The Playboy King's Bride

Chapter 7

The constant beeping from inside the rooms, the smell of bleach, the sense of it being both too loud and too quiet, and the bitter cold in the air set Lance on edge the moment he entered the hall where the receptionist had told him they were keeping his father for observation.

The part of him that still denied anything to be seriously wrong wanted to stay and chat up the girl, as she very obviously eyed him up and down with lust. As soon as he had asked for Arthur King’s room, every woman’s eye had turned his way. Normally, he would pick out the prettiest one within eyesight and invite her to an empty room to have a few more minutes of fun.

He had lost count of how many times he had had to search for a woman before meeting with his father. It was better for him if he came into those meetings in a semi-good mood, since he never left them with anything but a fiery rage. The man had a way of pushing every single button. Not just pushing, but pounding on them until they broke and only the threat of jail time kept Lance from ripping him to shreds.

But those meetings were always in an office. Even when he would be called home, he would meet his father only in an office or across a dinner table. Every year or so they would meet at some event, but would steer clear of each other so as not to cause a scene.

Now, Arthur King was lying in a hospital. There was an oxygen mask over his pale face, making him look alien. He had been covered in thick blankets and propped up with pillows. Wires and tubes were protruding from underneath the blankets, except for the ones that were attached to a hand, which was clasped tightly by Gwen King.

Although he was the one in the bed, Gwen was almost as pale as her husband as she only grasped his hand in both hers and stared at him. Although neither said a word, both had tears in their eyes as they regarded the other. Her bright green eyes were filled with unshed tears she would not let go. If any fell it would be acknowledging that she might have lost the man before her today.

Not able to look at his father, who looked unusually small, Lance only glanced at Gwen before turning to look out the window. They were in what could only be described as a penthouse suite of hospital rooms. Nothing but the best would ever be good enough for a King, and obviously, the hospital staff had taken that into account. The window had a wonderful view of the skyline.

Lance had to admit he appreciated the aesthetic of the city that lay stretched before him. Although it had many high-rises, they were spread apart just enough that small forests could be seen between them all. Certainly, these were just trees that the city had planted along the roads, but they still held a certain artificial charm. As though they welcomed nature into the city, but only so long as it could stay within the rows and columns the city ordained.

Lance continued musing, oblivious to everything around him as he gazed at the trees, until he felt his mother's soft hand on his shoulder. His eyes snapped to her, but he quickly looked away. He had never seen her like this, and it felt wrong to do so now. Even more wrong than seeing the man behind her, lying motionless on a bed with railings.

“He’s asleep, let’s talk in the hall.” She whispered. Her hair, normally perfectly held in position by braids or circlets, hung lifelessly across her shoulders, and her eyes still held traces of tears she still would not shed.

Lance nodded curtly and followed her, almost on tiptoe. Once in the hall, they found two empty seats far enough away from the room so they would not disturb Arthur.

“What happened?” He muttered, putting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together, still not looking at her.

“An eighteen-wheeler lost control and was sliding down the street. Apparently, a woman tackled him out of the way just in time so he wouldn’t be hit, but they still ended up caught in the smoke. He hit his head but no concussion, thank everything, but when she mentioned she thought he was having trouble breathing before the accident, they took a closer look.

They found a mass on one of his lungs. It must have been exacerbated by the humidity here. The smoke from the truck only made it worse, but apparently she got him out before any more damage took hold.” Gwen paused and gulped audibly.

“They operated on the mass immediately once he became stable. Now we just have to get the report back on what it was. He’s still stable, and it’s only been about twelve hours, so the doctors are saying chances are good that he’ll be fine. It’s really a miracle this happened or the mass might have kept growing.” Gwen tried a dry chuckle but it only let a tear slip past her lashes, which she immediately turned away to hide.

Lance glared at the ground between his feet as though it had wronged him. His lips were pressed together firmly as he ground his teeth and clenched his hands till his knuckles were white.

Gwen turned back and noticed his grim expression. Putting one of her pale hands over his, she forced him to look at her.

“I know you’re not on the best terms, but please, recovery may be hard on him…he needs us now, more than ever.”

“When has he needed us? When has he ever done anything but for himself?” Lance spat.

“Don’t you dare talk about him like that! Everything he does and has done is for us. For you. He built an empire so you’d have a secure future, and I will not tolerate you sitting here and berating him while he’s just lying there…” Gwen stopped as a sob replaced her words.

Lance looked back at her in a panic, and finding her hands over her mouth with her eyes clenched shut, even as tears raced past them, he moved to hold her in his arms. She collapsed against his chest, shuddering uncontrollably as she tried to regain her composure. He shushed her and stroked her back and hair, hoping to convey in actions that he was sorry for his words.

He noticed that she felt as tiny in his arms as his father looked in that bed, and worried that if Arthur didn’t recover, Gwen might not either. After a while, Gwen leaned back and wiped her face again. A trace amount of mascara had made a dark smudge at the corners of her eyes, but he knew at this moment she did not care. Just as she took a deep breath and regained her calm mask, an older doctor with a clipboard and a lackey walked up to them.

“Mrs. King? I have the results for your husband.”