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I nod. Saint. Saint is coming. I don’t remember contacting him. Did I call him? Or did the hospital? “We were in a car accident,” I tell the doctor with a hopeful look. I know I’m repeating myself, but my brain is trying to understand what happened. And doing a miserable job of it, quite frankly.
The doctor politely says yes. “You sustained mild to moderate injuries, including the concussion and the broken wrist.” As he reminds me, I stare down at my wrist and see it’s casted. I don’t remember when they did this. “You have other scrapes and bruises, but most of them are minor and won’t even scar. The laceration to your temple came from the impact of your head on the driver’s side window. It’s mostly superficial, but the force with which you slammed into the glass is responsible for the concussion.”
As he finishes addressing my injuries, he checks the clipboard on the front of my bed to ensure he didn’t miss anything. When the doctor is pleased with his explanation, he announces that he’ll be back in an hour to check on me.
Before he reaches the door to my room, it opens, and a nurse appears. “Oh, doctor,” she startles, “there’s a visitor for Mr. Pelham. Can he have guests?”
The doctor looks at me and asks if I’m up for company. When I shrug my shoulders, I hear him discuss with the person outside the door that I have a concussion and to treat me gingerly. I want to complain that I’m fine, but I stare blankly at the door, the words refusing to form on my tongue.
In walks my boss. Marcus Fulton stands in the doorway looking madder than a bull. “Howard,” he greets angrily.
Something in my brain tells me he isn’t supposed to be here, but I can’t figure out why. “Mr. Fulton,” I frown. “What are you doing here?”
He huffs with exasperation as he steps closer to my bed. I watch his eyes comb over me, and he forms an opinion that I can’t seem to identify. “I’m Danielle’s emergency contact. I think the better question is, why areyouhere?”
It seems obvious to me. Maybe the hospital didn’t tell him about the accident. “Danielle and I were on our way to the zoo when another car failed to yield. We were t-boned in the intersection.”
Marcus cracks his knuckles at his waist. “Is this some sort of class field trip?” I shake my head no, confused. “Then why thefuckare you with my daughter, Howard? In Kansas fucking City.”
Concussions are no joke. When the truth dawns on me, it comes with a massive headache. Marcus is Danielle’s dad. Marcus doesn’t know that Danielle and I are dating. Marcus doesn’t know that Danielle is pregnant with my child. “Mr. Fulton, I can explain.” I toss my legs over the side of the hospital bed and try to get to my feet. The room starts spinning, but I know I need to face Marcus. I need to tell him what happened before this gets out of hand. I know what I need to do, but between his angry tone and my aching head, I can’t make the words come out right.
“You can explain why the hospital called to inform me that mypregnanteighteen-year-old daughter is in the middle ofsurgery?” Marcus looks murderous, and I don’t blame him. “You can explain why, when I showed up, the nurse told me that herboyfriendwas okay, but she would still be in surgery for another couple of hours?”
I think my head is going to explode. It certainly feels like my forehead is coming unglued from my skull, and my cheekbones are threatening to detonate. “We were going to talk to you.” I’m mucking this all up; I know it. But my stomach is churning, and everything aches. I can’t think straight. Did Marcus say that Danielle was in surgery?
“And saywhat?” Marcus roars, taking a step closer. I’ve got weight and muscle on him, but right now, he has consciousness on me. “That one of my teachers is fucking my daughter? Is that what you were going to say?”
“I am in love with your daughter, sir,” I tell him. I get to my feet, and the cold, hard linoleum brings me a sense of stabilization. “And we’re having a baby.”
The door opens, and a nurse steps in. She wears a cheerful smile as she says, “I heard yelling and—” but she never gets to finish her sentence.
Marcus’s fist connects with my jaw, and I hit the ground, caught off guard by the surprise attack. He’s screaming something at me, and I can make out the words ‘fired’ and ‘cops’, but the rest is a blur. I kick at his ankles until he’s on the floor with me.
I look at him through unsteady eyes and see him seething with rage. His face is a mix of anger, disbelief, and pure hatred as he launches himself at me. “You motherfucker,” he yells as he’s throwing fist after fist at my face and chest.
My head spins from the new explosion of pain in my jaw. I try to give as good as I get, packing an extra twenty pounds behind each punch. “Listen to me!” I roar at him, trying to get the man to see sense.
But neither of us can get in a word in while we’re rolling around like children. It takes three security guards, two doctors, and a nurse to break us up. Marcus’s nose is bleeding, and if I didn’t have a concussion before, I sure do now. The entire room is spinning like I’m on a tilt-a-whirl, and I feel like throwing up.
The security guards haul Marcus out of the room while the nurse gets me into bed. A different doctor takes inventory of my new injuries and provides me with some prescription Tylenol.
I knew that telling Marcus about my relationship with his daughter wouldn’t end well, but I didn’t suspect it would end this badly.
I curl up with a blanket and my throbbing head and do something I haven’t done in years. I pray. For Danielle to make it through surgery. For our baby to be okay. For Marcus to forgive us for what we’ve done. By the time I’m finished asking God to make things right, I’m exhausted. And thankfully, my best friend is here. Saint steps into the room with a bevy of companions, and I’ve never been happier to see my brothers in leather.
34
DANIELLE
My heart sinks as I listen to my father explain the events leading up to the knockdown fight he and Holy had while I was in surgery. His words are heavy with shame and guilty, his voice low with remorse as he apologizes for his reckless actions.
I feel like I’m going to be sick. I want to bend at the waist and vomit over the railing of my hospital bed, but I am frozen in place by my father’s admission. His voice is barely more than a whisper now as he explains how they argued heatedly until things got physical. It was only when the security guards showed up and tore the two of them apart that he snapped out of his rage.
The thought of my father fighting with Holy is too much for me to comprehend. When my father finishes explaining their fight, a long, tense silence stretches between us. I want to fill it with my own explanation about how this happened and why we’re here, but Marcus speaks first.
“The hospital was going to call the cops, and I was ready for them to do it. I was going to have them arrest Howard,” he admits, unable to meet my gaze.
“Dad,” I groan, “I’man adult.He’san adult. This isn’t an arrest-worthy offense. We didn’t even get together until a couple of months ago.Wellafter I turned eighteen,” I stress.
