Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“I can’t promise anything, Quinn. But your first instinct was to protect me and … I guess maybe I need to know. I just need to know if you …” She looked away, the muscle in her jaw ticking. “I’ve spent the last nineteen years believing you fell out of love with me and moved on so easily with Kiera.”
Anguish and fury at her words mingled, but I clamped my lips shut.
Taran seemed to have to force herself to look me in the eye. “It probably won’t change anything … but I need to know what you were thinking when you chose Kiera.”
“Taran—”
“Tomorrow. Eight o’clock.” She turned, her ponytail whipping around with the movement as she strode quickly back to London. The American threaded her arm through Taran’s and together they strolled off into the night.
“I’ve spent the last nineteen years believing you fell out of love with me and moved on so easily with Kiera.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. If only she knew. If only she fucking knew.
24. Quinn
October, Ten Years Ago
Band practice with Laird Macbeth was the last place I should be tonight. It had been a constant battle between my mind and heart not to delve back into past history, and I was losing it this week. It was seeing Heather skip off to school with her friend Lochan. The way their heads bent together, giggling at something, in their own wee world together. She was eight years old.
She was Taran’s age when Taran and I became best mates.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
The problem was this happened every few months. Not once in a blue moon. For nine years, I’d missed her so much it hurt.
It wasn’t fair to Kiera, so I tried not to think about Taran.
But there was this stubborn piece of me that could not let the woman go.
Sometimes Isla would make a casual comment, a quick update on Taran. I never told her to stop. And it was like she knew that I needed to know. She never mentioned romantic relationships, but she’d talk about Taran’s work with different charitable organizations. How proud she was of her.
I was proud of her too, even though I had no right to be.
Fuck, I missed the sound of her voice.
Perhaps one of the reasons I’d never let her go was because she’d never returned to the island. Any mention of it caused Laird’s mood to turn black with resentment.
Taran refusing to come back here … it made me think perhaps she couldn’t let go either and ironically, that made me hold on even tighter to the memory of her.
It was so messed up.
For my marriage, I knew I needed to try harder.
Yet here I was with the lads at band practice, and I couldn’t stop eyeing Laird’s phone. He’d left it by the kitchenette sink. We practiced in a semi-converted barn on my mum and stepdad’s farm. We liked it out here because we knew we weren’t disturbing anyone’s peace.
But Laird, Forde, and Murray were distracted, chatting about a difficult rescue Forde had made with the lifeboat service two nights ago.
Pulse racing, I swiped Laird’s phone before I could stop myself. Gaze flicking quickly between the guys and the phone, I guessed Laird’s code (1234, the daft bugger), and tapped on his contacts. Tugging out my own phone, my fingers moved quickly as I saved Taran’s number to my device.
My palms were sweaty by the time I put Laird’s phone down.
An hour later, we all left the barn to return to our homes. Instead of parking outside of mine, I stopped a couple of miles down the road and switched off the engine. Guilt clenched my gut, but it didn’t stop me from hitting Taran’s name on my contacts.
I let out a shaky breath, trying to think of what I’d say. How I’d start this conversation after nine years.
How could it have been that long since I last saw her?
The line connected and it was her. Her soft, low voice. “Hello?”
I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out. I just … I just wanted her to talk again.
“Hello? Helloooo?”
My lips twitched at that, even as emotion wrapped a hand around my throat.
“Hey, whoever this is, I can hear you breathing.” Taran’s tone held an edge now and I winced.
“Taran, babe, just hang up on them. It’ll be a spam call,” a deep, male voice sounded in the background.
“Spam callers usually try to sell you something or try to get you to give over details. Hey—”
“Who is this?” a guy now spoke in my ear. “Fuck off and don’t call my woman’s phone again.” He hung up.
His woman’s phone.
Of course Taran had someone.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. What was I doing?
I had a wife and daughter, and I was sitting in my car calling my childhood sweetheart on a number I’d stolen from her brother?