Chapter 20 Molly
MOLLY
“Is everything okay?” I ask, starting to scoot forward, but Chase holds up a hand with his palm flat like a shield, as if he’s protecting me from a threat I don’t recognize.
“It’s fine. Get in the truck, Molly. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Nothing about my son turning pussy is fine with me,” the man growls, and I feel the words like a slap to the face.
Shock ripples through me, not just from the word, but the venom behind it.
This is Malcolm Calhoun? Chase’s father?
Now that I’m really looking, I can see the resemblance. They have the same strong jaw and broad shoulders. But while Chase’s features capture his rugged beauty, his father’s are weathered and cruel. His eyes are bloodshot and glassy, with ruddy skin and spider veins around his nose and cheeks.
He carries himself like a man who’s been bitter for so long, he doesn’t remember what it feels like not to be.
Chase’s hand curls into a fist at his side. I swear I can hear his knuckles crack from the tension.
Is this some kind of twisted father-son dynamic I should stay out of? I can’t just turn away like none of this is happening.
“I don’t think that language is necessary,” I say, my voice steadier than I expect.
Chase’s father’s eyes drag slowly up to meet mine, his glare as sharp as broken glass. “Who the hell are you?”
Before I can answer, Chase steps forward like a human shield, full-on protector mode. “She’s none of your business, old man. Go home.”
His father snorts, arms crossing over his chest. “Last time I checked, you don’t tell me what to do, boy.”
Chase doesn’t move as his dad inches closer, but I can tell he’s wound as tight as a wire stretched to the point where it could snap at any moment.
I’m frozen, gripping the scooter’s handlebars so hard my knuckles have gone white. The tension between them feels charged and unpredictable. Whatever this is, it’s been building for a long time.
Chase glances over his shoulder at me, his eyes as wild as the sea in the middle of a storm, his voice low and grave. “Molly, please get in the truck.”
“I think I’ll wait here,” I say quietly, refusing to leave him alone.
“Molly.” Malcolm Calhoun repeats my name, his tone foul like stale smoke. “You’re Teddy’s widow.” His gaze returns to Chase. “Hiding behind the skirt of your best friend’s wife?”
“Dad, go away. I’m not doing this with you here.”
“You fucking her, too? Getting back at Teddy for—”
“Teddy’s dead,” Chase says, his voice flat, but I can hear the heat in his words. “And my life is none of your business.”
“What he and Mariah did to you…” Malcolm spits on the ground.
I blink as my mind spins back to those awkward moments between Chase, his high school girlfriend, and her mother who clearly wants them to rekindle what they had before.
The comment about how they were supposed to ride off into the post-high school graduation sunset together.
But that didn’t happen. And now I know why.
“Chase is doing a favor for my mother-in-law,” I offer, as if anything can diffuse the tension pulsing between them.
“Oh yeah, Linda always was a big fan of my son.” Malcolm sneers. “Like she had the damn market cornered on being a good parent. When Teddy didn’t even know his father because it could’ve been one of a dozen different—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Chase snaps as his arm draws back.
“Don’t,” I whisper, and he turns to meet my gaze again. There’s so much emotion swirling in his eyes. Mostly rage and resentment, but also fear—not of his dad, but for me. He thinks he needs to protect me.
I want to tell him I’m not afraid of Malcolm Calhoun, but I also understand that Chase isn’t going to let his father disrespect me. Not now or ever.
“Please get in the truck, Molly.”
“Okay,” I agree. Only because I’m afraid of what will happen if this continues to escalate.
“You think you’re better than me?” Malcolm snarls as I slowly maneuver around the side of the truck. “I can see that woman is afraid of you.”
“You don’t know anything about her or me,” Chase seethes. “Get out of here, Dad.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that, son. It’s the way I raised you. Some women need a firm hand. Your mother—”
“Keep her name out of your mouth.”
I place the scooter in the back seat and climb into the passenger side, but don’t let the door shut completely. I won’t leave Chase alone, not with his father standing there spewing verbal poison.
“Your sister put me on the restricted list for visiting. She’s my goddamn wife.”
“Your ex-wife.”
“I never agreed to a divorce.”
“Not much of a choice from jail.”
“I want to see her, and you need to help me.”
“I don’t need to do a goddamn thing for you.” Chase’s voice drops to a dangerous growl, low and gravelly with barely contained fury. “There’s nothing for you in Skylark anymore.”
“You think you’ve got a chance at a life here? If you can’t get back on a bull—”
“You don’t need to worry about me.” Chase huffs out a humorless laugh.
“I know what’s going on, Chase.”
“Goodbye, Dad. Don’t try to contact me or Mom or Ada.”
“It’s not your fucking leg or too many concussions,” Malcolm continues. “You’re scared.”
In the rearview mirror, I watch Chase go completely rigid, his jaw clenching so hard I can see the muscle tic beneath his skin. “Shut. Up.”
His father ignores the command. “I know weakness when I see it. It’s your mother’s fault, you know. She coddled you and your sister. If it were up to me—”
“If it had been up to you,” Chase cuts in, “I’m not sure I would have survived childhood.”
“Let me tune my tiny violin,” Malcolm mutters. “You need to man up, Chase. Get back in the damn ring. Like I said, I didn’t raise you to be a pussy.”
Tension rolls off Chase in waves as he squares off with his father. “Stop using that word.”
“You going to stop me, boy? Let’s see what you got. I learned some tricks in the joint, and you’re not as tough and angry as you used to be.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure.”
Chase says something else under his breath that I can’t hear then shakes his head. Malcolm answers with an angry cackle that sends shivers through me.
“That’s right, run away. You can’t even find your own woman. Had to poach off a dead man.”
There’s a scuffling noise, and I turn to see Chase dragging his dad away from the truck by the collar of his shirt. I cringe as he shoves Malcolm back, the old man stumbling and then landing on his ass in the gravel parking lot.
“Stay down where you belong.” Chase’s tone is as searing as the blue flame at the center of a fire.
Then he’s heading back to the truck.
I close the passenger door and quickly fasten my seatbelt.
He gets in, breathing hard like he’s just run five miles at full speed.
He turns the key in the ignition and backs out of the parking space.
Gravel spins up from the tires as he peels out, and in the side mirror, I see Malcolm waving his fist and still shouting insults as we pull away.
The air in the truck is thick and heavy with the weight of what just happened.
“You are nothing like your father,” I tell him after a moment.
“You don’t know me well enough to say that.” His voice is so hollow, it’s like there’s a canyon between us.
I want to reach out to him. To put my hand on his arm and offer him whatever comfort I can. But I know that’s not what he wants, even if it might be what he needs.
Instead, I stay quiet. I don’t know where I stand or what we are to each other, but I do know he means more to me than I’ll admit to either of us.
Still, I let that silent chasm widen. By the time we pull down the long driveway to the house that I want to be mine—the house that might be his if I can’t make it work—we might as well be in different time zones.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask quietly.
“I’m not good company right now.”
“I don’t need good company,” I say with a smile that feels forced. “But maybe you need—”
“No.”
The word feels like a slap.
“I’m sorry,” he adds quickly. “I just...”
“I get it,” I say, even though I don’t. I mean, I do. He’s upset, and I’m not the person he wants to go to for solace. It’s stupid to let my feelings get hurt by that. To think that it has something to do with some sort of lack in me.
“I can get the scooter,” he says, unfastening his seatbelt.
“I’ll grab it. If you can just leave the containers next to the greenhouse, I’ll put them away in a bit.”
“I can—”
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the flower fields, and my chest aches watching him struggle with whatever’s churning inside him.
“I’m okay, Chase. Do whatever you need to do to get yourself right again. But know that you’re not wrong for what you’re feeling.”
“I feel like it would be easier if my father were dead,” he says, like he’s trying to shock me.
“Plenty of people—both kids and adults—have had that thought about a parent on more than one occasion.”
“Do you ever not see the good in someone?” he asks softly.
"I can't find much good in your father.”
"You aren't wrong." He's quiet for a moment, his hands tight on the steering wheel. "I never told you why I owe Linda."
I wait, heart hammering in my chest. I've been wanting him to tell me, but not like this, when he's so raw and hurting.
"It was the summer after high school graduation. I was partying my ass off every night, trying to forget that a few weeks earlier I’d found my best friend and my girlfriend fucking in the back of his pickup.
I was a mess, and I walked into the house to discover Dad beating on my mom—again.
Things had gotten better between them, or so my sister and I thought.
Turns out, Mom had just gotten better at hiding it.
Something in me snapped. Too many years of living in fear or maybe I needed an outlet for the anger and hurt I wouldn’t let myself feel over Teddy and Mariah.
Either way, I nearly put my father in the hospital. "
His voice is flat, like he's reading from a police report. "The cops arrested me, and while I was sitting in that cell, he sold my horse. Orion was the only thing I had that mattered and my shot at a future bigger than my past."
My throat tightens. "Chase—"
"Linda bailed me out. She and Teddy bought Orion back and kept him hidden at the farm until I could get my rodeo permit. They helped me buy a trailer and gave me enough money to leave town. I started with roping events before I moved to bull riding, and I couldn’t have done any of it without them.
” He finally turns to look at me. "That's the debt I owe. That's why I'm here."
The weight of it settles between us as all the pieces finally click into place.
"I'm glad they helped you." I have to look away before the ache in my chest shows on my face. I want to reach for him, to tell him I understand why he made the choices he did. That he isn’t alone.
But understanding doesn't change anything between us.
"Thanks for your help today. And for telling me.”
He nods but keeps his gaze on the steering wheel like it’s a Magic 8 Ball. I wish it could give me some answers.
I climb out of the truck, shut the passenger door, and take out the scooter. I can't wait until I get this stupid boot off my foot, so I can get rid of the ramp and every reminder of Chase Calhoun's kindness. I'll earn the money to buy this farm outright and move on—for me and my kids.
Then maybe I'll stop aching for things I can't have.
Because Chase is a man tied to a past that won't let him go, and I need to stay focused on the future.
Sure, he makes me feel seen and safe and alive in ways I never expected.
But he also makes me hope, and hope is dangerous when the man you're falling for is only here because he owes your dead husband.
I can't afford more heartbreak, and Chase isn’t the man for me, no matter how much I want him to be.