Chapter 86
hase could’ve wasted time and energy cursing Amaya’s father, but instead, he put his plan into action.
When he’d initially heard what Amaya had said—that he’d wanted the old man dead—his hatred obliterating the temporary guilt of his visit might have caused another stroke.
The old man was vile, determined to ruin his own daughter’s happiness. What sort of father did that to his only child, trying to wreck their relationship?
He knew from his private investigator that the old man was a menace and Chase had never been his favourite, especially when he’d started making it big in the district, but what about Amaya? Didn’t the old guy love her at all?
Probably not!
Something niggled at his conscience, wedged like a spur, digging and needling—something about Amaya not knowing his father. And he sighed. Just like his own father, her father didn't deserve her kindness.
He’d put it down to her father not giving a damn about her, not bothering to inform Amaya about something so trivial in his high-and-mighty world, but what if there was another reason behind her lack of knowledge?
For a woman hell-bent on gaining a promotion, she’d travelled halfway around the world; why hadn’t she spent more time with her father? A father who was ailing?
Chase hadn’t given it a second thought, happily taking up every spare moment of Amaya’s time when she wasn’t working, but now he thought about it.
Yeah, something wasn’t right, and when he’d asked her about it, he mentioned what her father had said about not giving her any more money because she’d married him, and now the old man was asking her again, what for? She already paid her father what she owed him; she’d paled before swiftly changing the subject. He could’ve pushed the issue but didn’t want tonight to be about anything other than them.
Staring around the room, he hoped he was doing the right thing.
Would she remember?
Would it mean anything to her?
He’d told her he loved her, but it wasn’t enough. He’d seen it in every reluctant cell of her body.
Well, he was through talking.
It was time to prove their marriage was real in every way.
He had no intention of letting her walk away, thinking otherwise.
Unwelcome déjà vu washed over Amaya as she stood outside her father’s room.
She’d been a fool to come here, especially after everything that had happened, but something Chase had said about her father niggled.
They’d been discussing the old man, and she’d clammed up, not interested in rehashing anything her father had done or said when Chase had visited him.
That was when Chase dropped his little gem: even though the old man was a nasty old coot, he must love her enough to give her money to start a new life in France before, right?
Just like that, the emotional blinkers blinding her eyes lifted a fraction.
Considering why she’d fled home and headed for the opposite side of the world to escape, when he’d told her, she’d instantly assumed her father's reason for giving her the money had been about control as always.
Never once had she contemplated any other reason.
But the more she thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense.
If he’d truly hated her back then, as she believed, why would he cushion her? Why not see her fail and hope she'll come running home rather than give her money to prop her up?
She had to know why he’d done it.
Clenching and unclenching her hands, she rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck from side to side like a prize fighter about to take on the champ.
With her muscles as relaxed as they were going to get, she knocked and entered, striding across the room to the bed where her father lay. He looked so old and tired that she felt a sudden rush of pity, until he looked up and sent her a ferocious glare.
"I thought I told you to—”
“Why did you do it, Dad?”
His upper lip curled. “What do you mean—is this about your husband giving me money again?”
“Not that. The money. Why did you give me that money and pretend it was Mum’s?”
She’d never seen her dad anything but aloof, cold, and angry after her mom left; she hadn’t seen him blink when the news of her death had reached them, and for the first time in forever, she saw uncertainty cloud his eyes, contorting his expression into that of a confused old man.
He didn’t respond, his gnarled hands wringing beneath the bedcovers.
“Father? Tell me. You owe me that much. I paid it in full, doubled in fact; that's why I married Chase because he paid it. I don't have money to pay you. He helped me! I'm not even going to ask why you asked him again when I already paid you double. Tell me!”
She expected him to say “I owe you nothing’ in a classic gruff response, so she almost keeled over when he pushed into sitting and beckoned her closer.
“The only reason I let you go to France before to study was because I couldn’t stand the sight of you cowering any more from your bullied friends and from your mom’s cousins. You deserve more!”
He stared at the coverlet, his frown deepening. "Then, when you didn’t come back and sent that email, you were in fact not coming back. I was worried.”
“You’d have to care to worry,” she said, hating the flare of hope she’d finally get some answers to questions that had plagued her for years.
“I cared. I care so much that I have to lie.”
His shocking declaration came out in a whisper, and she almost slapped her ears to ensure she’d heard it right.
“You call ignoring, hurting, and abusing me caring? All those put-downs and shoves and—” She inhaled sharply, breathed deeply, trying to relax. A futile effort as years of resentment bubbled up. “You were my dad, I was too young to understand; you should’ve loved me! What did I do wrong? Why did you treat me like that? Tell me, damn you!”
To her amazement, tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes and trickled down his wrinkled cheeks unchecked, the sorrow in his gaze wrenching a soul-deep response she didn’t want to acknowledge.
He opened his mouth and closed it before shaking his head.
“None of it was your fault, none of it.”
His low groan of pain had her darting an anxious glance at the heart-monitor machine, but the blood pressure numbers weren’t rising and the spiky lines were unchanged.
“I was a monster. What I did was unforgivable.”
“Then why?”
He took a deep breath and knuckled his eyes before fixing them on her. “Because looking at you was like looking at the young version of your mother I fell in love with. Because seeing you every day reminded me of what she’d been like and what she’d become when she ran out and got herself killed. Because it hurt right here—” he thumped his heart, and this time the machine gave an alarming beep, “—every time I looked at you and wished you were her.”
She had her answers, but they did little to erase the years of bitterness as she belatedly realised nothing he could say or do would make up for what he’d put her through.
Then it happened.
His trembling hand snaked towards her, palm up, begging. She stared at it, expecting to feel repulsed or, worse, fearful, remembering the last time he’d extended the same hand to hit her.
None of those feelings materialised as pity trickled through her, pity for the weakened, frightened man he’d have to be to extend the hand of friendship to her after all these years, after all he’d done.
Sadness clogged her throat as she briefly placed her hand in his, squeezing once before snatching it back.
Maybe it was more than he deserved, but in that fleeting touch, some of her residual anger receded, faded, and eased.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, flexing the fingers on the hand she’d clasped as if not quite believing she’d done it.
“Why did you ask Chase for money again?”
“It wasn't for me; it was for your son. For his future.”
“What?”
“I know that. Somehow, that's all I can give him. Chase might leave you and hurt you, and you'll be alone to take care of my grandson. That's why I asked him for more. It's under Tommy’s name," he sighed. “When I die, the staff here knows what to do,” he cried. “I’m sorry, Amaya. I'm so sorry for everything.””
Needing to escape before she broke down, she managed a brisk nod.
“So am I, dad, so am I.”