Chapter 85
Amaya paused on the threshold of her father’s room, focusing on the man who had made her life a living hell, propped up in bed.
He didn’t deserve this; no one deserved to suffer like this, mind and body wasting away, sapped of dignity, no matter what their sins.
She’d rushed here out of what? Obligation? Caring? It certainly wasn’t love. He’d wiped away any semblance of that emotion the first time he’d raised his hand to her. She also paid him. So what was she doing here anyway?”
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the room.
Whatever sense of familial duty had made her come, she didn’t want to stay. If he hadn’t wanted to broach the gap between them a few weeks earlier, there was no way things would’ve changed now. If anything, being incapacitated would sour his mood further, and she had no intention of bearing the brunt of his temper. Never again.
“Father?”
She tiptoed to the bed, reaching a hand out to touch his arm before letting it fall to her side when he turned his head slightly, saw her, and then rolled towards the wall.
“Go away. Leave me to die in peace.”
The words came out on a croak rather than his usual grunt, shout, or bark, and for a second, a sliver of remorse prompted her to touch him on the shoulder.
He stiffened, allowing her fingertips to linger before shrugging them off.
“You’re not dying, father. The doctor said you’ve had another minor stroke with no residual effects.”
He made a sudden move, rolling towards her, and she hated it. Her first reaction was to take a step back.
When was the last time she wasn’t afraid of this man—afraid of what he was capable of?
The last time they’d had a normal conversation without his latent temper threatening to explode was when she visited him and he told her about how she owed him.
“What do those old fools know? Pumping me full of heart tablets and blood thinners, and goodness knows what. Quacks, the lot of them.”
Amaya hadn’t come here to argue; he hadn’t come to listen to his moaning.
From what the doctor said, he wasn’t going to die any time soon, and she could leave him to harass the highly paid staff here and walk away, safe in the knowledge she’d done the right thing. No matter how much it stung, he didn’t give a damn.
“You’ll be fine—”
“What are you doing here anyway? Had a fight with that no-good husband of yours?”
His malice-filled eyes narrowed, a nasty grimace twisting his lips as he lifted a trembling arm to jab a finger in her direction before letting it fall uselessly on the bed, and she determinedly quashed a surge of pity.
“Chase and I are happy. We—”
“Happy? More fool you. The only reason that lousy son of a gun married you was because he pitied you.”
Unease gnawed at her, insidious and malignant. She had no intention of listening to the hateful ramblings of a vile old man hell-bent on poisoning everyone around him with his vitriol, but something in his smug grin made her skin crawl with apprehension.
He added, “Hates my guts, always has, ever since we made our little bargain.”
She clamped her jaw shut, determined not to ask what he meant, but her curiosity must’ve shown, for he struggled into a half-sitting position, his expression positively gloating.
“Bet he didn’t tell you about our talk. I asked him for more money, and the bastard just gave me a hundred pounds to leave you alone. I asked for a million. Bastard!”
A faint buzz filled her head, and she took several quick breaths, desperate for air, desperate for anything to wipe away the last few moments.
“What?”
The old man scoffed. “I believe he didn't tell you, huh? Pathetic!”
“How could you? How does it feel to come in last in a two-horse race, father?”
“You are a fool.” His bitter laugh raised her hackles, and she backed towards the door, shocked she’d once loved this man and horrified at what he’d become.
“I am not a fool!”
“You are—” He spat the last word, and she turned and bolted, clutching a stomach that roiled with the sickening truth. “That man is just using you for his name. You are just a toy for him. Your marriage isn't real. Believe me, I know. I am your father! I know! And you are a fool to believe that he loves you! He told me he never did! He is just using you!”
Chase didn’t love her?
Their marriage wasn’t real?
This had all been a sick, twisted game for him.
Her feet flew down the corridor, and as she stumbled into the fresh air and doubled over with the pain of his deception, she promised herself she’d never get taken in by Chase ever again.
By the time Amaya arrived back at the mansion, the legendary temper attributed to her hair colour had hit boiling point.
She wanted to pack her bags and jump on the first flight back to Chicago, but not before she’d told Chase a few home truths.
She might have been the good little girl a few weeks earlier who’d gone quietly after letting him walk all over her, but not any more. This time, she’d go out with a bang.
She could kill him for making her love him again and for causing the incessant ache gripping her heart until she could barely breathe.
All she needed was a reason, and that reason glanced up from his desk and fixed his melted blue gaze on her as she stalked into their room.
“How’s your dad?”
“You tell me.”
She slammed the door and leaned against it when his gaze turned compassionate. She didn’t need his compassion; damn it, she needed the truth, all of it.
“Apparently you’re so chummy, you visited him, offered her money, and told him things.
She snapped her fingers. “Oh, wait, that wasn’t about being friendly. You just wanted to gloat about finally getting your revenge for keeping Tommy from you?”
Chase’s expression was wary. He stood and moved around the desk towards her.
“Amaya, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t patronise me, Jhonson!” Her tenuous control over her temper snapped as she pushed off the door and met him halfway, placing both hands squarely in the middle of his chest and pushing hard.
“He told me about your little visit, about you giving him money to leave me alone, about you telling him that I am just your toy. I get that I am not important to you, but you could’ve told me, damn you. Do you know how long it took me to get over you? Do you?”
She pushed again, softer this time, a feeble attempt as her anger gave way to anguish.
“Let me explain—”
“Don’t bother. I get it. You didn’t love me enough then, and you sure as hell don’t love me now.”
To her mortification, she ended on a sob, knuckling her eyes to complete the pathetic picture with tears.
“I didn't tell him anything. What the hell are you thinking?”
“You—”
“Amaya, you’ve got this all wrong.”
He manacled her wrists, and she let him. All the fight drained out of her as she slumped onto the back of a chair.
Thumping him wasn’t an option, not any more, with concern and tenderness and God-honest sincerity blazing from those unforgettable eyes.
“Have I? Because what my father said made sense. Of course, you can't just forgive me for keeping your son from you, and of course, I'm a fool to believe that you love me…”
Releasing her wrists, he stepped back and ran a hand through his hair, his expression thunderous.
“I love you!”
Anger tightened his voice and tensed his shoulders as he stalked to the window and braced against it.
“After you told me about Tommy, I went to him to warn him not to use you again and not to ask for money. It was the only thing keeping me going, and I couldn’t let your father ruin you and our son, so I did what I thought was right at the time, letting him believe he’d succeeded in ending things between us. I lied to him. I told him that so he wouldn't ask you for money again! I made him believe that I don't care about you.”
Damn her dad.
Damn Chase for being right.
She couldn’t blame him for caring about Tommy; she couldn’t fault his logic, but she didn’t want logic or rationale right now; she needed to vent.
Snapping her fingers, she glared at him. “Moot point, considering you’d already thought about ending things between us.”
“I didn’t want to let you go again, Amaya.”
The sorrow in his tone had her head snapping up to scan his face for proof he was hurting as much as she was.
“Then why? Why did you shut me out those last few weeks? Push me away at the end. You told me that the marriage was just a contract and nothing else?”
Okay, she was being stupid now, but she was mad at herself and at her dad, and right now, she wanted to vent. Call it selfish, childish, or even hormonal problems; she doesn't care! She was mad!
“I can't let you go, Amaya. I need you. I need Tommy. I am a changed man.”
His sincerity twanged on her heartstrings hard, and she gulped as a fresh wave of tears swamped her.
“And now? Our marriage—”
"It was never about revenge, not for one damn minute.”
He strode across the room, dropped to his knees, and grabbed her hand. “Do you honestly think I’d use you like that?”
“I don’t know what to think—”
“Then don’t.”
He hauled her into his arms and plastered his mouth to hers, obliterating the need to talk, to discuss, to rationalise, and to do anything other than lose herself in the magic of his kiss.
But no matter how many times he kissed her, held her, or made love to her, there would always be the nagging doubt that he’d done this out of spite.
Sensing her wandering thoughts, he broke the kiss and gripped her arms as if he sensed she’d bolt.
“Our marriage was purely business at the start. That was the only reason I married you. I'm scared of having children. I don't want to be like my father. But I can't lose you again. I put my fear aside.”
“And now?”
“Now I want it all.”
She’d wanted to hear those words when she’d first come to him, and she had first poured her heart out to him.
She’d wanted him to sweep her into his arms and tell her he felt the same way.
But now…
“You still want the same thing, right?”
His desperate gaze searched hers, and all she could manage was a slight nod.
But her game plan had changed.
Words were cheap. She’d learned the hard way: the first time her father had called her a filthy name and apologised with empty words, the first time he’d shoved her against the wall, followed by more of those meaningless words; the first time he’d raised a hand to her, his pointless words not enough to bridge the yawning gap that had opened up between them.
She’d fled to France and started a new life. Ironic, as she’d never felt as safe here as she had the last few weeks, only to have it ripped away by doubts planted by the one man she’d never believed, sending her fleeing to France all over again.
“I’m leaving for Chicago.”
His face was drained of colour. “What? Why? When?”
“Tomorrow. I'm bringing Tommy.”
Chase frowned. “But what about all that stuff you said? About wanting a real marriage? Surely you don’t believe your father—you said you loved me.’
“I believe you, Chase, but I have a job to do. I can’t just walk away from that. You’re a businessman, you understand.”
She played the business card, knowing he’d buy it. Considering the success he’d made of himself and how far he’d gone to cement his reputation, it was the one argument guaranteed to sway him.
Ironic, she would’ve given away her precious job in a second if he’d professed his love a few hours earlier, but what did those three little words actually add up to? Actions spoke louder than ever, and right now Chase could say anything, and it would be tinged with the doubts her father had raised.
Reaching out to her, he slid his arms around her waist, tugged her close, and she let him.
“I love you, Amaya. You know that, right?”
The inner girl head over heels for this guy leaped up and punched the air while her mature, sensible counterpart patted her on the head, shoved her down, and said, “Hang on a minute.”
“It’s the second time you’ve ever said it. How would I know?”
Chase flinched, the hurt in his eyes driving a stake through her heart.
“By my actions.”
“Which one? Where you choose to lie to me rather than tell me the truth a few days ago? Where you married me to get ahead in business?”
He laid a hand on her cheek and brushed her bottom lip with his thumb. “Every night of our marriage has been real—every single moment I’ve held you in my arms. You can’t fake what we have. And you can’t walk away from it.”
“I’m not.”
She dropped her gaze and focused on a tiny thread working loose from his top buttonhole.
“Like hell, you’re not.”
He released her and stepped away, the tension between them palpable.
“I have to do this, Chase. It’s important to me. As to what happens with us, we can work it out—I need to think—”
He sighed, “Give me tonight.”
She’d give him the next fifty years of her life if she could trust him, but right now she couldn’t get past the doubt and couldn’t trust herself around him, let alone anything he said.
She needed time and space. Yeah, as if that would help ease Chase Johnson out of her soul.
He held up a finger. “One night, our last together for a while. Can you give me that?”
Words bubbled to her lips, empty, meaningless refusals about packing and winding up the local contractors Sell had used and saying goodbyes, but none of them spilled as she found herself nodding.
“Okay.”
Pulling her in for a swift kiss that left her head spinning and her heart a pounding mass of riotous confusion, he said, “You won’t regret it.”
She already did as he strode out of the door.