Chapter 415
Chapter 415:
“He’s faking,” Ashton said.
He pushed open the door.
Still staring at the screen, Reginald waved a hand. “Gwen, you can leave. The nurse’ll sort everything. No need for you to hang around p>
No one answered.
A few seconds later, he looked to the door and froze. Ashton stood in the middle of the room, watching him.
The apple slipped out of Reginald’s hand and dropped to the floor. It rolled a short distance before stopping against Ashton’s shoe. Ashton lowered his gaze to it, then looked up again.
Reginald’s throat bobbed.
“You—what are you doing p>
“Dad.” Ashton smiled wider. “Thought I’d check in. Heard your back’s been giving you trouble. Doesn’t all that sitting hurt p>
His voice was smooth, relaxed, almost lazy.
Reginald, however, flinched as if someone had just opened a window in January. He blinked fast, grabbed at his lower back, and collapsed theatrically onto the pillows. “Christ, my spine… can’t sit five minutes without agony. Appreciate you coming, though. Been swamped with meetings p>
Ashton took a step forward. Then another. He stopped at the edge of the bed and leaned down, pressing his fingers into Reginald’s lower back.
“Ow! Bloody hell!” Reginald howled. “You trying to paralyze me p>
Ashton pressed down harder on the man’s lower back without blinking.
Reginald howled again and squirmed like a stuck pig.
“What are you doing? Have you lost it?” he shouted.
“You look far too comfortable to be in pain,” Ashton said coolly. “Thought I’d help you feel it properly p>
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Reginald shot upright, his face blotchy and furious. “I’m not faking it! Why would I fake an injury? Who in their right mind checks into a hospital for fun p>
“You’re not in your right mind,” Ashton said.
Reginald’s face flushed deeper. “I didn’t fake anything! You’re talking rubbish p>
Ashton ignored that. “Doesn’t matter. Your back’s fine. That little stunt won’t delay your flight. Get packed. You’re leaving for Africa p>
“NO, I’m bloody not!” Reginald flung himself backward, dragged the duvet over his head, and went limp. “I can’t even stand, let alone get on a plane p>
“You think I can’t make you go p>
Reginald peeked out from under the covers, his tone suddenly soft and coaxing. “Ashton, son, I’m your father. You can’t treat me like this. Let me rest. It’s freezing here. Let me go sometime in June, yeah p>
“You hate the cold? Good. It’s warm in Africa. You’ll be toasty p>
“I’m not talking about the bloody weather!” Reginald snapped. “My joints are shot. Can’t you let me enjoy my retirement like a civilized old man p>
“You’re in your prime, not in a coffin. And it’s back pain, not a terminal illness. I’ve just funded three hospitals over there. You’ll be cured before jet lag sets in p>