Chapter 595: Silent Sorry

Water from the shower on the ceiling cascaded down on Damien, cooling his head from the painful reminder of that night that he had last seen his father. His hands pressed against the wall in front of him while his head hung low, letting the water fall down on his toned body.

Whenever the past caught up to him, he'd feel an ache in his chest, and it would linger for far longer than he'd want it to be. It had been many years, and yet the guilt still clawed at him. Caleb was the only one who truly knew about how he felt over the years. And every year, his friend would just sit with him and share a drink, no questions—just company.

Damien had heard from his friend several times that it wasn't his fault—just like what Katherine told him just now, but even so, he couldn't help but blame himself for it. No matter how many times he heard the same words, there was always that regret and guilt. It got better over time, but the numbing pain is still there.

His eyes skated over his left foot, and he slightly twisted it inwardly until he could see the scar from his surgery. It looked ugly when it was new—back when he was still a teenager, but the scar faded a bit later. Now, it's still visible, but negligible enough that you'd have to really stare to see it.

The first time Katherine asked him about it was last year when they started becoming intimate. He gave her the short version of how he got it from playing sports, but not the ugly parts that happened after that. It was only today that he told her about how the injury led up to that fight with his father.

Being reminded of the past again, he closed his eyes as if to torment himself even more. It was one of the memories he had of his father where he could see his expression as they argued. And to this day, it haunted him.

***

17 years ago

It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and Damien and his father, Lawrence, just came home to the mansion, coming back from a therapy session. Damien had crutches on and a cast on his foot up two-thirds of his leg. He wore a sullen expression on his face, and he had been quiet on the ride home.

"Damien Maverick!" His father called for him when he tried to quickly enter through the doors, trying to avoid a lecture. "Turn around, Young Man."

Damien halted at the foyer, his brooding stare directed to the side and away from his father.

"We'll start your shooting practice next week after school. I want you straight home after your last period," said Lawrence.

"I don't want to." Damien gritted his teeth.

"You have no choice."

"I said, I don't want to."

"Why not? Your foot is injured, but your hands are perfectly fine. You can even practice shooting while you're sitting. You're already behind your training—"

"You're happy that I got injured, aren't you?!" Damien spat in a raised voice, scowling at the taller man in front of him.

"What?" Lawrence's brows drew together, confusion laced on his face by his son's sudden accusation. "Why would you say that?"

"You didn't want me to play! Now I can't play anymore. You must be happy things are going your way!" Damien's reddened eyes became misty. His chest hurt.

Lawrence's hands curled into fists on his sides. His mouth opened, and Damien swore he thought he could see vulnerability in his father's eyes. He looked hurt, probably surprised at what Damien just angrily spouted. "Is that what you think?"

Damien softened his voice a tad, his voice croaking when he held back the tears. "You never even come to my practices anymore."

Shoulders slumping, Lawrence walked the distance between them. He was a little more than a foot taller than his son who was still growing so fast. Rubbing his hand across his jaw, he sighed, "I'm just overwhelmed with work recently. There are many things needed to be done in the company in preparation for the next week. But I promised you that I would be there for your game night, didn't I?"

A tear streaked down Damien's cheek. His face hardened. "And now I can't even go because of my injury. I will never be able to play again—"

"You don't know that. The doctor said—"

"—So are you happy now, Dad? You don't have to go to my stupid game anymore!"

Lawrence's eyes became fierce. His chest heaving, clearly unhappy with their argument. "You think I'm happy that you're in pain? You're my son, Damien. I would never wish for anything bad to happen to you."

He ignored his father's words and jabbed at something else. "You're always working! It's why mom left!"

"What does this have to do with your mother?"

"Isn't this why she left us? You rarely join us for dinner and come home late. You're selfish. You always tell me what to do even if I don't like doing it. I hate the family business, and yet you force me to walk in your path. But you're always not around. Always busy. You used to have time for me before, but now, you're missing a lot. You're just working all the time!"

Damien was pissed, and his mouth ran, letting out all his frustrations. He knew his father worked so hard and tried his best, but he didn't understand why he was so mad that he couldn't stop himself from saying all those things to him. He regretted it instantly—especially when he saw the hurt written on his father's face. 'I'm sorry, Dad… I didn't mean what I said,' he thought but couldn't say out loud.

Lawrence's phone rang, interrupting their war of words. He glanced at the caller and let out a sigh. "I need to take this. Go to your room."

Damien skipped dinner, not feeling like eating after the clash he had with his father. At seven in the evening, he just stayed in bed, his leg with the cast elevated on top of a pillow. He thought about what happened at the foyer earlier, and he was pissed at himself.

A knock on the door pulled him out from his trance. It opened and his father came in. He wanted to turn away, but he could only lie on his back because of his leg so he threw an arm over his eyes.

The bed sank next to him, and he swallowed, knowing that his father was there to speak to him about their fight.

Lawrence cleared his throat. "If you recall what the doctor said earlier, he said that it would be nice to have a distraction so you won't feel negatively about your injury. I just thought that practice shooting would be good for you since you're skilled at it. You know...take your mind off that foot."

Damien relaxed a little. He misunderstood his father earlier, thinking that he did that because he was forcing him for the family business again. Now he felt like shît. But he didn't respond.

"Do you miss your mom?" Lawrence sighed. "I can't bring her back… I...tried to look for her. She hasn't been here for long...lesser than the time that you know. But she loved you. I know for sure she did—even though she left. I can still remember how happy she was before you were born. She was so excited." His breath was shaky, and for a second, Damien thought he must have cried.

"I'm sorry… I'm trying to be a better father, son. I really am. I'm working hard, and this is all for you. I love you. Always remember that..."

His father moved closer. Then he felt a kiss on his cheek. His heart thundered in his chest, aching and throbbing. He wanted to apologize too, but his mouth was tight. The next thing he knew, the door opened and closed.