Claiming The Prize (28 page)

What was taking so long?

The Friar knocked at the door,
breaking Grace's calm.
She twisted the handle with shaking hands,
studying Yves' benign expression for any betrayal of how serious
the situation was before standing aside to let him enter, but he
remained guarded as he reassured her.

“
Everything is going to be
fine.
Come on, Grace.
Let's get you ready to go.”

Duress had caused her to forget that
she wore her nightgown and robe still.

“
Oh,” she said, surprised
at herself.
“I'll be ready in a minute.”

Dressing quickly, she grabbed the
closest items she could find, too anxious to care what she looked
like.
Yves followed behind her, grabbing her bag and a
sweater.

“
Is your room key in
here?”
he asked, pausing at the door with the bag in
hand.

She nodded and they hurried down to
the waiting car.

“
You need to say something
right now, Yves Friarsson!”

Her voice bordered hysteria and
demand.

“
Grace, calm down.
Drago
is alright.
He broke his ribs is all.”

“
Fighters don't drop
unconscious from broken ribs, and you know I know it!”
she snapped.
“Stop acting as if I'm some fragile drama queen like Bennadito's
wife.
I'm not, and I'd appreciate some honesty right
now.”

Channeling her father's sternness had
been the right move, and the Friar dropped his head.

“
I'm sorry, Grace.
I just
didn't want to upset you with the baby and all.
Drago knew his ribs
were broken after the second round, but he wanted to finish the
fight.
He hadn't really taken any other damage out of the ordinary
for a slug-fest like he and Souva put on.”

Even the worrisome circumstances
couldn't suppress the smile of admiration lifting the corners of
the Friar's mouth, and this show set Grace's mind more at
ease.

“
Your Dad's best guess is
that his lung is punctured.
I guess the doctor agreed.
That's all I
know.
Really.”

The smile had faded, and Grace saw the
worry of a friend in Yves' eyes.

“
A punctured lung is
preferable to what I've been imagining, Friar.”

The Friar concentrated on finding his
way, leaving Grace precious time to collect herself and process the
information.
Her mind told her that Drago would be fine.
He was a
strong man and would recover.
Her heart, however, still feared the
worst, and in the midst of her warring faculties, their child
stirred within her strongly.
Covering the sweet, fluttering
sensation with her hand, she caged her emotions as clarity dawned.
She must face whatever was to be with strength and
peace.

Yves' phone vibrated loudly against
the gray console, returning her attention to the
present.

“
Look at it, Grace,” the
Friar said, his eyes searching the street signs.

Grabbing the phone, Grace devoured the
typed message, letting her breath out in a rush.

“
He's awake and stable.
Punctured lung.
No ventilator, breathing on own, and asking for
Grace.”

Having related the text's content, she
replaced the phone and helped Yves locate a parking spot.
Relief
was palpable in her voice.

“
There's one,” Grace
pointed to the empty slot.

The long corridor stretched endlessly
before her, its dull, white walls and floor surrounding Grace in
stark bareness.
Passing rows of closed doors, she shuddered, the
pungent antiseptic smell in the air assaulting her nostrils.
Around
the next corner, glass doors rose from floor to ceiling bearing the
letters ICU in bold block characters.
Curiously, the area for
intensive care patients appeared bright and comfortable in contrast
to the dismal place she had traversed on her way.

Her father waited just inside, and he
hugged Grace tightly when she entered.

“
Are you alright?
The
baby?”

The worry in his voice touched
her.

“
I'm fine, Dad.
But I want
to see my husband.”

“
Of course, honey.
This
way.
They've given him some medicine for pain, and he's resting
now.”

One of the nurses ushered the Friar
into the family waiting area as Guy led Grace to Drago's cubicle.
A
single, solid wall rose up behind the bed, the remaining sides
transparent panels with fabric drapes that could be drawn for
privacy.
The urge to rush to him and beg for his assurance that he
was all right demanded she obey, but Grace reined in her emotions,
easing herself into the chair beside him, careful of the equipment
surrounding him.

She longed to press her lips to his
forehead, which remained unscathed above his bruised eye and
swollen cheeks, but refrained so as not to disturb his rest.
His
closed eyes did not open as his hand reached for her.

“
You came,” he
mumbled.

“
Som tu, Drago,” she
assured him.

The pain medication left him in a
drugged haze, past and present mingling in his mind, spilling out
in semi-lucid murmurings.

“
I lost, Gracie.
I
lost...”

“
Shh.
We'll talk about
that later.
All that matters is that you're all right.”

“
She never came..., but
you did.”

Grace's heart melted at hearing his
hidden fears, and she stroked his hand to ease his mind.

“
I knew you would,” he
whispered, squeezing her hand in his.

She stayed by his side throughout the
night, drifting off to sleep in the recliner next to Drago, waking
to assure him she was still there when he half awoke, calling for
her.

* * *

By afternoon, Drago was fully awake
and in much better shape.
The chest tube had been removed, and the
pulmonary specialist's prognosis was guarded but optimistic.
Having
this news, Drago insisted that his wife return to the hotel to
rest.

“
I am much better today,
moja
ž
ena.
Go and
rest.
I will only worry if you stay and exhaust
yourself.”

“
I can rest here,” she
reasoned.

“
Sipková, allow me the
upper hand in this, prosim,
please
.”

Grace didn't have the heart to deny
his request.
Allowing her father to return her to the hotel, she
fell into bed and surrendered to sleep's envelopment.

* * *

Four days later, Drago was
discharged.
It was recommended that he not fly so soon after a lung
injury, so the party of four set off, driving across Pennsylvania's
rolling landscape toward home.
Under strict orders to observe six
weeks of complete rest, Drago planned to enjoy his wife's company
and to design his graduated workout schedule.
Through Guy, he found
out that Souva had requested a rematch immediately following the
fight, and had called upon Derek Sloba to make it happen as soon as
Drago was ready to return to the ring.
Aware of how close he had
been to a victory when he collapsed and after discovering the
nature of Drago's injury, Sloba had made the announcement that a
new fight would indeed take place between the contenders after he
had spoken with Drago on the phone.

The goal was to be back in top form by
next April – nine months away – providing his recovery progressed
without incident.
The long flight to Bratislava out of the question
for now, Drago accepted Guy's offer to complete his recovery and
training with team Anto-Engage.
In fact, the men discussed much
bigger plans.

Aligning their vision would require
more serious talk on the matter, but Drago welcomed the opportunity
to merge Spar-Slava with First Strike/Anto-Engage, well aware, as
was his father-in-law, that the power play would catapult them to
the status of the premier MMA training team not only in the AMMAO,
which would lend credibility to Spar-Slava, but Drago's recent
years and victories in the WOMA would bring his contacts from that
organization into their fold.

Drago chuckled to himself.
Dynasty
building, indeed.
The thought prompted him to reach over and palm
his wife's rounded abdomen.

For you, dieta,
little one
.

A vigorous kick beneath where his hand
lay transcended this first tactile encounter with his child into a
surreal instant of clarity.
The strength of the event caused his
wife to start under his hand, and Drago could only smile at her
open-mouthed surprise.

I am becoming a father in this moment.
I am responsible for this life.
And by my actions, I will shape
this child, whether for better or for worse.

Overwhelmed by the genesis
of understanding, Drago prayed for guidance and wisdom to meet the
awesome, wonderful task, asking his Father in heaven to forgive his
shortcomings and heal them, that he not impart them to his
child.

* * *

The slow, often painful process of his
rehabilitation drove Drago Zadrovec onward, feeding his
determination.
Meeting his weekly goals, exceeding them
occasionally, he pushed toward his goal.

The title.

Dr.
Haviland monitored his health
closely, and the pulmonary specialist that had been called in
finally gave the release to resume full activity eight weeks after
his discharge from the hospital.
Drago would see him once or twice
more for routine follow ups, but neither man foresaw any
complications.
Now the process of rebuilding began.
He suffered
from some shortness of breath, and increasing bouts of cardio
exertion were alternated with periods of rest in the first weeks of
his full time return to the gym.

“
Okay, Drago,” St.
Clair
called out.
“Take ten.”

For the first time since resuming his
training, Drago ended the cardio burst session breathing through
his nose, mouth closed.
It was progress.
Pacing the perimeter of
the mats to ease his heart rate slowly, he noticed Carson chasing
around the ring near the rear of the gym's floor.

“
Kady!
Stop!”

The tiny blond shrieked with laughter,
rounding the corner.
Toddling as fast as her little legs would
carry her, it appeared to Drago that she would topple over with
each precarious slap of her foot to the floor, but she continued in
wild abandon, oblivious to the danger.
Yellow pigtails bounced in
time with her hurried steps as she raced toward Drago.

“
Kadence Annette
Khaler...,” Carson warned, following after her to reclaim the paper
she had pilfered from his clipboard.

Drago could not help but laugh at the
sight of Carson, completely undone by the miniature, mirror image
of the man as she gleefully evaded his attempts to catch her.
Darting to make a grab for the little girl, Drago snatched her from
her flight, lifting her up into the air.
Worried that he had
frightened her, he lowered her to his chest, but her delighted
squeals prompted him to toss her again.

“
Thanks,” Carson smiled,
catching up to them.
“She's crazy about this new game of
hers.”