Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

K irsty sat in the quarry, feet dangling in the smooth, dark water. The cold on her toes was a relief from the temperatures. It was twenty-five degrees at night; the heatwave had finally reached Scotland. Happened occasionally.

Past eleven on a weeknight and nobody was here, not even pished teenagers. The sloshing of water against the floating wooden jetty was the only sound. But she wasn’t used to the night’s calm anymore. It unsettled her a little.

Kirsty had taken her da’s old van to get to the quarry, the place she used to come to think. Was only a five-minute drive. Soon, proud lifelong driver Myles Munro wouldn’t be able to drive anymore. Not even for five minutes.

Bloody Parkinson’s.

She took a deep breath and let her mind drift away from the crushing news that was like a repeated stomach punch. Her da’s diagnosis was still overwhelming. The family was reeling with shock and uncertainty. Kirsty didn’t know what to do or how to feel about it all. She’d never given much thought to something like this. Even though it had been inevitable. Her parents wouldn’t live forever, nobody did. But the reality of her strong, stubborn, lively da eventually being reduced to a husk of a man with shaking hands and slurred speech was frankly unimaginable.

Parkinson’s was a progressive disease, there was no cure. Yes, there were medications. But her da would need more and more care as time went on. And who would take care of him?

Her maw? Herself?

The thought turned her belly into a sinking stone. Of course, Kirsty would do anything for her father, but she also had her own life to consider. She couldn’t put everything on hold for him.

Or could she?

And what exactly was ‘everything’ – PulseJournal, stress-baking, and late-night takeout?

Kirsty picked up a small, smooth pebble from the jetty, rolling it in her fingers. The best thing was to take life day by day, starting with being there for her parents. One way or another. The responsibility pushed down heavy on her shoulders.

She slid out of her dress and knickers, off her towel, and into the water. The chill wrapped around her. For a moment, she was weightless under water. When she couldn’t hold her breath any longer and her lungs were about to burst, she broke the surface, gasping for air.

She turned and floated on her back, gazing at the stars across the glittering sky. A few tiny clouds drifted by like smudges on the night’s freckles.

This silly nickname.

She drifted leisurely in the solitude and quiet, the tune of R.E.M.’s Nightswimming playing in her head. She used to love the band back then.

There were lots of things she used to love back then. Brown lip liner, cut-off shorts, Doc Martens. Her nose ring. Irn-Bru.

Connor Bannerman.

Och, damn him .

Kirsty dunked her head under water to banish any thoughts of this man. Had this place been their secret night-time sanctuary for all sorts of shenanigans? Yes, yes, it had. But before that, the quarry had always been her own refuge, ever since she’d been a girl.

She looked up at the cliff-side, soft shadows in the nocturnal light, where she had spent countless childhood afternoons dreaming up adventures. She and her friend Lucy used to dare each other to jump from the cliffs, their happy shrieks echoing across the quarry. Back in the days when kids took off on their bikes and disappeared until dinner, without pre-arranged playdates or phone tracking.

How she wished Lucy was here now to help her deal with the situation. But Lucy was halfway across the world, working for an energy company somewhere in Venezuela. That was the last thing Kirsty had heard. Lucy had moved to Canada with her parents right after they’d finished school. Just before the rise of Facebook. And then life had got in the way, as it so often did. They hadn’t spoken in ages.

I miss you, Luce.

Kirsty had friends in London, sure. Like her ex-colleague Eleanor. But they weren’t the kind of people she could call after ten to talk about illness and death and all that. It would have been…weird. Inappropriate. Uncool.

As she turned back toward the jetty, she saw a lone figure standing next to her things.

What the…

She treaded water, squinting to make out who it was. This corner of Scotland was a rather unspectacular part of the world, even psycho-killers didn’t know about it.

Hopefully.

Also, now was a really, really inconvenient time to get murdered.

But as the moon came out behind a single cloud and illuminated the figure’s outline, Kirsty’s heart flipped for a different reason than fear. She’d recognise that silhouette in a line-up of hundreds – broad shoulders, muscular build, arms crossed over a barrel chest.

Connor.

For fuck’s sake. She sank lower into the water. Of all the times and places for him to pop up like an unwanted apparition, it had to be here and now – when she was floating naked and exposed in the middle of their old quarry.

She considered diving and slowly drifting to the edge to skedaddle, but it was too late.

‘Kirsty?’

‘No.’

‘Let me try again. Isabel?’

The corner of her mouth twitched in a suppressed smile. ‘Warmer.’

He held up her dress. ‘You left your skin ashore.’

‘Good that I’m no selkie.’ She splashed water in his direction, even though it wouldn’t reach him. ‘This town really is too small for the two of us, Bannerman. What the hell are you doing here?’

‘Came to think,’ the silhouette replied tersely.

‘About what?’ She couldn’t tell why she even bothered.

He cleared his throat. ‘Nothing.’

‘Liar,’ she shot back.

‘Why don’t you come out the water and I’ll tell you?’

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you come in and I’ll drown you?’

‘You couldn’t if you tried. Not with your spaghetti arms.’

Spaghetti arms. That’s how he’d used to tease her when they’d had playfully tussled, always ending in feverish smooching.

Oooh, the smooching. Very, very good smooching.

She didn’t know where it came from – the sweltering day, the cool water, the worry in her heart, or nostalgia – but she felt cocky. ‘C’mon in, Bannerman. Or are you afraid your baws are gonna shrivel to raisins and fall off?’

Faster than she could count to three, he had ripped off his shirt. Away went his shoes and shorts.

Holy moly.

Most people who had played sports in their youth had the decency to become a bit chubby around the mid-section in their thirties. Not him. As far as she could tell in the dim moonlight, this particular prick nearly sported a six-pack.

She tried forcing her hormones to behave themselves. No chance. Those treacherous bastards were clearly in cahoots with the enemy. But to be fair, she last had sex about two years ago. No wonder those wee chemicals were running like cows to pasture at the mere sight of a naked man.

That was all it was. Just pent-up hormones and a random guy in a skin suit.

He plunged into the water, one with the elements. Strong Poseidon energy. Within seconds, he caught up to her in a few powerful strokes.

Retreat, retreat!

‘Evening, Freckles.’

She hated the way his baritone tingled in her ears and decided to deflect. ‘How are your baws, Bannerman? Shrivelled?’

He snorted and checked with one hand. ‘Nope. Nice and plump. But I appreciate your concern.’

With him so near and so naked in the water next to her under the stars, this moment was time travel. Fire blazed up her neck and face as he inched closer, the water rippling around his broad shoulders. She averted her gaze, cursing herself for letting him get to her so easily.

‘What’s wrong, can’t stand the sight of me?’

‘Not really, no.’ Kirsty lifted her chin. ‘And I’ve seen better.’

That was a flat-out lie. Connor had always been striking, even as a boy. Now, with his more muscular frame and that damned stubble, he was impossibly handsome. In a rugged, worn-out kind of way. Like an expensive pair of rustic leather boots. It really riled her up.

Kirsty paddled backwards, trying to create space between them. But he followed, his strokes effortless as he closed the gap. ‘You’re not getting away that easy again,’ he said. ‘Not until we talk.’

‘About what?’

But she knew the answer.

‘About Hogmanay.’

Her heart cowered at the mention of that night. She had spent the last one and a half decades trying to forget it. ‘What’s there to talk about?’ She aimed for nonchalance and missed. ‘We were young and daft. We’ve both moved on.’

She needed to get out the water and looked back over her shoulder to the jetty, then back to Connor.

His face hardened into a mask of seriousness and something else. ‘Have we?’

God, that wasn’t okay. She wasn’t ready to face him. Their past. Not while her heart was so heavy with worry for her da.

And Connor was too close, too real, too much.

‘Kirsty.’ His voice was low and gritty. ‘Let me say I’m sorry. For what I did and said that night. It was petty and pathetic. I was a stupid boy with a fragile ego. A fucking eejit. You deserved better than that. But I was scared shitless…insecure. So I acted like an arse. I hate that I hurt you. If I could take it back, I would.’

His apology thickened the night air between them. Inside her, tension tightened like a rope on the verge of tearing. ‘I can’t do this, Connor. Not right now.’

She crawled to the jetty as fast as she could, making an awful lot of noise with her paddling feet.

‘Kirsty, wait.’ He swam after her.

She reached the jetty and stopped. Her hands clung to the wood, and she didn’t turn around. ‘I can’t get out.’

‘Why not?’

She hesitated. ‘Because I’m naked.’

‘And? So am I.’

Did he have to remind her of that? ‘I don’t want you to see me naked.’

‘I promise not to look.’ There was an undeniable smirk in his voice.

‘You could be lying, Bannerman.’

‘Wouldn’t dare. But even if I were to look – which I’m not saying I was – it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.’

‘That’s sadly not true,’ she said.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Last time you saw me naked, I was eighteen. There’s no way I’d let you see me naked now and destroy your precious memory.’

He dissolved into laughter, low and rugged.

‘No, I’m serious! My bum is flat after ages on cheap office chairs.’

‘You’re insane, Freckles.’ He shook his head, the droplets hit the skin on her neck. ‘Now stop being silly. I’ll get out before you and stand with my back to you. So you can be sure I’m not peeking. Awright?’

‘That’s…acceptable.’

‘And by the way,’ he said as he lifted himself out the water, ‘I don’t mind you staring at my arse. Take your time.’

Oh, that arrogant bastard .

He got out and positioned himself two metres before her, towelling off in silence. The water on his back caught the moonlight like glitter. It was a sight to behold. Because his back was covered in a large tattoo. She could only glimpse its outline. A huge, ancient ship broken in half, sails billowed, tossed in a tumultuous sea.

Well, that’s new.

It was way too hot on him, took her a second to catch herself on. But eventually, Kirsty clambered out the water, dripping and shivering. She gave herself a quick rubdown, then slipped back into her dress. ‘Done.’ She sat down on her towel.

Connor, in shorts and t-shirt, turned around hesitantly. As his gaze settled on her, the green of his eyes warmed in the moonlight.

‘What?’ She was aware that she sounded defensive. But right now, she was filled with battling emotions, tender like a bruise. And she would rather write twenty meaningless fluff pieces for Grigori than let any of it show.

‘Och, nothing.’ His jaw was set tightly. ‘You look…well. Changed, but not much.’

‘Is that your attempt at a compliment?’ She rolled her eyes, trying to mask the tremor his words incited within her. ‘Cut the sweet talk, Bannerman.’

His gaze homed in on her with a fierceness that made her squirm. She quickly looked away and stared ahead at the water, its calm surface reflecting the night sky.

He lowered himself on his towel next to her and the warmth he exuded, his scent, his calm presence, were so unfairly familiar and comforting. She felt the draw of the years they’d shared, the magnetic force of their history. So powerful, it lulled her. This setting had once been the backdrop of adolescent love, now it served as a stage for hard truths and harsh realities.

She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them tight. ‘Some things change,’ she murmured, more to herself than to him. ‘People grow apart, grow old.’

‘They grow up.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘I’ve often wondered what would’ve happened.’

She sighed. ‘You’re not going to let this go, are you?’

‘How can I? Been beating myself up about it.’

Kirsty’s breath snagged in her throat at his confession. It chipped away at the walls she’d built. ‘Connor, I—’

‘No need to say anything. It’s okay. I get if it’s too much. I know I fucked up. Just had to get it off my chest.’

‘It’s… You know… I-I can’t really talk about this now.’ A sob threatened to implode inside her. ‘Not to be a cow, but I’m not in the right headspace. I… Never mind.’ She twisted the hem of her dress.

Even though years had passed, he still knew her well enough. Knew that she had serious troubles. He reached for her hand, his fingers grazing hers before settling in a firm but gentle grip. She didn’t pull away.

‘What’s going on, Freckles? I won’t leave until you tell me.’

And that was it.

Her walls – obviously made of third-grade concrete and dust bunnies – simply evaporated. No match for his damn kindness. She surrendered to the urge of throwing herself into his arms, to be comforted by Connor, and turned to him.

‘It’s all going to shite.’ Stinging tears built up in her eyes.

‘What do you mean? I need specifics.’ His grip on her hand tightened just enough to be reassuring.

She took a deep, trembling breath. The fragility of her current state clashed with the stubborn independence she had cultivated over the years. So the words whooshed out of her, ‘The café is going bust. I hate my job. And my da has Parkinson’s.’

‘What? Woah, slow down, Freckles,’ he murmured. ‘What… That is shite. Jesus. That is a lot of shite.’

‘I know. But I don’t know what to do. I don’t—’

And then came the sobs.

‘Shhh… It’s awright.’ Connor wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. A gesture so instinctive and protective that she had no choice but to give in. To let the tears flow. He didn’t bombard her with questions or fill the silence with empty words. He simply held her, quietly, letting the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat steady her.

After everlasting minutes, her tears ebbed. ‘Shit, I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m getting snot on your t-shirt.’ She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

This was the first time she truly felt at home since she’d got back to Cairnhaven. Here, in his arms of all places. She moved her head and glanced at Connor, observing the way the starlight played along his features. His prominent nose with the small indent. Visibly once broken, thanks to his rugby days. And she remembered sharply why she’d fallen for him in the first place. The rough, pretty boy with the huge, soft heart .

‘Snot all over me for as long as you want. Cry until all your tears are out.’ His voice was strained, as if under pressure, his muscles tensed.

It was then that Kirsty realised how physically close they actually were and that maybe she wasn’t the only one who had involuntarily boarded the nostalgia train back to teenage-romance land.

Whoa, no. Not good.

She jumped up. ‘I have to go. This isn’t… I have to go.’

‘Another one of your emergency exits, Freckles? Right. Off you go then. I’ll see you in town.’

With a frenzied flurry, she snatched up her belongings, blood ringing in her ears.

‘Just know this,’ he added with a calm conviction that set her pulse racing, ‘I’m always here.’