Defending Her Dignity (Renegade Love Bodyguard Novel Book 3) Page 23

  “Abba?”

  At the sound of my voice, he stirs. When he sees me awake, he scrambles out of his seat and comes to the side of my bed. With the dim morning light framing him, I can more easily see the wrinkles etched in his skin and the slight yellow hue to his skin. His eyes are bloodshot and large, saggy bags droop under his eyes. He looks so unlike the man I keep in my memories: the strong, controlled father who kept his emotions and vulnerabilities locked away.

  “How are you?” he asks, looking down at me.

  I see traces of concern in his eyes, and it momentarily takes me aback. “I’m fine. No damage and I should be out of here soon. You didn’t need to come all the way here for this.”

  He makes a harsh, annoyed sound and pushes a hand through his disheveled hair. I take a moment to take him in: his wrinkled clothes with a stain on the collar, his untucked shirt. I can’t recall another time where I saw him look so bedraggled and exhausted.

  “When your cousin calls me and tells me my daughter has been shot, you don’t think I come? Do you really think that low of me?”

  I’m unprepared for the raw hurt I hear in his voice and I quickly shake my head. “No, abba, that’s not what I meant. I know you have more important things to do, I hate that you wasted a trip to come and see me. I’m really okay.”

  “More important things to do? You are my daughter, Yael! You are all I have left!” His voice cracks at the last sentiment and he thrusts another hand through his hair as he stares off at the white wall behind me.

  I watch him, my eyes wide and I’m sure, conveying my confusion and surprise. In my twenty-four years, I have never seen my father express any emotion beside anger, frustration or placid indifference. Even when my mother and unborn brother had died, he had retreated into himself- never showing his sadness or grief to anyone. It made me resent him until I began to envy him, wishing I had the ability to shut away my emotions as well. Eventually I learned that to garner his acceptance, I needed him to see me as someone just as hard and emotionless as him, so I forced everything deep inside me. I became a shell like my father. And it took meeting Lawrence and Isabel for me to realize that I didn’t want that anymore. I didn’t want to keep hiding and running away from my feelings.

  “I’m sorry, abba. I just… I never knew you cared,” I confess.

  “You didn’t think I cared about you?” he asks, unable to hide the confusion, and hurt, in his voice.

  I lift my shoulder. “You were always so tough on me. Forcing me to become this little soldier so I could be like you. But you never asked what I had wanted. You just kept pushing me to follow in your steps.”

  My father shakes his head and pulls the chair toward him, so he can sit at my side. “I’m sorry, Yael. You’re right.” He lets out a long sigh and looks past me. “I tried to convince myself that if I could train you enough, I could protect you. And when I heard that you had been shot…” His voice cracks again and it sends a tremor of sadness through me. I hate hearing my father so hurt, so exposed and weak. “When I heard you had been shot, I realized it was my fault. I pushed you into this life. I shouldn’t have. I just wanted to protect you. I couldn’t protect your mother. And I knew I wouldn’t survive if I lost you, too.”

  His words, and the vulnerability in his eyes when he finally forces himself to look back at me, break me. One lone tear escapes, trailing a salty trail down my cheek. I reach for my father’s hand and cover it in mine.

  “You did protect me, abba. The only way you knew how.”

  He shakes his head and looks down at me. “You wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for me.”

  “Abba, I’m okay. And while I would have preferred to have not been shot, I am grateful I’m here.”

  I can’t help but smile as my father arches his brow, shooting me a curious look.

  “I have something to tell you,” I explain. “I met someone.”

  “Oh?”

  “He actually is the man who hired me. And he loves me, too. I want you to meet him.”

  My father nods, taking it all in. “Well, I trust that if you gave him your heart, then he’s a good man.”

  I smile and squeeze my father’s hand. “He is, abba. He is.”

  As my father and I continue to spend the rest of the day catching up, I keep an anxious eye on the clock opposite my bed.

  Lawrence and Isabel always swing by for a visit after school and they’re due to come any moment. I haven’t had a chance to warn Lawrence that he will be meeting my father today and as the minutes continue to tick, I feel my palms growing sweatier. My father is an intimidating man. And a blunt one. I have no idea what he’ll think of Lawrence.

  I try to focus on the conversation with my father as he asks me more questions about my life here in California. I was surprised to hear how much he had missed me, and how he was always too afraid to call because he didn’t want to be a burden on my new life.

  While getting shot and almost losing my life was something I would never want to repeat in a thousand years, I can’t deny that the event helped heal the long festering wound caused by unspoken words and unshared feelings between my father and me. Never would I have thought that I would be hearing my father share the difficulty for him to look at me because he saw my mother so strongly in my features. I was always worried that time would steal what little memories I had of my mother, and of her face, and I was comforted to know that I had so much of her in me. I was so grateful that my soul- in addition to my body- would be able to heal from this tragedy.

  A quiet knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts. I jerk my head over to see Lawrence and Isabel standing in the doorframe, a tentative smile on each of their faces. Isabel enters the room first, and heads straight to my father. She gives him a curious look-over before thrusting her hand out to shake his. “I’m Isabel.”

  My father smiles and nods appreciatively, enjoying her spunk. “I’m Avner. I’m Yael’s father.”

  Lawrence comes to join me by my bed and presses a quick kiss to my temple. For someone who was just sprung with meeting his girlfriend’s father, he’s handling it pretty well. He reaches over me to shake my father’s hand next. “I’m Lawrence. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

  My father takes his hand and I can catch Lawrence’s subtle wince when my father aggressively squeezes his palm as his dark eyes assess him. Men.

  “Yael said you used to train her in karate,” Isabel says, breaking the tension in the room and finally forcing my father to withdraw his hand.

  “That’s true,” my father confirms as he looks down on Isabel, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

  “Well, can you teach me some moves, too?”

  “Isabel,” Lawrence says, “I’m sure Mr. Benoudiz doesn’t –”

  “Of course, my dear,” my father says, cutting Lawrence off and shooting him a pointed glare. “It is important to always be practicing.”

  His words send a smile straight to Isabel’s face and Lawrence and I share a similar look of surprise. I would never have believed that my father used the words “my dear” unless I had been here to witness them.

  And yet, as I continue to watch him teach Isabel how to escape a choke hold, I can’t help but feel moisture gather in my eyes. This whole experience has made me so emotional and seeing my father with Isabel, giving her the kind of affection and attention I had so desperately sought when I was her age, washes me in comfort, rather than resentment or anger. I’m at peace. And as I look over to Lawrence at my side, I know that in addition to this peace I’ve found for myself, I’ve also found love.

  38

  Yael

  “Yael, you should know by now, arguing with the doctor isn’t going to make him change his mind.”

  I continue to heave against the toilet as another roll of nausea washes over me. Unfortunately, not much of my breakfast seems to have made its way to my stomach today. Carla, my nurses assistant, continues to hold my hair back and rub comforting circles on my back. I swipe the ba
ck of my hand over my mouth and flush the toilet. Carla helps me up to a standing position and leads me to the sink.

  “You know Carla, it’s kind of a dick move to argue with me while I’m vomiting my stomach out into the toilet,” I say as I accept the small cup of mouthwash she hands me.

  Carla shrugs, looking unaffected by my insult. “It’s the only time I can argue with you, because your sassy mouth is otherwise occupied.”

  I shoot her a glare in the mirror as I spit out the mouthwash. I accidentally bump my side into the counter and cringe at the flash of pain. When Carla sees me wincing, she shoots me a disapproving look and props her hands on her hips.

  “Yael—” she starts.

  I roll my eyes and hold up my hand. “Carla, for the fiftieth time, I’m not taking any more of those pain pills. I’m fine. Pain is natural. Besides, I think those are what made me so nauseous in the first place.”

  Carla does her own impressive eye roll and goes to work clearing up my tray. “You have got to be one of the most stubborn patients I have ever had. And you’ve been off those pain meds for weeks—they aren’t why you’re still vomiting. I think you’ve caught yourself a bug.”

  “Egh, that’s the last thing I need right now,” I whine as Carla helps me back into bed. For the past ten days or so, I’ve had terrible nausea and blistering headaches that will just not go away. I refuse to take any medications though, so I’ve been trying my best to keep down some plain rice and boiled chicken and suffer through it, hoping it’s just a mild stomach bug.

  In my five weeks here, Carla has been my primary CNA and has checked in on me most days. She chose today to pop by when I started arguing with the doctor over my discharge date. It seemed we had differing opinions on what further medical treatment I needed, and because I didn’t have an MD at the end of my last name, I was being unduly overruled.

  A knock at the door pulls our attention. I smile as I recognize the familiar face.

  “Detective Bledsoe, how are you?” I ask.

  “I’m good. How are you?”

  I shrug and shoot a playful glare at Carla. “Still stuck here, but I suppose it could be worse.”

  Carla huffs out a snort and works on clearing my tray table of my breakfast dishes.

  Detective Bledsoe holds up a brown paper bag. “I wanted to let you know that we were able to recover the contents of your purse from your vehicle. Looks like some kids saw the keys still in the ignition and decided to take it on a joyride. So, I doubt there’s any money left in your bag but figured you still might want your IDs and credit cards.”

  I offer him a grateful smile and accept the brown bag. Inside is my familiar, oversized black purse, and though it’s a memory from that terrible day, I’m still happy to see it. “Thank you.”

  Detective Bledsoe offers me a quick nod before sliding out of the room. Carla looks at me, a concerned expression on her face. “You okay, honey?”

  I nod. “It’s just weird to see it again.” I pull my purse out and discard the bag to my side. I open my wallet to find all the cash and credit cards gone. Good thing I had asked Eva to help me cancel those. My phone is also long gone, but as I rummage through my bag and pull out a small cardboard box, I feel my stomach sink.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper.

  Carla rushes to my side and wraps a concerned hand on my arm. When she sees the small pastel box in my hand, her eyes pop open.

  “Oh, honey,” she says.

  It’s the box of Plan B I had picked up from the pharmacy. Still unopened.

  The one I had planned to take that same night, when I had inconveniently gotten held hostage at gunpoint, then shot and rushed to the hospital where I was in surgery for ten hours, unconscious for two days, and in recovery for two months. A bit distracted by the whole almost-dying thing, I had forgotten about the damn Plan B.

  “Test. I need a test. Can you get me a test?” My questions come out in frantic bursts and Carla nods, wide-eyed.

  “Yes, honey. Of course.”

  “Can we do it now?”

  “Maybe you should rest…”

  I shake my head as my eyes dart to the clock hanging on the wall. Like clockwork, Lawrence is always here right after dropping Isabel off at school, and I have less than twenty minutes before he returns. Now that he quit his job at Monroe and bought Fempower, the social media site he had discovered and taken over, he had a lot more flexibility in his schedule. Which meant daily visits from Lawrence every morning after he dropped Isabel off at school. “I need to do it now.”

  Carla nods understandingly. “Of course, I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  I feel a rush of relief when she scurries out of the room. Could I be pregnant?

  Instantly my mind flashes back through the last few days: the nausea, the headaches, the fatigue. I feel the room spin as I drop my head against the pillow. I had assumed those had all been symptoms of some kind of bug, or even the result of the gunshot. The doctors hadn’t been too concerned, and I had never been shot before, so what the hell did I know?

  But instead of feeling upset or panicked, I feel…excited. And hopeful. And surprisingly, grateful.

  Facing death, and subsequently laying in a hospital bed for weeks, had finally given me the freedom to ask myself what it was I truly wanted. And while it was admittedly difficult to arrive at what I wanted out of life, it was much easier for me to name what I didn’t want. I didn’t want to continue working like this, hopping from job to job and living out of a suitcase. I didn’t want to join Daphni on her tour and sleep in a different city every night. I wanted stability, somewhere familiar I could return to each day, excited to have the people I love most waiting for me. I wanted to continue taking Isabel to school every morning, picking her up in the afternoon, and hearing her talk with enthusiasm about the different dinosaurs she’d learned about that day. I want to help her practice for her yellow-belt test, build her science project with her, and make dinner at night for the three of us. I no longer want to be ashamed for wanting a stable, simple life.

  But a baby? Of course a small part of me had hoped that would be a part of my future with Lawrence. But we weren’t married—or even engaged—yet. This was moving so quickly.

  Stop, Yael! Take the damn test first!

  Thankfully, Carla returns a small white box in her hands. “You know what to do?” she asks as she hands it to me.

  I nod and let her help me out of the bed once more. I trudge back to the bathroom and pull the small white stick out of the plastic packaging. It’s one of those rapid-results tests: I’ll know in under two minutes.

  I quickly pee on the stick and lay it on a paper towel on the counter. I open the door, thankful to find Carla on the other side, a look of genuine concern on her face.

  “You okay, honey?”

  I nod and smile up at her. “I am,” I answer honestly.

  We both stare at the clock, painfully ticking at the speed of molasses. When two minutes pass, I exhale a deep breath, go back into the bathroom, and pick up the stick. I suck in a breath as I look down at the result and pass it to Carla.

  “Oh, baby,” she whispers as her hand reaches out to grab mine.

  I feel tears brimming in my eyes. I don’t bother to fight the smile tugging at my lips. “I’m pregnant.”

  She nods, her own eyes glistening with moisture as she pulls me into a hug. “Congratulations, baby.”

  I laugh in her arms as tears begin to fall down my cheeks. Carla smiles at me knowingly and gently nudges me back to the bed. “You need to rest. I’m going to check in with the doctors and give them this update. Your man should be coming soon, so you better tell him before he finds out from the doctors.”

  I nod and slide into the bed, sitting upright against the pillows. A moment after Carla slides out the door, I see Lawrence’s familiar face. He carries a bouquet of pink roses in his hands. I force a smile to my lips when I see him. He walks straight toward me and presses a kiss to my temple.

  “How are
you feeling today? You look a little pale,” he comments. Yeah, no shit. Probably because I have a fetus growing inside of me, draining me off all my nutrients and making me want to vomit out my intestines every morning when I wake up.

  He smiles as he places the flowers on the ledge, finding space for them between all the other flowers that he insists on bringing me each week.

  “Lawrence, you don’t need to keep bringing me flowers,” I tell him.

  He pulls a chair to the side my bed and sits, offering me a conspiratorial smile. “These flowers are for celebrating something else.”

  I feel my stomach knot as a wave of fear rushes over me. Oh God, does he know I’m pregnant? Impossible, I only found out five minutes ago. There’s no way he could know that quickly.

  “What’s that?” I ask, a bit apprehensive.

  His smile widens and he takes my hands in his. “You’re going home tomorrow.”

  “What?” I ask, feeling a rush of relief and confusion.

  “I spoke with the doctor earlier. He mentioned that you were…strongly wanting to get out of here. And he agreed that if I set up private nursing and rehab care at the house you could come back.”

  “Wait? At your house?”

  My question erases the excited smile from his face, and I regret it instantly.

  “No, that’s not what I meant—” I start.

  Lawrence shakes his head and smiles. “No, it’s okay.”

  I squeeze his hands in mine and force myself to sit up straighter. “No, I need you to listen. I have something to tell you, too.”

  Lawrence’s brow furrows in concern and I lift my hand to cup his cheek. “I love you so much,” I tell him, unable to let another moment go by without telling him.

  He smiles and turns his cheek to kiss my palm. “I love you, too. That’s why I want you to come back. It’s not my house. I want it to be our home. I want you to keep living there. I want you to be with me.”