26. Stop Calling Me That
STOP CALLING ME THAT
Fable
I shake my head. Fresh pain flares, adding to the new tension in my aching body. My monitor beeps faster. It’s not true. It can’t be.
The nurse whirls into the room. “Is it your pain level?” she asks while checking the machine and my IV drip. “We’re trying to keep you comfortable with what we’re able to give you under these circumstances.” Her gaze flicks to my belly.
Oh god. Oh god-oh god-oh god.
“I’m Carolyn,” she says. “I’ll be your nurse for the duration of your stay.”
An orderly enters the room with a tray of food and sets it on a roll-away table near my bed. “Lunch.”
“Thanks, Herman.” Carolyn grins at him.
He nods and leaves the room.
The nurse adds medicine to my IV. “This should help you feel better. Eat some food and try to rest. Both are important for you and your… uh… body. The accident shocked your system, but otherwise you’re doing well.
If you need anything, press this button.
” She holds up a remote on the bed. “I’ll be right outside. ”
“Wait!” I sit forward a little and regret it at once as pain spirals around my torso. Ow.
“It’s best if you take it easy and let us do the work for you.” She smiles at Wes, her gaze lingering longer than seems normal, although I could be imagining it given my Twilight Zone state of mind.
“Am I pregnant?” I ask Carolyn. The question seems foreign like it can’t be possible.
She smiles at Wes again. “You told her.” Her focus returns to me.
“He wanted to be the one to break the news. I hope he also told you there was no trauma to the embryo or womb from the accident. Everything is functioning normally. You might also experience first-trimester symptoms like additional fatigue, breast tenderness, nausea, frequent urination, and food cravings. It’s all normal. ”
More symptoms? I already feel like I was thrown off a cliff onto rocks. “What am I supposed to do? What can I do?”
“Rest.” She gestures to the food. “Eat, drink, and let your body heal.”
I draw in a deep breath and wince at the pain in my ribs.
“You’ll start to feel better as soon as the new meds kick in.” Carolyn winks and nods at Wes on her way out.
He follows her to the door and talks to her briefly. I wish he’d just leave. Worse, I can’t tear my gaze from them and the way she keeps smiling at him with her extraordinarily white teeth.
I shift my focus to the tray of food. Chicken, green beans, and a roll. A Styrofoam cup of something sits to the side of a container of gelatin. I lean forward and reach for the cup, but hiss when my ribs scream and drop my hand to my leg.
Wes races over. “What do you need?”
“I need you to leave,” I say, catching my breath.
He lets out a small laugh. “Not going to happen, angel.”
“Stop calling me that.”
He picks up the Styrofoam cup. “Do you want this?”
Yes. I don’t answer.
He sips from the straw. “Apple juice.”
I gawk. Jerk! “That’s mine!” Shit. That hurt.
“Relax,” Wes says. “I’ll happily give it to you after you listen to me.”
If I could cross my arms, I would. Instead, I look at the window again, wishing I could see the view. “What hospital am I at? Who shoved my car off the road? Does Noah know where I am? Where’s my phone?” I whisper to assure minimal pain.
“You’re in a hospital in Ohio. Noah knows where you are and that you’re fine. As for your phone, you can have it when we’re done talking.”
“So talk already.” It’s another whisper. Maybe then he’ll leave.
Wes explains what happened six years ago after he left the garden.
His father lied to both of us about the other so we'd think the worst of one another. The Earl was a sick monster in that way. He’s the reason Mom and I were kicked out, and why Wes was beaten and left for dead.
Wes’s best friend, Lachlan—Mr. Ashford to me—rescued him and took him to Scotland.
Wes never returned home. As a way of thanking me for saving his life, he tried to send my mom money as an anonymous donor, even though his father had taken control of his trust fund.
He wanted us to be safe and have enough money to live freely, wherever we wanted.
I remember getting those donations in the mail. Mom and I thought they were a scam. Learning Wes was behind them has me thawing toward him a little.
He confesses he’d looked for me for three years—which has me thawing even more. He even hired a man to search for me, but the man was playing both sides, taking payouts from both Wes and his dad while pretending to help them.
When he saw me at Lachlan’s home, he was shocked.
Even though he was told I betrayed him for reward money and moved into one of his father’s homes for protection against Wes, he couldn’t ever hate me like I hated him.
He even got a tattoo in memory of me on his back.
A book—fable—with vines like the garden and angel wings.
That draws my gaze to him and those soulful eyes I remember seeing for the first time—as bright as bluebells.
Throughout all this, he feeds me and holds my cup while I drink from the straw. I eat more than I think is possible. The food tastes delicious, which shows how hungry I am because cafeteria food is never great.
Wes pushes the table with the tray away from the bed, a napkin crumpled on the plate.
The medicine must have kicked in because I have less pain, and warm fuzziness fills me.
I rest my head on the pillow, where the bed is raised.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were at Hellfire?” I ask, not as angry with him anymore now that I understand what happened.
“I was shocked by you again. Seeing you there, working at the mansion…” He shakes his head. “No one has ever shocked me as much as you—apart from my father, but he’s dead, so… good riddance.”
He doesn’t seem sad or bothered. His dad was a monster, but that doesn’t mean his death didn’t affect him. I don’t know if I should say sorry or leave it, so I change the topic.
“Who ran me off the road?” I murmur, my eyelids heavy.
“A man named Harvey. He’s been dealt with.”
“He worked for my dad. Didn’t he?”
“Yes. And as promised, he’ll be dealt with too. Soon.”
I almost laugh, but sleep has its hooks deep in me, tugging me under. “You can’t reach him… he’s locked away in a psych hospital.”
Wes puts his big hand over mine. “I know. But it won’t be enough to stop me. I swear to you, Fable, your dad will never hurt you again.”
I hold onto his words for a heartbeat longer before sleep swallows me.
Fable
Life becomes a daily repetition of nurses, doctors, three meals a day, rest, and healing.
Wes never leaves my side. After a week, he moves us into a suite with an extra bed for him.
It’s reserved for famous people, like a presidential suite in a hotel, and even has a jacuzzi tub in the large bathroom.
I haven’t used it. The nurse said I could, but I should keep the water warm, not hot, during the pregnancy. It still doesn’t seem real to me.
How can I be pregnant? In my mind, I’m still that twenty-three-year-old on the run from my dad and the past with no life and no boyfriend.
So much has changed since I started working at Hellfire. The biggest part being I’m seven weeks pregnant.
The second biggest part is the overbearing man holding me hostage.
I’ve been trapped in this suite for three more weeks, and he still won’t let me leave the hospital, insisting on regular heartbeat checks and sonograms to make sure everything is okay after reading miscarriages often occur during the first twelve weeks.
The doctor explained I’m not at a higher risk because of the accident, and nothing can stop a miscarriage from happening. He also said everything continues to look great, and I’m healing nicely.
He ends each visit with, “You’re clear to go home whenever you want.”
The last time, he added, “You’re clear to have sex too, as long as you take it easy.”
My face flamed so hot I thought my cheeks would start smoking. I’m convinced the doctor said it as an incentive to get Wes to leave.
His concern seems extreme. I’m not used to anyone fussing over me like this. The baby could be all he cares about. While we’re together every day, we haven’t been intimate in any way whatsoever.
Wes works at the desk most of the time, darts over when a nurse or doctor checks on me to hear them out, then returns to his desk.
He has special meals delivered for us—mine are catered to benefit the baby.
We watch TV together at night, game shows like Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune, while we’re both on our phones.
I edit posts for my social media accounts with videos and pics I took at Hellfire, and Wes does more work.
He casually calls out all the answers before the contestants do, even though his focus is on his phone, which blows my mind.
The man is smart, successful, gorgeous beyond words, has the sexiest accent I’ve ever heard, and is insanely talented in the bedroom. What on earth is he doing with me?
I want to ask, to know our future, how we’ll raise the baby, and what his intentions are toward me, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
Maybe I don’t want to know the answers. Part of me wants to escape and huddle up somewhere alone.
It’s been my MO for so long. Worse, a tiny part of me still blames him for my mom’s death.
It’s completely unfair. My dad is to blame.
My therapist keeps telling me so. I’ve been seeing a therapist here who specializes in trauma patients. I didn’t talk at all for the first two appointments. Dr. Carrington has a file on me and knows things she couldn’t unless Wes provided the information.
Nothing seems to be out of reach for him.
A little over a week ago, he disappeared for two days, saying he had unfinished business. The next night, the news reported Kip James Farrington was found dead of a drug overdose in his hospital room. Apparently, another patient beat him up badly, and after, he took his own life.