Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
AMAY
We’ll talk.
Two innocuous words that opened a doorway into the past that he had always assumed was jammed shut. They played in his head constantly as he completed his rounds.
Virat had kept Ishaan and him updated with all the drama playing out at the Gokhale residence. Varun’s father had, predictably, denied all knowledge of the other apartments but it didn’t matter. The seed had been planted and Virat would now nurture it to full bloom with the cops, feeding them information that would lead them to where they needed to go.
Dhrithi’s stellar performance had ruined the media train the Gokhales had tried to set in motion. The internet was already buzzing and it was a matter of time before the mainstream media exploded with all the drama. There was going to be backlash. With this lot of people, there always was. The first wave of it would launch at Dhrithi and then the three of them when they figured out who was helping her. But this time, they were ready. They weren’t the weak, scared, helpless boys they’d tangled with in the past. They had grown into more.
Dhrithi was fine. Virat had assured him of that. She was okay. She would be okay. And for now, that was all that mattered.
Which brought him back to ‘we’ll talk.’ He exhaled hard, the memory of that kiss flooding his brain and making it hard to concentrate on work. He stared at the surgical wound he was dressing and knew he had to do better. He pushed all thoughts of her aside and focused on the patient. There was time for all that later. Now, he needed to be the doctor he prided himself on being.
Amay was just finishing with a patient in emergency with a terrible dog bite when he heard the sirens wailing in the distance. Adrenalin flooded him as he strode out of the ward, his team falling in line behind him as they walked towards the stretchers being wheeled towards them.
“What do we have?”
“Murder suicide attempt.”
Amay’s eyebrows winged up at the response. “Attempt?”
“Neither died,” the junior briefing him replied, his voice sounding shocked and a bit awed. “What a mess.”
A mess, just about summed it up, Amay thought as he got to work on the murder victim. He was dimly aware of the police filing in and the chaos ensuing from it, but his focus stayed on the young woman whose throat had been slashed with what looked like a serrated knife. The junior doctor moved his gloved hand and blood gushed from a cut artery, pumping straight into Amay’s face.
“Keep your fucking hand in place,” he growled at the junior who whimpered and tightened his hold on the injury site again. They worked quickly to administer temporary first aid. The patient’s blood pressure and other vitals stayed steady giving Amay breathing room.
“Move to theatre now!” he called out, stepping back once it was a bit under control. He wiped the blood dripping into one eye with his forearm as he walked over to the other bed where the attacker/suicide attempt victim was being attended to by another doctor. Being a trauma surgeon was wild. You never knew what would come through the door.
“All under control?” he asked, glancing down at the unconscious man.
“Yes Sir. I’ve got this one. No worries.”
With a nod, Amay turned from the bed, walking quickly towards the staff elevator to get to the theatre floor. The woman, the actual victim, was his priority.
“Amay!”
The familiar voice, one from his nightmares, had his blood chilling. His feet slowed, almost without volition, as he turned to face his father.
“Looking good Son.” Rakesh Aatre walked forward, arms outstretched, a large, beaming smile on his face. He looked good. His tailor-made suit fit his muscled toned body, his salt and pepper hair framing a face that had aged well.
Amay took a step back, horror suffusing him. What was his father doing here? And did he honestly think that he could just walk back into his life and hug him?
“Sir,” he said stiffly, his arms at his side. “Are you unwell?”
Why did he care? Did it actually matter to him if his father was well or not? Why did he have to ask such an asinine question?
And yet, this man standing in front of him was the only blood relative Amay had in this world. Family. This was all he had to show for it.
“Just a regular checkup. We do an annual master health check up every year.” His father’s smile had dimmed in wattage.
We.
The other half of the ‘we’ appeared a second later.
“Amay!” The sweet, cloying voice, the perfume that reeked of roses, the chiffon saree, all of it slammed him right back to his childhood. “How nice to see you.”
“Ma’am,” he said, his mask sliding into place. His stepmother made the ones in the fairy tales look maternal.
“Rakesh jaan. We need to go. It’s time for our blood tests.” She wrapped a hand around his father’s biceps and tugged, her cold glare telling Amay to stay away. He had no intention of doing otherwise, he wanted to assure her.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said now. “I have a patient waiting.” He took another few steps towards the elevator when his father called his name again. He stopped but didn’t turn around.
“Amay, I want you to come for dinner soon. There are some papers that need to be signed.”
Of course. There were always papers that needed to be signed. Whether his father liked it or not, Amay was his sole heir. It hadn’t been from lack of trying, he thought with a mirthless smile. But his stepmother had been unable to provide the string of spares they’d been banking on.
He didn’t bother responding as he punched the button from the elevator, waiting for it to arrive.
“Don’t bring the Gokhale girl with you when you come.”
Amay froze, ice sliding through his veins.
“Excuse me?” He turned slowly to face his father who had that familiar sneer on his face.
So, that’s why the master health checkup had to be done here. His father had to know Amay wouldn’t have taken his calls or answered his summons otherwise. The only place his father could bank on Amay not misbehaving was at his workplace.
“Do you honestly think I don’t know what goes on in your life?” Rakesh Aatre stepped closer. “Be careful son. You don’t know the shit you’re stepping in. No pussy is worth it.”
Rage thundered through him but nothing showed on his face as he met his father’s gaze. He took a step forward too, his face aligning with one that mirrored his, age adding its own patina but still holding a resemblance that made him want to turn away in disgust. The elevator doors dinged open behind him, but he ignored it.
“Are you sure, Sir?” he asked softly, his gaze moving over his father’s shoulder to where his stepmother stood, her cold, vicious eyes on them. “Her pussy was worth murdering your wife for.”
Before his father’s mercurial temper could explode, he slammed a hand on the doors sliding shut behind him, holding it open. He held his father’s gaze a beat longer, letting him see the man he’d become, the one he couldn’t browbeat anymore.
“Send the papers to my home. I’ll have my lawyers vet it, sign and courier it back. Don’t come by my hospital again,” he warned. “Either of you.”
He stepped into the elevators, his back hitting the far wall of it. He didn’t look away from his father, letting him see his hate, grief and fury until the doors finally slid shut, cutting off his line of sight.