Page 44 of Marked By The Kings

But eventually, I am drawn into consciousness. The lights in the room are dim, and everything hurts. The smell of antiseptic turns my stomach. “My stomach,” I groan, bringing my hand to my belly.

The curve I have been afraid of showing off for so many months is still there. “My baby,” I whisper, tired even though I’ve been asleep for hours. The sun no longer shines outside my hospital room window.

“Dani?” I turn to the sound and see my father stretched out in the corner of the room in a chair meant for a much smaller person. “Dani, are you awake?”

Tears spring to my eyes. “Daddy.” My words sound like a croak, but I don’t care.

He gets up and opens the door to my room, calling for the nurses. He tells them that I’m awake before rushing to my bedside. “I was so scared, honey.” Tears fill his eyes, too. “When the hospital called and said you were in surgery, I nearly killed myself trying to get here.”

Surgery? “What surgery?”

I watch his eyes drift from my face to my stomach, and I realize he must know about the pregnancy. “The hospital had to call in a fetal surgeon,” he says neutrally. “Your placenta was leaking, and they were concerned that you would have to deliver early. But the surgeon arrived with enough time to repair the issues and keep the baby in there for a few more weeks. You’ll have to be on bed rest, though.”

“But he’s okay?” I rub the swell of my stomach and feel it, a bandage. That must be where they cut into me.

My father nods his head. Before he can say anything, the door to the room opens again, and there’s a rush of white coats and scrubs. The light in the room gets brighter as they check my vitals and ask a bunch of questions about how I feel.

I’m overwhelmed by the attention and thoroughly exhausted. Dr. Steele says that’s normal. “You went through a traumatic event. Your brain has to heal as well as your body.”

Traumatic event. I say the words to myself slowly, tasting them on the tip of my tongue. And it reminds me of the last time. “Howard,” I frown, “where’s Holy?”

The room quiets, and every professional eye turns toward my father. He has the grace to look ashamed. “He’s uh, he’s in his own room.”

“I want to see him.” I make every effort to sit up because my abdomen hurts, and the nurses force me to stay lying down.

“Miss Fulton, if you’d like to see Howard Pelham, we can arrange that. But your father will need to leave the room for the duration of the visit.” Dr. Steele’s tone is careful and controlled.

Something happened. I can feel it. I just don’t know what it was. “Why?”

Once again, everyone looks at my father. Marcus Fulton sighs heavily and says, “We got in a fistfight, and the staff said they wouldn’t call the cops as long as we kept our distance.”

Afistfight? How long have I been asleep?

“I’m sorry, honey,” he says contritely after a few moments. “When he said he was the father of your child, I lost it.”

33

HOLY

Adoctor hovers over me, his eyes studying every inch of my face as he shines a light in my eyes. I pull away with a wince, and the doctor makes a sound of interest. He turns to the nurse and says something I don’t quite understand.

The doctor turns back to me and asks, “Howard, do you remember how you sustained this head injury?”

I nod, which makes my head hurt and exacerbates the ache in my neck. I have an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. I remember being in the car with Danielle, driving to the zoo, when we were hit by a truck.

Danielle.

The truck hit the passenger side of the car. I remember seeing blood dripping from her mouth and forehead. Her slumped over body as we waited for emergency vehicles to arrive. “Where’s Dani?” I ask, my stomach churning with anxiety.

The doctor examines the bandage on my head. It almost matches the one they put on Danielle when they shoved her in the back of the EMS van. I remember her beautiful face, marred with injuries. His face is solemn as he tells me what he knows. “She sustained serious injuries during the crash and is currently in surgery. The doctor that saw her said she had an issue with her placenta, and they rushed her into the OR. Unfortunately, I don’t know the extent of her injuries or how the surgery is going. But when I find out, I’ll let you know.”

My stomach drops, and my brain grapples with what will happen to me if Danielle doesn’t make it. Or, if God forbid, our baby doesn’t make it. “She’s in surgery?” I repeat.

The doctor sighs heavily and steps back. “Yes, Mr. Pelham. We’ve discussed this. Miss Fulton was taken into surgery for placental abruption. From what I understand, they called in a fetal surgeon to determine if she needed to deliver early or if something could be done to keep the baby in utero a little longer.”

It’s all coming back to me. We just had this conversation five minutes ago.

“You have a concussion, Mr. Pelham,” the doctor reminds me gently. “We’ll monitor you over the next few hours to ensure you’re alright. A nurse will come in every ten minutes to check on you and observe your symptoms. We’ve called your emergency contact, and Mr. Monroe said he would be here as soon as possible. I understand he’s coming from Manhattan?”

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