~~Author's note~~

Many thanks to T Traveller & Snoopylover60 for pre-reading and sharing your thoughts with me.

ALL MISTAKES ARE MINE

About this chapter: Dear readers, in this chapter, we get Ana's complete backstory. So far, I've given you bits and pieces of her life scattered in different chapters. It's taken a while, I know. BTW, hard to believe we're almost at 100K words! But you know, it seemed to me, the best time for Ana to talk about her childhood was when Christian is struggling with revelations about his home life when he was growing up.

The best part of this chapter? The title: Swamp Fox and the Billionaire :D

Chapter twenty-seven

That same night, Christian tossed and turned in bed, the same thoughts replaying in his head. The weight of tonight's revelations felt unreal, very much like watching a movie with an unrelatable plot and unlikeable main characters.

The only active character he could relate to in this production was Elliot. He, too, had been fooled and lied to all these years. Sometimes, people needed to get away and sort things out, which explained why Elliot had hopped on the next flight to visit his elderly grandmother.

However, this only partially explained his failure to communicate with Kate. Unless he also needed a break from his nagging wife? Even so, he wondered if he'd realized his mistake moments before his plane went down and wished he'd talked to her one last time.

He couldn't imagine anything worse than that.

Eventually, he got tired of battling thoughts about his own mortality. He got out of bed, careful of not waking his wife.

Twenty minutes later, he was sitting at his desk, staring blankly at his computer screen.

His brows rose in surprise to see Ana come into the study.

"Hey, I thought you were asleep," He asked.

"I reached for you, and you weren't there," she exhaled deeply and came to stand behind him.

She bent down to nuzzle his hair and started massaging his shoulders.

"You like that, hmm?"

He turned his head to nuzzle her cheek. "Feels great... sorry I woke you."

"Talk to me, sweetheart," She murmured, her hands easing away the tension in his muscles, loosening the knots.

"And stay up all night talking? Work tomorrow."

Ana's phone vibrated with a message. Usually, she would ignore it this late at night, but it was Kate's mother.

"Hon, this will take a second," she said, and Christian nodded.

"How's Kate doing?" He asked as Ana turned the phone off and set it facedown on his desk.

"She's asleep now with the help of a mild sedative. I'm glad her folks are staying with her tonight," she replied, her thumbs returning to massage the knots and kinks in his neck.

He groaned in relief. And for a few moments, all thoughts vanished from his head until a sudden isolated memory flashed into his mind. The memory was of Carrick and Grace during their wedding anniversary party fifteen years ago. Their behavior had seemed normal to him, even though, looking back, they were clearly disengaged and standoffish with one another.

"I cannot believe-" He trailed off, flustered. For the first time in his life, he felt flooded by a barrage of emotions he couldn't name. "What he-that son-of-a-bitch did was unforgivable."

Ana blinked back in response. It was rare for her husband to curse. Perhaps, stranger still was that Carrick hadn't even tried to deny it when Grace confronted him.

A cheater's typical response was to deny all evidence of wrongdoing.

It is written in the Cheater's Manual: The Ultimate Guide to Cheating on Your Spouse and Getting Away With It.

They were both startled by the sound of Christian's phone vibrating. And he rolled his eyes at the interruption.

It was Grace. He didn't feel like talking to her right now, particularly not this late at night.

"Chris! Don't do that," she exhaled deeply.

"I have nothing to say to her."

"At least tell her you'll talk to her tomorrow," she replied, and he shook his head no. "Give her a chance to give you her side of the story. Don't treat her like she was the guilty one. She was NOT the unfaithful one, you know."

"She should have left him."

"She's your mom; you cannot treat her like persona non grata."

Christian groaned in response. A pause, and then a more thoughtful response.

"I just don't get it."

Ana shook her head in bewilderment. "She did it for you...so you could have a happy childhood," she replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"No," he mumbled, leaning his head back against the headrest. "She didn't have to do that. She SHOULD have divorced him. If she stayed for me, then it was obviously the wrong choice. No wonder she kept going through cycles of depression. It all makes sense now," he said somewhat bitterly. "I could have used a happy mother."

I could have used a happy mother.

There was no denying this last statement was a poignant one, Ana thought.

Even though Christian had never complained, she had personally witnessed his struggles as a teenager. By the time she and Christian became best friends, he'd taken full responsibility for his mother's emotional well-being.

Somewhere along the way, Christian had stopped being the child and became Grace's therapist. He developed humor out of necessity; it became his way of drawing her out of her depression.

It had been too much of a burden for Christian, she knew.

However, she also felt a great deal of compassion for Grace. Besides, it wasn't as if he and Grace could climb in a time machine and fix whatever went wrong in his childhood.

"Knowing mama Grace, I'm sure she made the best decision she could. There was no perfect solution in her situation, but I'm sure she must have felt it was for the best."

Christian smiled a little at the term of endearment. Mama Grace.

"You have no idea how lucky you are to have her as your mom," she went on, in a tone that clearly implied she thought Grace was a saint. "Grace is the sweetest, most gentle soul. She welcomed me with open arms, remember? She barely knew me...but she trusted me because she knew we were friends..."

"Mom welcomed you alright... especially when she thought you had a bun in the oven," he reflected with a hint of amusement.

She returned the smile. "Of course, that helped too," she couldn't help but chuckle.

His smile slowly faded as his mind circled back. "Mom didn't have to sacrifice her entire life for me," he declared.

" You're her only son...Of course, she would sacrifice for you, not just once but twenty times over if she had to. That's how she's wired."

Christian shook his head. The question still remained: how could his mother have stayed after he cheated...and with her sister-in-law, of all people!

He shook his head. "We only live once. Mom deserved to be happy."

Ana pressed her forehead against his and combed his hair with her fingers, hoping this simple gesture communicated she understood how conflicted he felt.

"You know what he said to me while he made arrangements to join the search party?" he went on, his brows knitting tightly in disgust and frustration. "He said his infidelity was a mistake. Can you believe that? He's so full of shit. Lying and cheating are NOT freaking mistakes; they're intentional choices."

Ana didn't respond. She simply looked up at him, thoughtfully.

"If I ever felt tempted to cheat on you, I would cut my own arm out first."

She grimaced at the graphic detail.

"Once trust is eroded from a relationship, there's nothing left to save," Christian declared.

Ana cocked her head. The seriousness of his tone gave her pause. "I agree. I feel the same way...however, I would not do the arm cutting thing."

"If I couldn't trust you, Ana, I couldn't be with you. And if I couldn't be with you, life would not be worth living."

She was momentarily speechless at the passion behind the words.

She stopped rubbing his shoulders, pulled his chair to a reclining position, and leaned forward. He tilted his head to look at her, and his eyes locked.

"That's how much I love you...however cheesy that may sound, I don't care."

There it was again, that glimpse of humor behind those gray eyes of his.

"No, it's not cheesy at all. It's lovely."

Perhaps 'lovely' wasn't the best adjective, but it was the first thing that came to mind, she thought, as she leaned into peck his lips.

They kissed, tenderly at first, then his hands swept her up, and she slid onto his lap all in one seamless motion. The kiss turning from tender to fierce and then to tender again.

And then his phone beeped loudly three times. That only meant a series of long texts.

"She will not stop, will she?" He murmured, rolling his eyes. In the next moment, he typed a quick text message. "There. I told her I'd call her later. I hope you're happy," he said to Ana in a defeated tone.

"Well, that's certainly better," she conceded. "You're lucky to have a mother like Grace when you were growing up. Remember, my mother left with her lover? You have no idea how much I wished she would be back one day and take me with her. She never did."

Christian wrapped his arms around her and his gaze softened. The subject of Carla was a sensitive one for Ana. Over the years, she always found a way to skirt around the topic of her mother whenever it came up.

He knew the facts. After ending her marriage to Ray, Carla shacked up with a younger man. Ray confronted her with evidence of her infidelity, compromising photographs provided by a private investigator. After the divorce, Carla moved in with her lover. Ana stayed with Ray, with Carla having visitation over the next year. Then, one day, she never showed for her monthly visit. She called Ana to tell her she had moved out of state.

Ana was devastated she didn't even get a chance to hug her goodbye.

"I never told you this...but she called me one day when I was fourteen. She said she was coming to Seattle that weekend so we could spend time together. I hated her for leaving me, but we had a good conversation over the phone," a shadow clouded her face. "It was ridiculous how I let a single conversation..." She trailed off, her internal struggle painfully clear. "I was so excited to see her...but she never showed."

In response, Christian kissed her eyelids softly, her face, and the top of her head.

"I promised myself if she ever came back, the first thing I would do is return ALL her things...including every gift she'd ever given me." She exhaled deeply. "It would have been the last thing she'd ever expected, getting smacked in the face with an avalanche of unwanted memories. How's that for payback?"

He pulled back to look into her eyes. She looked into his eyes for a second before lowering her gaze. He lifted her chin and searched her eyes again.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I'm glad you told me."

"Please tell me you don't think I'm some kind of freak."

"I don't think you're a freak."

"Yes, you do.

"Okay, you are. But you're my kind of freak, the kind I can't live without."

She smiled back, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

"So you've just been bidding your time, huh?"

"Huh-huh."

"I see."

"It beats a confrontation for abandoning me. When you think about it, it's a win for me. I remain calm and collected while I watch her reaction."

"Maybe," he replied noncommittally.

She laid her head against his chest and closed her eyes for a few moments.

"Ana... What if instead of the sorrow and remorse you've been expecting, she reacts with indifference?" He questioned gently.

Ana's desire for some kind of retribution didn't surprise him. What surprised him was how she was still hanging on. He thought he knew everything about her. But no. The extent of the hoarding had definitely taken him by surprise.

"Those things she left behind were cast-offs, to begin with..." He pointed out. "Otherwise, she would have returned for them long ago."

Ana chewed her lower lip. She knew it was time to let go of the past, but she had no idea how.

"Maybe... but can I still have my fantasy?" She half-joked.

"You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think we both could use some good old-fashioned therapy."

"We make quite the pair, don't we? You and I are not so different after all. We both come from dysfunctional families," she said ruefully.

"Dysfunctional? The way I see it, everyone is pretty much normal," he paused thoughtfully, " until we all get together, that is."

"This holiday season ought to be an interesting one, she added in a light-hearted note. "We could still plan a nice gathering with the family members that are still speaking to each other."

Christian smiled despite himself. "Would you promise me one thing, though?"

Ana sighed, expecting their little interlude to be over, with a return to a more difficult subject like hoarding or unfaithfulness.

"Promise me, Anastasia Grey, that no matter what happens, you and I will always have each other backs."

She exhaled easily. "Of course."

"In turn, I promise, I'll never do things to deliberately drive a wedge between us..." He paused for effect. "I will always put the cap back on the toothpaste, even when YOU forget. And when the baby comes, I will gladly relieve you of having to deal with dirty diapers and sleepless nights...because that's why God invented nannies," he said with a boyish grin. She grinned back.

"Oh, I promise to never, EVER get one of those annoying stickers that say my dysfunctional family ate your stick figure family."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Ana scrambled off his lap to get her phone.

"You got an entire folder dedicated to bumper stickers?" He chuckled as she pointed at some of the photos she'd snapped while she was out and about.

Darth Vader hates your stick figure family.

His personal favorite was a sticker of a family of five titled: The Ass family. Paired with the last name 'Ass,' each person's first name made a striking combination. And so the father was 'Wise.' The wife: 'Smart.' Oldest son: 'Lazy.' Daughter: 'Kiss.' Younger son: 'Dumb.'

"Did you save all these pictures for me?" He asked fondly. One of the best things about her was, she never missed the chance to share a laugh.

"I did!"

"Out of all the freaks in the world, you're the only one for me..." He grinned, and she punched him playfully on the arm. "You're the only one who really gets me."

...

Once Carrick arrived at the Atchafalaya, America's largest basin river swamp, he joined a group of rescuers venturing out in two canoes, three men in each canoe. At once, it was decided that Carrick would ride with Jake, the leader, and commander of the operation.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but you don't even have the right shoes," Jake pointed out. The comment expressed his misgivings about having someone in his group with no professional experience in the field.

Jake was in his mid-forties. He was dressed in a heavy-weight military-style shirt, waterproof tactical pants, and a pair of tall, rugged boots almost all the way up to his knees.

"Are we supposed to follow you, or you yell, and we follow your commands?" Carrick joked, dismissive of his comment.

"Everybody, this is a rescue mission; we got to keep our eyes wide open at all times. Every second could mean the difference between life and death. So, we're here to rescue but also to survive," Jake continued looking mostly at Carrick. "And when I mean survival, I mean as a group. To survive, we need to be fully present. We need the skills and the knowledge of what to do and when. Your brain is the ultimate survival tool."

"Well, I got the boy-scout Wilderness survival merit badge," Carrick bragged when others in the group shared their experience in a variety of rescue missions.

His eyes zeroed in on the stupid-looking red bandana tied around Jake's neck. How could he take this redneck seriously? He was clearly uneducated.

Jake ignored Carrick's comment and addressed the group.

"Listen up, everybody. Before we risk our neck out there, we need to be clear on the goals. The dangers of the swamp include not just our larger than life alligators, but mosquitos, insects, the wasp nests."

"Alligators are known as the king of the everglades," one of the men said in his role of self-appointed travel guide. "They can range anywhere from eight to 15 feet. The force of their jaw is roughly the equivalent of steel found in a car. However, ironically, their spoon-shaped jaw makes it difficult to pick up food..."

"And so they swallow their meals whole," Jake concluded, looking at Carrick.

Right then, Carrick spotted a set of eyes and a snout lurking beneath the water. He held his breath and wordlessly pointed to the general area while scooting closer to the center of the canoe.

"Don't worry, Mr. Grey," Jake chuckled. "In reality, these gators are more scared of you than you are of them. Encounters between humans and these wild creatures are fairly rare."

After paddling for a half hour or so, Jake led the way as they disembarked into a quick excursion through rugged terrain.

"Watch out," Jake warned as he sidestepped a pile of muck water.

Carrick, however, was distracted checking his phone. His Nikes sinking deep into the muck.

Jake was about to lend him a hand when a swarm of mosquitos flew around his face.

"Fuck!" He screamed when he lost his balance and dropped his phone in the muddy water. "I...I can't fucking believe it," he cursed upon realizing his cellphone had been rendered virtually useless.

The men laughed as they watched the billionaire curse, swatting the mosquitoes away in a new form of breakdance.

Jake saved the day by dumping the contents of his canteen over Carrick's head. In his book, it beat getting him sprayed with mosquito repellent.

Carrick gave him a murderous look. "Hey!" He shouted, shaking his head. "Who do you think you are, Swamp Fox?"

Jake threw his head back and laughed at the reference.

During the Revolutionary War, Swamp Fox had been known for his cunning and resourcefulness when fighting the British in the swamps of South Carolina.

The entertainment continued. Carrick put on another show while performing the unpleasant task of removing the muck off his shoes with a stick. He made a series of disgusted faces and gagged. For a while, it looked like he was about to vomit all over himself.

"Hey, It's getting dark. We need to head back, " Jake sneered, pissed they had wasted so much time already.

At last, the group made it back to the canoe. They barely left when they were sidetracked.

"Let's check out that area over there," Carrick pointed to a patch of land surrounded by water.

"No, we need to stay on course," Jake replied.

"Hey! There's something over there!" Carrick insisted.

"What did you say?" One of the other men asked.

"There's somebody out there!...he's wearing a red baseball cap," Carrick said even though he wasn't one hundred percent sure.

Most reluctantly, Jake steered closer.

Carrick held his breath, certain that Elliot was out there.

After repeated sightings, the men rolled their eyes and exchanged annoyed looks.

"There's nobody out there, man," one of the men grumbled.

The group then demanded they head back to the mainland and abandon this wild goose chase.

Seeing he was losing the battle, Carrick pulled out of his pocket a stack of hundreds and "persuaded" two of the men to separate from Jake and venture further into the marshland. The problem was, it was getting dark.

An hour later, it was so dark they could barely make out each other's silhouettes. The two other guys who stayed behind refused to continue further into the marshland. They radioed Jake and started heading back to the canoe.

"It must have been a mirage, whatever you saw," one of the men sneered as they walked away.

"Hey, I paid you...come back!" Carrick demanded authoritatively, forgetting the men were free agents, and he was not their boss.

One of the men took pity on him and tossed him a walkie-talkie as an afterthought.

As they marched off, they radioed Jake. Apparently, Jake had already radioed for backup help, indicating how a very stubborn millionaire refused to follow his orders.

After sliding the walkie-talkie into his back pocket, Carrick continued walking around in circles. After a while, it became clear he wasn't making any headway. Not only that, but he was sweating profusely, and his feet were developing painful blisters. This place was hell on earth.

However, the thought of finding Elliot kept him moving forward.

Another hour went by. He was growing weaker, his fifty-eight-year-old bones weighing heavily on him.

He nearly collapsed when he lost his footing and fell in a puddle of brackish water, and scraping his leg.

He cursed, especially when he realized he lost his flashlight too.

Somehow, he got back on his feet. As he dragged himself through thick terrains of dried brush, he started limping as his leg was beginning to swell.

"Elliot? Elliot?" He called out at the top of his voice. At once, his feverish mind played tricks on him.

The echo of his own voice answered back, yet he was convinced it was Elliot's voice calling.

An hour later, there were no signs of his beloved Elliot. Carrick staggered and stumbled like a drunkard. In a weird twist of fate, he was now channeling his dead brother, he thought miserably.

He was now freezing cold, teeth clattering.

Yet, he pushed forward. He couldn't give up now; he had to make things right with the boy he had taken under his wing at the tender age of thirteen.

Out in the distance, he heard a frightening roar.

In his mind's eye, he pictured himself being chased by a bear and then falling straight into the mouth of a 20-foot alligator.

God, no. He couldn't die like this, at the mercy of wild beasts and surrounded by a sea of darkness!

"Help! Someone, help!" His voice boomed through the low-frequency radio.

...

"Hello?" Jake answered.

"Jake? Head back to the mainland pronto. We found the last group of survivors!"

"I'm afraid I can't."

"What's going on?"

"It's the billionaire...I didn't think he'd be stupid enough to stay behind. We got to go back for him."

"Fantastic!" The voice on the other end of the line replied sarcastically. "If something happens to him, his family will take us to the cleaners...especially because his nephew, Elliot Grey, wasn't in the group of survivors."

This only meant one thing, of course. In the next breath, Jake asked if the billionaire's nephew was among the dead.

"No, he's not. We just got confirmation. As it turned out, a passenger, a school teacher matching Grey's description, confessed to boarding the flight under Grey's name. He and Grey swapped flights. Grey's flight took off two hours later and arrived on time at Tallahassee International Airport."

Jake scratched his head. "You mean to tell me that Elliot Grey swapped identities with a lower ranker?"

"So far, it looks like a classic case of the Prince and the Pauper."

"What? Was he trying to fake his own death or something? Jake exhaled loudly. In the next moment, he dismissed the idea. "Nah...it's not like he knew the aircraft would crash. "Anywho, are you telling me Grey landed safe and sound in Tallahassee?"

"He sure did...we'll know more when they bring him in for questioning."