Breathe (Colorado Mountain #4)(115)

Trane held his eyes for long moments but he didn’t speak.

Chace was done.

“Ma calls, I take Faye to her, you are not there,” he told his father.

“She won’t like that,” Trane replied quietly.

“Make some excuse and make it a good one. That won’t be a problem. You’re a practiced hand at that.”

Trane shook his head. “She wants us to be a family, Chace, and if this relationship with Faye Goodknight progresses she’ll want that even more.”

“Then get creative because she’ll get that from me, from Faye but you will not be involved.”

“Regardless of the outside situation, I agree with your mother. You’re my son. If you marry this woman –”

Chace cut him off to growl, “She’s not ‘this woman’. She’s Faye.”

Trane nodded, his eyes flashing, Chace’s words giving it away but he let it alone and carried on, “You marry Faye, you have children, those will be my grandchildren.”

“You’ll have not one thing to do with them either.”

A flinch.

Jesus.

The ass**le flinched.

“Chace,” Trane said softly before Chace could process the flinch, “I made a mistake. Men make mistakes.”

“My dead wife shoved shit up your ass in order to blackmail you so she could maneuver her body into my bed,” Chace clipped, Trane flinched again and Chace went on crudely, going in for the kill. “I get a man might like ass play. Your kind of play, I don’t get. You’re correct. I’m your son. Means you’re my father and I should never have seen my father doin’ that shit. It’s entirely f**ked up in a way so jacked it can’t be described that we’re even having this conversation. Then you got nailed after you got off, protected your ass and set mine swinging. That is not a father. Takin’ us back to earlier, Dad, a good man, a real man, he f**ks up, he lets his ass swing so his son’s doesn’t. You not only didn’t protect me, you pulled me right into your shit. So, breakin’ that down, you’re my father but you also are not. That means, when I put a ring and Faye’s finger and yeah, Dad, I said when, you will not be her father-in-law and you sure as f**k will not be a Granddad to our kids. Please, God, do one f**kin’ thing for me in my life as your son. Give me that. Give my woman that. And give my kids that.”

Done, he turned, angled up into his truck and slammed the door.

Without looking at his father, he shoved the key in the ignition, turned it, put it in gear and threw an arm around the passenger seat, looking over his shoulder to back out.

He didn’t scan to see where his father was when he pulled out of the Station parking lot.

He did, five minutes later, pull out his phone to take his mother’s call.

She was in a state but luckily a good one. So excited she was babbling.

“I’ll get Donatta to cook! All your favorites! Oh Chace, darling, I’m so pleased you’re finally healing after Misty. This is excellent news and I cannot wait to meet her. I’m just certain she’ll be fabulous.”

What she both did and didn’t mean was, after Misty, anyone would be fabulous. She didn’t mean it nasty. It was nonetheless true.

When she actually met Faye, she’d be beside herself and undoubtedly the next day would go shopping. For what, it was a tossup but Chace guessed baby shit first, wedding shit second and expensive presents for Faye that would convince her she had Keaton Love third. She’d hide the baby shit and wedding shit and she’d be in Carnal the day after to lay the expensive shit at Faye’s feet.

Fuck.

As he’d done his whole life, he gave in because he didn’t have it in him to burst her bubble. He did manage to delay this dinner for three weeks. They needed time to settle Malachi. He needed time to prepare Faye for the dinner. Last, he needed time to prepare for it himself.

She was disappointed at the delay but she was eventually getting what she wanted so she hid it, just not well.

Chace disconnected with her, connected with Deck, gave him the head’s up and then he pulled into the hospital parking lot. He grabbed the books, headed in, got Malachi’s new room number and went to his room.

He stopped just at the door when he saw what was happening inside.

Malachi’s color was definitely better. He was wearing the pajamas Sondra had bought him. He was awake, alert, his hair cleaned, the bruising on his face fading and he was smiling at Faye who was sitting in a chair beside his bed and had her hands up in front of her.

“Are you this old?” she asked, moving her fingers around, flashing numbers at him that Chace couldn’t entirely see because he could only see her left hand but that hand opened wide and fisted three times. In other words, he counted fifteen on just one hand.

Still smiling, Malachi shook his head.

“Okay, how about this old?” Faye went on.

More flashing of hands. More of Malachi smiling and shaking his head.

Her voice got softer, sweeter and she asked, “How about this old?”

Malachi’s eyes dropped to her hands, they shifted to her face and, the smile still in place, he nodded.

“Nine,” she whispered then, “I have a nephew who’s going to be nine this week. His name is Jarot.” She leaned in and shared conspiratorially, “But when you meet him, you can’t tease him and call him carrot. He doesn’t like that.”