Jock Next Bed (BL)
Chapter 182: "Long time no see, Bastard."

Chapter 182: "Long time no see, Bastard."

"When your father and I first found out... were we worried? Yes. Did we think you might grow out of it? Yes. Did we hope you’d turn out to be straight? Yes."

Chris flinched slightly, but she reached over and took his hand before he could retreat into himself. "But," she continued, her voice steady, "could we do anything about it? No. And more importantly, did it change how much we love you? Never."

He swallowed, gripping her hand. "But you were worried."

She smiled faintly. "Because love, for people like us, is rare. It’s often arranged or done for convenience. But your father and I were lucky. We found love in each other. And more than anything, we wanted you to experience that too. To find someone who makes you happy, who understands you, who stands by you. Whether it’s a boy or a girl doesn’t matter. What matters is that you don’t settle for anything less than love."

Chris bit his lip, his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t quite name. "But then... I wouldn’t have an heir."

His mother looked firmly at him and, to his surprise, chuckled. "What century are you living in?" She shook her head. "There are surrogates everywhere, Chris. And even if there weren’t, do you really think the Owen Corporation would cease to exist just because there’s no tiny Owen heir running around?" She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Your legacy isn’t just in blood. It’s in what you build, the people you help, the future you create. That’s what truly lasts."

Chris sat in silence, his hands clasped in hers. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that.

His mother let go of his hands and sat upright, looking ahead at the alter.

"It’s been a long time since I prayed," she admitted softly, exhaling. "But I believe he will be fine."

Chris turned his head slightly, watching her.

She smiled at him—small but certain. "Your father has done too much good in his life to go just like that. Thousands of people are praying for him. Believe me, Chris. Thousands of people."

Chris swallowed, his throat tight. "And what if that’s just wishful thinking?" His voice was hoarse. "What if none of it matters? What if all the people pretending to care are just faking it? The media is already twisting everything—"

"Forget the media," she interrupted, shaking her head. "They can only say useless things."

Chris scoffed, running a hand down his face. He wasn’t convinced.

His mother leaned back against the pew, folding her arms. "Do you know why there’s been such an outpouring of support for the company?"

Chris frowned. "Stocks?"

She gave him a knowing look. "It’s not just business, Chris. It’s personal."

He turned to her fully now, waiting.

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Have you ever wondered why we have such high-ranking universities, yet we make tuition so affordable? Why some students even study for free?"

Chris hesitated. It was true. He had never really thought about it.

"Your father spent years building talents, Chris. Almost everyone working for the corporation wasn’t some rich person dabbling in business for fun. They were people using their flesh and blood to make things work."

Chris felt his chest tighten.

"He raised people," she continued. "Orphans, struggling students, people with no opportunities. He helped them develop their skills, guided them into their specific fields—academia, IT, business, entertainment, engineering. He gave them a future."

She gestured around the hospital. "Look at this place. Neither your father nor I know anything about medicine, yet this is the biggest hospital in the country. Do you know how that happened?"

Chris shook his head slowly.

"Because he trained talents," she said. "He sent them to study, to specialize in their fields, knowing their futures would be secure if they worked hard. Ophthalmology, pediatrics, psychology, gynecology, dermatology—everywhere. They earned their licenses, built this place together, and got a life for themselves."

Chris stared at her, his chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths. He had never cared much for what his parents did. None of those had mattered to him. Until now.

Her voice softened. "That’s the kind of man your father is, Chris. He invests in people. He believes in them. And now, those people are showing their gratitude, their loyalty, their love."

"Even if... even if your father doesn’t recover," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "the Owen Corporation will live on. Forever. It’s not just a company, Chris. It’s a legacy. It’s a testament to his belief in people."

Chris’s head snapped toward her. "He will recover." His voice was sharp, firm—like saying it out loud would make it true.

She turned to him, watching him for a moment before offering a small, tired smile. "I hope so too."

The weight in his chest felt heavier. He didn’t want to think about that possibility. Couldn’t. Because if his father wasn’t here, then what the hell was he supposed to do?

Chris remained there long after his mother left, staring at the flickering candlelight at the altar. He wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to say, but he pressed his hands together and whispered a quiet prayer anyway.

"Please... just let my father be okay."

His breath trembled slightly as he exhaled. He didn’t expect an answer, but just saying the words out loud felt like lifting a fraction of the weight off his chest.

And then—

A voice, dripping with familiar sarcasm, cut through the silence.

"Do you think... your father was just too exhausted from having such a nagging son that he decided to fake being sick just to get away from you?"

Chris froze. His fingers twitched. His heart skipped a beat.

He knew that voice. He could pick it out in a crowd, recognize it even in his dreams.

Slowly, almost afraid that he was imagining things, he turned around.

Chestnut brown eyes. Tall, lean frame. That same smirk that was both infuriating and stupidly attractive. His hair was no longer the dyed white Chris last remembered, now a rich brown shade, cut shorter but still effortlessly stylish. He was dressed in a semi-casual outfit, the kind that made him look like he had just stepped out of some high-end magazine.

Chris couldn’t stop staring.

Liam.

Liam Adley.

Their gazes locked, and for the first time in days, Chris felt something other than exhaustion.

Liam smiled, slow and teasing. "Long time no see, Bastard." His voice was even deeper than the last time Chris remembered. Maybe he even grew an inch or two taller.

Chris let out a breathy laugh, a grin breaking onto his face before he could stop it.

"Son of a bitch," he greeted back, his voice lighter than it had been in what felt like forever.