Chapter 83

Chase did the one thing guaranteed to blow away the cobwebs of confusion, threading his thoughts into a muddled jumble.

He hit the road.

Slamming his visor down, he glanced over his shoulder, let out the throttle, and savoured the roar of the motorbike as he pulled out onto the open highway.

It had been way too long since he’d done this.

Putting his past behind him came at a price, and while slaving his guts out to make a success of his business, he missed the simple things in life. Like making pasta from scratch, cooking the rich, creamy sauces his Nana had shown him, growing the herbs to complete any good meal, taking off on a whim, and riding as far as a tank of petrol lasted.

And Amaya.

He’d missed her more than he’d ever imagined and hadn’t known how much until she’d strutted back into his life with her fancy suits and stellar child.

The simple life—he'd had it once but had moved on. For what? Fame? Fortune? To impress a bunch of rich people who hadn’t given him the time of day until he’d proven he could be responsible by marrying?

He’d been a fool.

None of it mattered, not any more.

Amaya wanted him. It matters above all his wealth. She was willing to sacrifice her career over them and her family, as she said.

But could he start over? Could he risk the curse of his father?

And at what cost? He couldn’t let her give up her dream for him, and, as much as he appreciated how far she was willing to go to give them a chance, it scared the hell out of him.

They’d barely been married for a few weeks, and she was willing to lay it all on the line? For him?

Old doubts crept under his guard and crawled under his skin until he itched to pull them over and scratch them away.

What if he wasn’t good enough for her?

What if real marriage doesn't suit them?

What if he followed in his father's footsteps?

What if he couldn’t be the man she deserved?

What if she didn’t need him as much as he needed her?

Yeah, the same old doubts, undermining the confident, successful man he’d become.

Crazy. But then, so was their unrelenting passion, which hadn’t waned in years.

But were they making up for lost time? Fulfilling an affair they never really had the first time around? Confusing a sizzling attraction for a deeper emotion they’d need as a solid foundation to build a real marriage on?

The wind filled his ears, not loud enough to obliterate the questions whirling through his head, and he glanced down at the speedometer, muttering a curse as he realised he’d momentarily lost concentration.

All this mulling was pointless anyway. Until he cleared the past, he couldn’t make way for the future.

If they were to have any future, he had to tell Amaya the truth. All of it.

Making an impulsive decision that had landed him in more scrapes as a youngster than he cared to admit, he slowed, checked for traffic, and made a U-turn to the airport, to Greece.

Time to pay his past a visit.

The next few hours, Chase rang the reception bell, glancing around as he waited. He’d assumed the local special accommodation for the elderly would be shabby and run-down, with the cloying smell of disinfectant and overcooked stew in the air.

Surprisingly, this place could pass for a hotel with its manicured lawns, new whitewash, elegant furniture, and sweeping veranda, with floor-to-ceiling windows highlighting a breathtaking vista. Then again, would he expect his father to live on anything less?

“Can I help you?” A middle-aged woman in a nurse’s uniform bustled out of a back room and leaned over the desk with a beaming smile.

"I hope so. I’d like to see my father. I'm Chase Jhonson, and my father is—"

To her credit, the nurse’s smile didn’t slip, but he saw the fleeting surprise in her twinkling eyes.

“Of course I knew your father. Since your sister’s marriage, he doesn’t get many visitors, so I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you.”

He bit back a grin. The last thing his good old dad would be was thrilled.

“Follow me.”

If the outside had been impressive, the inside of the place knocked him for six as he followed the nurse down a series of corridors. Paintings of every size and description covered the walls, antiques tastefully arranged on every available inch of furniture, and the rich, polished Tasmanian oak floorboards gleamed in the late afternoon light pouring through the atrium-like ceilings.

The nurse came to an abrupt halt outside a mahogany door and gestured him forward.

“Just knock and head on in. Though please keep your visit brief. The old man's blood pressure is elevated, and he has a tendency to overdo things. He is also in, um, constant pain. So maybe you understand, right?”

"Yes, and yes, you have my word.”

His wink was rewarded with a blush and a smile as she bustled away, leaving him with lead in his boots.

Chase shouldn’t have come here unannounced, especially if the old man was having a bad day. He hadn’t seen him since Greece and hadn’t wanted to after what he’d done, but that was the past, and if he wanted to move forward, he had to lay it to rest once and for all.

He took a deep breath, knocked twice, and pushed the door open.

“Father, it's me, Chase.” He’d hated this man for years and had mentally prepared himself to face his nemesis again without his stepmother, his sister, and, of course, Amaya. What he hadn’t prepared for was the swift rush of compassion for the pale, frail old man sitting in a recliner, propped up by a mountain of pillows, his eyes closed.

He’d never seen him anything but overbearing, arrogant, and mean, lording his wealth over everyone foolish enough to get close to him and anyone else who crossed his path. But that man had disappeared beneath a plethora of wrinkles and a greyish pallor that suggested a long-standing illness.

Anxious to get this over and done with, Chase cleared his throat and stepped into the room.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Chase’s father's eyes flew open, their feverish glint a startling contrast to the pallor of his pasty skin.

"We need to talk, clear the air.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you, so get out.”

He was still the same cantankerous fool, but there was no way he was leaving without saying his piece.

“I will, but before I go, you need to listen.”

"Bullocks, you don't want an heir, and I know your marriage to that woman was a sham. What else to discuss, son?”

Bastard!

Chase kept his voice devoid of emotion, not wanting to agitate the old man further considering he’d now flushed an ugly crimson.

“The marriage is real, father!”

“Huh! I wasn't born yesterday, son. I know you, and what about marrying that woman? What about bringing disgrace to this family? Dragging our name through the mud?” The old man sat bolt upright and shook a fist at him. “I don’t want to hear it. You’ve won, damn you. Isn’t that enough?”

Clenching his fists, Chase shoved them deep into his jacket pockets, not willing to show the slightest indication he felt anything other than indifference for his father’s poisonous barbs.

Before he could utter a word, the his father pushed up from his chair, his neck muscles rigid, his expression thunderous, and his eyes gleaming with a maniacal edge.

“Just because I’m stuck in this godforsaken place, don’t think I’m stupid, boy. I know what you’re up to—marrying Amaya out of spite, taking your revenge on me.” He stabbed his finger in the air, tottering slightly. “That stupid girl deserves everything she gets for running around with the likes of you. She won’t get another penny out of my family now.”

“Father, you and your so-called family are bankrupt now. Your name is ruined. I am, however, on top of the game. In fact, I'm generous enough to fund this expensive place. You don't have anything under your name, if that's what you mean.”

“Lie!”

“Why the hell would I lie? You are dying! Believe it or not. You are at my mercy. I can withdraw my funds anytime, any day, and you'll be living on the street.”

“Bastard!”

Chase smirked before saying, “Me? I am not a bastard, but you can call yourself that, by the way.” Chase silently swore and took a step back, not wanting to believe what he was hearing but, like onlookers at an accident, drawn to the horrifying carnage.

The extent of his father’s hatred didn’t shock him half as much as his total disregard for his only son, and if the old man didn’t look as if he had one foot in the grave, Chase would willingly give him a shove in that direction for his callousness towards Amaya.

Instilling a calm he knew would drive the old coot mad, he said, “You’re wrong. Our marriage has nothing to do with you or what happened in the past. She is wonderful, and we have a son. Tommy is my son, but trust me, he will never experience what I experienced in your hands. Don’t you care enough about my son to at least maintain civility with me?”

“That young boy is your son?”

“Yes.”

“Liar!” The old man’s flushed puce staggered and flopped back in his chair while Chase shook his head.

He’d been wrong to come here.

Time hadn’t soothed his father rampant prejudice; it had festered and grown until he couldn’t see reason.

“Get out, now, and don’t come back! Ever, I don't have a son. You are dead to me!”

Shaking his head, Chase opened the door. By the old guy’s shallow breaths and mottled red cheeks, he should probably send the nurse in before he left.

“One more thing, Chase.”

He paused on the threshold and turned, eager to get out of this place and back to Amaya. He could tell her all of it now, for nothing either of them could say or do would make an ounce of difference where his father was concerned.

“Yeah?”

“I hope you rot in hell for lying to me.”

Without a word, Chase walked out and didn’t look back.