Page 71 of Promise of Punishment

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.