chamber. That piercing, white-hot pain in my side, and the shock of reaching down and finding my fingers drenched in my own blood.

  Looking up to see Isabel, her blue eyes wide with terror, then fighting those waves of blackness as they rolled over me. And it’s then that I remember it was actually Lawrence who I had seen last. His face had been the last thing had seen, right before everything abruptly faded into black. I swear I had heard his voice saying my name. In the overwhelming darkness, I had found him. I followed him until everything eventually faded away. He had been the very last thing I had seen.

  The memory of that moment, the fear I felt, washes over me, and I feel the tears leave my eyes and trickle down my cheek. I had thought I was going to die. I had honestly believed it was the end. And then I woke up to find Lawrence at my side.

  In what I thought were the final moments of my life, I found the clarity I’d spent years searching for. Because when I had seen his face, and heard his voice, I had realized that Lawrence was what I had been looking for.

  I had wanted something to point me in the right direction, a bright neon arrow showing me which road to take. I thought I wanted to escape, to roam the world in search of someplace that spoke to me, that said “this is home.” I just wasn’t expecting to find it—or him—so soon. And now tha
t he was here, I wouldn’t let him go. I was done second-guessing myself. This is what I wanted. He is what I want.

  I feel his warm hand wipe away my tears and I force my eyes back open. He’s watching me, his face laced with concern. “Yael, what’s wrong?”

  I can’t shake my head, so I just look at him. “I love you,” I say, my voice still hoarse and barely above a whisper. I’ve never been able to utter those words to another man; my own father has only heard them from me a handful of times. They feel foreign on my tongue and yet, when they leave my lips, I feel a huge weight lift from my shoulders. I love him.

  Lawrence’s mouth stretches into a wide smile and he leans down to press a soft kiss to my lips. “I love you, too, Yael. I was just waiting for you to finally come around.”

  I relish the feel of his hands around mine and offer him one final smile before the overwhelming exhaustion takes hold of me and I drift off to sleep.

  37

  Yael

  Like the past few days, it’s the pain that initially wakes me in the morning. A dull ache that quickly sharpens and splinters through my side. I do my best to ignore it, but I mourn the time when I would be able to sleep the whole night through and not wake up feeling like I was run over by a semi-trailer truck.

  It’s late morning and when I push myself up in the bed, ignoring the throbbing at my side. When I finally straighten to a comfortable position, I see a familiar figure slouched in the seat beside the window overlooking a small garden patio. A small suitcase is by his side and a tray of food from the night sits uneaten beside him.