Saving Him: A Dark Romance (Keep Me Series Book 2), page 12
My father's face contorts with rage as he wraps his hand around my neck. "We need to get rid of that thing growing inside of you before Giovanni finds out! He'll never want to marry a whore with another man's baby in her belly," he hisses in disgust.
When he releases me, I fall to the floor. I hold a hand over my belly protectively and shrink away from my father and his wrath.
As my father and the doctor discuss the details of my abortion, I make a vow to the precious baby growing inside of me that I will protect it with everything I have and all the power I can muster.
Always.
No matter what.
CHAPTER 27
ADELINE
"WE'RE ALMOST THERE," the driver informs me from the front of the town car.
I cringe at his words and hold back my tears as I stare out the window, watching the city passing by swiftly. I close my eyes and hold a hand over my belly. It's still flat, and I'm sure the baby is only the size of a little sweet pea, but I can imagine my stomach growing bigger and bigger to accommodate our little baby.
Sinking my teeth into my lower lip, I say a silent prayer for Lucien to help me get through today. I need him more than ever, and I hate the fact that he's not here.
I grasp the handle of the duffle bag beside me. My father had pulled me aside this morning, glared at the bag and had asked, "What's that for?"
"The clinic told me to pack some extra clothes…just in case," I had said, my voice small and weak.
He'd nodded once and then said, "The sooner this is over, the better you will feel. I promise you that."
Then he had kissed the top of my head and sent me off with a driver and a bodyguard into the city for my appointment.
An appointment that he made for me and is now forcing me to go to.
The car stops in front of the building, and the bodyguard gets out first. I wait for Marco to open the door, clutching the duffle bag protectively to me as I climb out.
"Murderer!" a voice yells.
"Baby killer!" another shrieks.
I flinch as the words are thrown from either side of the sidewalk. Protesters standing in front of the clinic wave signs and glare at me as Marco ushers me towards the front door.
I want to scream to them that this isn't my choice and that I don't want to murder my baby, but I stay silent, letting the tears streaming down my face tell my side of the story.
"You have a choice!" an older woman with sandy brown hair yells at me. Then she glares at Marco beside me and then back to me, her gaze softening slightly. "Make the right one. Don't let anyone else make it for you," she mutters to me.
After Marco pushes me inside the clinic and the door closes behind us, I can't help the soft sobs coming from me now. Marco pats my shoulder in comfort, but I shrug him off. I don't need comfort right now.
I need a freaking miracle.
The smell of antiseptic overpowers me, and I feel like I'm going to be sick as we walk to the front desk. The bodyguard gives the receptionist my name, and the young woman with white-blonde hair nods, chewing and smacking her gum without a care in the world.
"Someone will be out in a minute to take her back," she says coolly.
My father paid a large sum of money to do this off the books, no paperwork required and VIP treatment, if you will. He's willing to do anything and pay anything to get this baby out of me. He thinks this will solve every problem. He thinks that not having a reminder of Lucien will make me get over him and move on…right into the arms of Giovanni.
He couldn't be more wrong.
I'll never get over Lucien. I loved him. I still do. And I'll never stop loving him for the rest of my life.
An older nurse with glasses, dark hair and dressed in blue scrubs meets me out front. When the bodyguard tries to follow me past the door, the woman turns to him and asks, "Are you the father or family?"
When Marco says, "Neither," the woman turns to me and says, "Then it's your choice, honey. Do you want him with you in the room?"
My eyes widen as I stare at her. She's giving me a choice? I shake my head quickly, and the nurse scowls at Marco and tells him to go back to the waiting room and that they'll give him periodic updates on my condition.
Marco spouts off some choice Italian curse words to her, but reluctantly leaves to go sit down and wait for me. I watch him pull out a cell phone just before the door closes, and I have no doubt he's calling my father to let him know we've arrived.
I follow the nurse through the hallway, looking left and right at the vacant, sterile rooms. We stop at the end of the hall, and she motions for me to enter a room with an examination table. Then, she hands me a gown, points to the adjoining bathroom and says, "You can change in there. I'll be back with the doctor in just a few minutes."
Swallowing hard, I nod and walk to the bathroom. Locking the door behind me, panicked breaths escape my lungs as I search the room for a way out. My eyes zero in on a window above me. It's high, but I think I can make it.
I tell myself that I have to. This is my last and only hope to escape.
Setting my duffle bag down next to me on the floor, I study the window. I see that there's a screen screwed into the frame that will need to be removed first. Then I should be able to just push the window open and climb out.
Reaching into the duffle bag, I produce the tools I packed just in case I would need them — two screwdrivers, wire nips and a hammer.
I pull a small chair over to the window, and it gives me just the right height I need when I step onto the cushion. I set out to work on the screws. There are four of them, and they're tough to turn at first, but I eventually get two out before I'm disturbed.
"Miss Valenti?" calls the nurse, followed by a soft knock on the door.
"Just a minute!" I call back. "I'm not feeling well!" I add a gagging cough to really sell it, but I don't know if she'll believe me.
I turn my attention back to the task at hand, cursing when the screwdriver slips on the screw and nicks my finger. I take a deep breath and concentrate. I need to hurry, but I also need to be careful.
I manage to get the other two screws out before there's another knock on the door.
"Miss Valenti, this is Dr. Rhodes. The nurse told me you're not feeling well. Perhaps you should let me examine you?"
"Please just give me a minute!" I call out vehemently.
I hear the two of them discussing things behind the door, and I worry that they're going to barge in here before I make my escape. Worse yet, what if they tell Marco what's going on? Then the jig will be up, and I will lose everything.
As quietly as I can, I set the screen aside and raise the glass window. It squeaks a little, but I cough violently to try to cover up any extra noise.
Reaching down, I grab the duffle bag and throw it out the open window first. And then I use all of my strength to haul myself up to the window sill. I can hear the door knob being turned behind me and banging on the door.
"Adeline?" I hear Marco's voice, and it sends icy cold terror straight into my veins. With all of my might, I pull myself up and look out over the edge. The drop is not far, which I'm thankful for.
Twisting my body around and grabbing onto the outside wall for leverage, I manage to climb out the window. I'm hanging onto the ledge with my legs dangling. And then, as easily as I can, I force myself off the side of the building and drop down.
Pain shoots into my right ankle the moment I land, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. I put all of my weight on my left foot and test my right ankle by rolling it gently. I may have sprained it or even broken it from the fall, but it will all be worth it if I can get out of here and keep my baby alive.
Holding onto the wall, I reach down and grab the handle of my duffle bag. Then I limp and hop my way towards the back parking lot.
Glancing to the left, I notice one of the protesters, the woman with the sandy blonde hair, walking to her car. Limping towards her, I wave my hands in the air to get her attention. I don't want to attract any unwanted attention, but I need to get the hell out of here. And she may be my only hope at this point.
At first the woman does a double-take, and then she glares at me. "Well, that was pretty quick…for murder," she hisses in disgust.
"Please. Help me. I was forced to go in there," I gasp, breathing through the pain and limping closer to her car, hoping that she'll help me escape from my father's guards. "I jumped out of the window before they could do anything," I cry with relief.
Her eyes widen at my words, and then her entire demeanor suddenly changes. "Oh, my god. You poor girl." She glances at my ankle and asks, "Are you hurt?"
"I think I twisted my ankle," I say, grimacing in pain. "Could you take me somewhere? Anywhere?" I beg.
She nods quickly and helps me to the passenger's side of her car. Opening the door, she ushers me inside before going to the driver's side and hopping in. "Recline your seat, honey," she tells me, and I do as she says. Then she cranks on the ignition of the older Buick and floors it out of the parking lot. "My name's Barbara, by the way."
"Adeline," I reply. When we're a safe distance from the clinic, I straighten the back of my seat a little bit. "Thank you for helping me," I tell her with tears in my eyes. If it wasn't for her, my baby might not be alive right now. I had been planning on running, but I also hadn't planned on hurting myself in the process. "I wouldn't have gotten very far if you hadn't been there at the right place, at the right time."
"It was divine intervention," she says with a smile before bringing the cross connected to a delicate gold chain around her neck up to her mouth to give it a kiss. "I believe that everything happens for a reason. Don't you?" she asks with genuine interest.
"I'm starting to believe that, yes," I tell her with a watery smile of my own.
CHAPTER 28
ADELINE
BARBARA TAKES ME to her home in the outskirts of Brooklyn. It's an older English cottage style house, and there's a lovely scent of apples and cinnamon the moment we enter the front door. The entire place has a homey type feeling that instantly puts me at ease.
After helping me sit on a comfy chair at the round, oak kitchen table in the small dining room, Barbara sets off to the kitchen to make us lunch. When she first mentioned food on the way here, my stomach rumbled so loud it was embarrassing. I honestly can't remember the last time I ate. My father's been keeping me locked up in my room, probably hoping I'll starve to death. Or hoping something bad will happen to the baby, I think to myself sadly.
When Barbara sets a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich and a glass of cold water in front of me, I sigh in relief and almost begin to cry at her kindheartedness. "Thank you," I tell her, blinking back my tears.
She sits down and reaches over to pat my hand. "You're welcome, dear."
As we eat, Barbara tells me about her childhood growing up in Brooklyn. She was raised by her mother and father, who are both now deceased. She was married to her high school sweetheart, but her husband also passed recently to cancer. She confesses to me that she just turned fifty-five, and she doesn't feel old enough to be a widow.
And then she tells me about the worst day of her life.
"I was sixteen. I had been walking home from school when it happened." She takes a long sip of coffee before she continues. "He was older, maybe in his forties at the time. A police artist sketch of his face had been all over the news. He'd been kidnapping and raping young girls for a while back then. All the girls in school had been told to use the buddy system, never walk home alone, but I never thought it could happen to me." She shakes her head sadly. "No…you never think anything bad can happen when you're that young." Sighing, she sets down her coffee mug. "Anyway, you can guess what happened next. A few months later I found out I was pregnant."
Tears form in my eyes as I listen to her story. It's hard to imagine a woman this kind ever saw that kind of evil when she was just a girl.
"I was scared to tell anyone, even my parents. But eventually my mom figured it out. Motherly intuition and all that," she tells me with a wink. "Does your mother know about…?" she asks, her voice trailing off and eyes falling to my flat stomach.
"My mother died shortly after I was born," I tell her on a whisper.
"Oh, dear," she says, her face falling. She pats my hand again in reassurance. "I'm so sorry to hear that."
I give her a small smile. "It's okay. I don't remember her." And then I add, "It's probably better that way."
Barbara clears her throat. "So anyway, my parents took me to the police station to report the crime. I gave such a good description that they actually caught the guy within a week. He had been wearing his work jacket that night, had forgotten to take it off, and I remembered the logo on the chest pocket." She shakes her head as if to clear herself of the terrible memory. "I had a choice to make. Keep the baby or not. And when a baby is forced into a situation the way my rapist had forced me…I felt like I had no other choice. I went to a clinic…just as you did. I went into a room…just as you did. And then I left without going through with it…just like you did."
She stands and goes to a shelf on the wall to gather two picture frames. She sets them down in front of me with a big smile on her face that could light up the whole world. Her finger points to a small boy on the left picture. "This is James. He came into this world on June 8th, 1978." Then she points to the next photo frame. "And this is a family portrait we had taken before my husband passed."
My eyes widen at the big family full of kids and grandkids. "Wow," I whisper.
"Yeah," she says with a laugh. "Paul, my husband, and I were high school sweethearts. After everything happened…he was there for me. Paul didn't blame me for any of it. And he raised James as his own….along with our other five boys."
"Six boys total?" I ask in surprise. Sounds like my family except my mother gave birth to seven girls.
She nods with a grin on her face. "Yeah, we started early, and we both came from big families, so…it just sort of happened," she says with a shrug. "I ended up with six ornery boys and never did get the girl I always wanted to try to even out the odds of being in a house full of men. Not that Paul and I didn't try…and not that he ever minded all that trying," she says with a chuckle.
I laugh right along with her, and it feels so good to experience some other emotion other than sadness for once.
After a while, our laughter ceases, and Barbara's expression grows serious. "When I saw you walking into the clinic, I knew you felt alone. I knew you felt like you had no one on your side."
I swallow hard at her words and nod.
"I knew exactly how you felt, because at one point I felt the exact same way. And that's why I spend a few days a week standing in front of clinics. Some girls aren't lucky enough to have anyone in their corner. I was fortunate to have a great support system once I asked for help, and it kept me from making the biggest regret of my life." She smiles adoringly down at the photos in her hands. "We all have choices to make on this earth, and sometimes just one person reminding us of that fact and just being there for us can change everything."
Barbara sets the photo frames down and takes her seat once again at the table. "Now that I've told you my story, what do you say you tell me yours?"
* * * * * * *
I TELL BARBARA everything, leaving almost nothing out. She stays quiet through most of the story, sometimes dabbing her eyes with a tissue or shaking her head sadly.
"I knew I couldn't go through with it." I move my hand to my stomach. "This is the only thing I have left of Lucien." Tears fill my eyes, and I can't stop them from spilling over this time. "He would have taken care of us. I know that. He was troubled, but he was getting so much better. I was making him better."
Barbara offers me a tissue, and I take it. "It sounds like you made the right choice leaving your father. But what are you going to do now, dear?"
I stare at the table, tracing the ingrain of the dark wood with my eyes. "I don't know." I glance at my duffle bag by the front door. "Right about now my father is probably figuring out that I stole from him and disappeared." Releasing a shaky breath, I whisper, "They're probably searching for me."
I think back to the hours before he made me go to the clinic. While the house was quiet and my father out for the evening, I snuck into his private office and opened his safe. I had the combination memorized since I had seen him lock and unlock it so many times over the years.
My father trusted me to never betray him. That was a mistake.
His other mistake was making the code easy to remember — my mother's birthday.
What I wasn't expecting to see inside the safe on the top shelf among precious coins and jewelry was…the watch Lucien had given me.
My father had kept it and hadn't destroyed it like I'd assumed. Maybe he was going to try to see if he could track Lucien down somehow with it. Who knows.
Just seeing the rose gold band had given me more strength and confidence than I had had in the previous days. I'd gently tucked the watch into the inside zippered pouch of the duffle before putting stack after stack of hundred dollar bills into the bottom of the bag.
Then, later on, in the safety of my room, I'd piled clothes and other personal items I thought I would need on top of the money. If my father had asked to see inside the bag, I was hoping all he would see was the clothing and believe the lie that I had been rehearsing in my head over and over again. "The clinic told me to pack some extra clothes," I had planned on saying.
That was a tense moment when my father met me at the door before I left…not knowing if he would check the bag or not…if he would believe my lies or not.
He'd questioned the bag, but he believed my lie…wholeheartedly. And why? Because I was his perfect daughter, and I had never given him a reason not to trust me in the past.
