Ex-Husband, Back Off

The next time I saw Chase Reed, it was at a little guesthouse in the Rockies. I'd just finished feeding my son breakfast and was wiping his mouth when Chase came out from the kitchen carrying a tray. Our eyes met. I saw his pupils dilate in shock. Three years had passed. His skin was weathered and reddened from the sun, his face covered in stubble, with new lines etched around his eyes from the harsh elements. Then his gaze landed on my son. He froze mid-step, his eyes going wide with disbelief before flooding with joy. He hurried over, his eyes locked on my little boy. "Sweetheart... can you say 'Daddy'?" I lowered my head, turned sideways, and pulled my son protectively into my arms. Three years ago, when I was five months pregnant, Chase had felt trapped. He decided to hit the road with his buddy — a female friend — and bike across the Rockies. He told me to cut off all contact and give him three years of freedom. From that day on, I cut everything about him out of my life. Including our child. Chapter 1 In my arms, my son blinked, puzzled. "Mommy, who's that man?" "Nobody. Don't listen to him. Let's go." I scooped him up and turned to leave. After Chase Reed left, I'd gotten rid of the baby I'd been carrying and married someone else. My husband and I were happy together, deeply in love. The son in my arms had nothing to do with Chase. "Ivy, are you still mad at me? How can you keep a son from knowing his own father?" Chase blocked my path, his face dark with anger. I met his eyes, calm and unshaken. "We've been apart for three years. What makes you think you're his father? He isn't your son." Chase let out a sigh. "You're still holding it against me that I left for so long. But freedom is in my nature—I was never going to give it up for a child. I needed time to be myself." I held my son tighter and shook my head. "Chase, I'm not holding anything against you. I love my husband, and you and I have nothing left between us. Move." Back when we'd agreed to spend the rest of our lives together, I'd let him skip registering our marriage, all in the name of his precious freedom. Then I got pregnant, and he was still off cycling with his "buddy" every chance he got. Morning sickness, leg cramps, sleepless nights—I endured all of it alone. Even so, he complained behind my back to Monica Cole about how stressful my pregnancy was making his life. The two of them hit it off immediately and decided to spend three years cycling out to the Rockies. When it came to childbirth and raising a kid, Monica told him not to worry about it—that women just handled that instinctively. Chase believed her. By the time I was five months along, I could barely move without pain. I went to the hospital for treatment, and when I came back, they were gone. Not even a word goodbye. That was the moment I made my decision. Shaking, I turned around and walked straight back to the hospital, and had the pregnancy terminated that same day. I've thanked myself for that courage ever since. If I hadn't done it, I wouldn't have the life I have now. Sensing how cold I'd gone, Chase frowned. "There you go again, talking like you're still bitter. You must still care about me somewhere in there. Otherwise, why bring the kid to find me before the three years were even up?" I thought I'd made myself more than clear, but none of it seemed to reach him. I insisted he get out of my way. Finally, looking as though he were making some agonizing concession, he said, "Fine. For the kid's sake, if you fix that attitude of yours, I'll let you two tag along. But I don't have the energy to look after you both—don't get in the way of my plans." I glanced over his temp-job uniform. He was probably picking up odd jobs wherever the road took him. Following him would mean nothing but hardship. I wasn't going to waste any more time on him. I moved to walk around him with my son in my arms, but he threw out an arm and blocked me. His voice turned urgent. "Ivy, what are you doing? Whatever you say, I'm still his father!" My son couldn't help lifting his head, glancing between the two of us, and asking with innocent confusion, "Mommy, why do I have two daddies?" Chapter 2 Chase's expression froze. "Two daddies? What do you mean, two daddies?" My son tightened his arms around my neck and explained earnestly, "I already have a daddy. That's who we came here to find." The blood drained from Chase's face. He stood frozen, pupils trembling, too stunned to speak. "You... already have a daddy?" My son nodded firmly. Then, as if something had clicked, Chase spun back to me, his eyes full of accusation. "Is this how you've been raising him? Even the kid knows he came here to find me, and I'm standing right here, and you still won't let him call me Dad?" We had come to find the boy's father, but that didn't mean the father was Chase. Even when I was carrying Chase's child, I'd never seen him show this much concern. And now, standing in front of him was a son that belonged to another man—I had no idea where this obsession of his was coming from. I frowned and raised my voice. "Chase, listen carefully. I got married a long time ago. This isn't your son." "Still playing tough." A flicker of anger crossed Chase's face. "What could you possibly gain from keeping a boy from his own father?" Just then, a voice I recognized cut in. "You're still picking fights with Chase, huh? Two daddies—don't go warping the poor kid's head." The tone was teasing, but mockery ran underneath it. I looked toward the doorway. Monica. She strolled over, laughing easily, and clapped Chase on the shoulder. "A weak woman like her can't raise a kid properly. Now that you're back, you can teach him right." Chase looked at my son and nodded. "That's right. I'll teach him the right values, and I'll take him out to chase freedom with me—let him really experience nature." I nearly laughed out loud inside. They had no idea. My son had lived a life of comfort and the best education there was since the day he was born. He loved the cello, so my husband had commissioned him a custom handmade instrument and hired one of the most respected professors from the conservatory to teach him. Once he was a little older, we'd take him traveling around the world—cultivating his character through music, exploring every corner of the globe. My husband was nothing like Chase, who'd thrown everything away to go live like some drifter in the wild. "Mommy, he's going to teach me? Does he even play cello?" My son tugged at my sleeve, thoroughly confused. Chase's expression shifted, as if he'd just heard something outrageous. "Cello? Performances, too?" His voice was thick with disbelief. "Where would you even get the money for that?" I looked him dead in the eye, the corner of my mouth curling. "My husband happens to be very rich." Chase's lips moved a few times before any words came out, his expression a mess. "You... you actually married someone else?" He stared at me, a flicker of panic in his eyes. "Don't fall for it—ha!" Monica burst out laughing. "She's just trying to get under your skin. She wants you to think she and the kid are doing just fine without you." At that, the tension in Chase's face eased. "You can't joke about things like that anymore. I don't have time for these games with you. And don't think that just because I still care, you get to control me—I'm doing great on my own, and I don't need you managing my life. Same goes for the kid. Just let him play and be a kid, let him be free." I hadn't even gotten a word of protest out before my son poked me. "Right, Mommy, when are we going out to play? We're running out of time." At the same moment, someone shouted Chase's name from the direction of the kitchen. "Go play then, son. Do whatever you want—freedom's what matters most!" Chase tossed that out and hurried off toward the kitchen. Monica arched an eyebrow, the contempt in her eyes no longer hidden. "Can't survive without a man around, can you? Three months left on your three years, and you already can't hold out?" Chapter 3 I felt nothing at all. "I've said it plenty of times already. Chase and I have nothing left between us. I have my own family. Tell him to have some self-respect." With that, I took my son and walked straight out of the dining area. Back in my room, Nathan Sterling called. His voice, warm and gentle, put me at ease almost instantly. "How's the place treating you, honey? Anything you're not happy with? I'll have the manager fix it." I thought about the unpleasantness earlier, but didn't mention it. We'd be leaving tomorrow anyway—no point causing trouble for the manager over it. "Everything's great. Rowan loves it here. We can't wait to see you." Nathan chuckled softly. "Good. I'll be there to meet up with you two soon. Muah. A kiss for my darling wife, and, muah, a kiss for our darling son." Whatever cloud had settled over me instantly cleared. After changing, I took my son out for the afternoon. We bought a small mountain of souvenirs, which the two guides I'd hired carried for us. By evening, when we got back to the guesthouse, Monica was sprawled in the courtyard. The second she spotted us, she curled her lip. "Spending money like that—Chase's money's just that easy to burn through, huh?" Chase was sweeping nearby. The moment he saw my son, he plastered on a smile and reached for him. I pulled my son behind me instantly, and the two guides dropped what they were carrying and stepped between us. Chase's hand froze mid-air. "What's your problem? I'm his father!" he snapped. Watching him act so righteous about it, I could only think how absurd it was. My position couldn't have been clearer—I had a family, and my son wasn't his—yet he was still drowning in his own delusion. I challenged him. "Fine. Then tell me his name." Chase choked. Pure panic flooded his eyes. Even the child I'd once carried for him, he'd never once thought to name. After a long silence, my son poked his head out and said in his bright, clear voice, "I'm Rowan Sterling! I was born in the fall." Chase's eyes went wide, shock and confusion flashing across his face, his hands trembling. "That timing... there's no way this kid was born in autumn. No way!" "Oh, please!" Monica sneered. "Ivy, you're still trying to prove some big romantic thing between you and Chase, huh? You women really do overdo it. 'Rowan' obviously commemorates the autumn we set off cycling!" Chase seized on that like a lifeline and nodded hard at Monica. "That's right!" I said coldly, "No need for that. My son was simply born in autumn. If some people can't take a hint, that's not my problem." Chase's eyes hardened. "Ivy! You can't be so rude to Monica—" "Chase!" The guesthouse manager came jogging over, his expression stern. "I let you work here alone in exchange for housing two people—I've already been more than generous. You will not bother my guests! Get back to work, or get lost!" Chase's face went pale, then flushed, under the scolding. His fists clenched, but in the end, he lowered his head, sullen. So this was how considerate he was toward Monica—working to pay for her stay. It had never once occurred to him that I, pregnant, might have needed that same consideration. Whether the man had a heart in him at all, I honestly couldn't say. Escorted by the guides and the manager, we made it back to our room. Tomorrow we'd leave, and Chase would never see us again. That night, I sat with my son on our room's small balcony, looking at the stars, and opened a bottle of peanut milk for him. He was happily cradling it, had just taken a small sip, when out of nowhere, Chase came scrambling over the railing in a frantic rush. He snatched the bottle from my son's hands and hurled it to the ground, then jabbed a finger at me, roaring. "Ivy! Are you trying to kill our son? "Everyone in the Reed family is allergic to peanuts—it runs in our blood! Giving him this—are you out of your mind?" Chapter 4 Chase's roar cut through the quiet night, harsh and jarring. Startled guests stepped out of their rooms, craning their necks to see what was happening. Monica came rushing out too, shrieking, "I know, right? That stuff could've killed him! You're way too extreme just to get Chase's attention!" I looked at Chase's face, twisted with what he called "fatherly love," and could only find it ironic. "Open your eyes and look. Does my son show a single sign of an allergic reaction?" I picked him up and rubbed soothing circles on Rowan's back. He'd clearly been startled, his little mouth still pouting, but his breathing was steady, his eyes clear—no trace of discomfort anywhere. Chase froze. The anger on his face melted into confusion and panic, and he started muttering to himself. "Everyone in the Reed family is allergic to peanuts—a few peanuts, and we can barely breathe. My father, my grandfather, all of them. How could he not—" Monica jumped in, reassuring him with total confidence. "Even a beast doesn't devour its own cub. Maybe he just didn't drink enough of it—not a big enough dose to matter." "My son has never once been allergic to peanuts." I cut off her speculation, my voice flat and final. "There's not a single drop of Reed blood in him. You two don't get a say in this." Chase gritted his teeth and shook his head, stubborn as ever. "No. I don't believe it." "Mommy," my son said, tilting his face up, his voice small, "can I have some more? It's sweet. I want more." I stroked his hair gently. "Baby, it's too late to go buy more now. We'll have some tomorrow." "He can't have it!" Chase's tone turned sharp. "I need to work hard and save up for the next leg of the trip. Why can't you ever just behave?" I let out a cold laugh. "You want your freedom, and you wouldn't let me manage your life—but you think you get to manage mine? Don't I get any freedom of my own?" All in the name of the freedom he'd claimed for himself, he'd abandoned his wife and child without a second thought. I'd already parted ways with him completely, and he still refused to see it. The commotion finally brought the manager running, two burly staff members trailing behind him. "Chase, Monica—out. Now." Chase tried to argue, but the staff had already closed in, one on each side, hauling him off. "Ivy! He can't have any more! Do you hear me!" he shouted over his shoulder as they dragged him away, still refusing to back down. Monica stamped her foot, shot me one last venomous glare, and hurried after him. The world went quiet at last. Early the next morning, I took my son out to meet up with Nathan. To my surprise, Chase was posted outside the guesthouse gate like some kind of sentry, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes—he clearly hadn't slept. He stepped in front of me, his voice urgent, almost obsessive. "I need to know for certain if my son's okay. We should get him to the hospital right now for a full checkup." I gave him a cold glance. "Not necessary. Move." That's when my guides arrived. One of them pulled a bottle of peanut milk from his backpack and twisted off the cap. "Little man, you didn't get to finish your peanut milk last night, did you? Here you go." My son's eyes lit up, and he grabbed it eagerly. Before Chase could stop him, he was already gulping it down, several big swallows at once. He drained nearly half the bottle in one go, then set it down, looking thoroughly satisfied, licking his lips with contentment. Not a single sign of trouble. "That's not possible... how is that possible!" The color drained out of Chase's face entirely, his eyes shaking in their sockets. He lost all reason and grabbed my son's arm, frantically checking his arms and neck over and over, searching for even the faintest hint of an allergic reaction. "No allergy... my son, how can he not be allergic..." Chase's voice trembled, his eyes bloodshot, his hands shaking violently. "How can you not be my son..." "Give him back to me!" I snapped, trying to pull my son away from him. Right then, a voice rang out behind me—steady, powerful, edged with a cold that brooked no argument. "Let go. Who said you could touch my wife and son?"