Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Wh-what i-if s-s-something ha-happened t-to her?” I stuttered, struggling to breathe properly through my tears.
Fyfe pressed a firm kiss to my forehead before leading me over to the bed. He took both my hands in his. “Breathe, baby.” He pulled in a breath through his nose and slowly exhaled. “Copy me.”
My grip on his hands had to be bruising, but Fyfe didn’t react, just breathed with me until I’d calmed down.
Eventually, he slid an arm around my shoulders. “Is that why you wouldn’t look at me earlier? Because you feel guilty?”
“Yes.”
“I … I was worried you were mad at me. Because I told you that you were safe in my house.”
I gaped at him in shock, feeling even worse for my behavior. “No. Fyfe, no. Never.”
Familiar guilt reflected in his eyes. “I didn’t keep you safe.”
“You saved me.” Now I cupped his face, his short beard scratching my palms.
“You were doing a pretty damn good job of saving yourself.”
My lips trembled. “Is Millie okay?”
“She’s completely fine. A resilient wee girl who will never remember this day.” Fyfe brushed his fingertips over my swollen cheek. “If that gun was in my hand and not Walker’s, I would have put the bullet through his head.”
I shivered at the thought, curling my fingers around his strong wrist. “Then it’s a good thing you didn’t have the gun. I need you here, Fyfe. Not in prison.”
He grew alert. “Do you need me?”
Fresh tears burned my eyes. “Far longer than you’ve ever known.”
Fyfe shook his head. “I wish I’d been who I am now back then. Instead of wasting all that time.”
I took his hand in mine. “Let’s make a pact … starting now, we learn from the past, but we stop living in it.”
His grip on me tightened. “I can do that.”
A sweet silence fell between us as we stared at our entwined hands. Then I admitted quietly, “I can’t sleep. I keep … seeing him.”
“Stay with me. I’ll hold you, watch over you.”
Nodding, I kicked off my boots and then slipped into bed. Fyfe removed his glasses, placing them on the bedside cabinet, and slid in beside me. Without hesitation, he pulled me into his arms like I’d always belonged there. I nestled against him, my good cheek pressed to his pecs, the warm weight of his hand comforting on my hip.
“Do you remember when we were kids and we all went camping? You let me stay in your tent, even though I was always making you uncomfortable with my flirting.”
Fyfe squeezed me. “I shared my tent with you because you made me laugh and you always made me feel like I was worth something. I shared my tent with you because I wanted you around.”
“Really?” I whispered, surprised, emotional too.
“I am done taking you for granted, Eilidh Adair,” he whispered in my ear. “I know the woman in my arms is the most extraordinary bloody woman I will ever have the good fortune of knowing. I promise to never let a day pass without making you feel as special as you’ve made me feel all these years.”
When I closed my eyes, tears slipped free. But they were good tears. A release. Relief.
All I could smell and feel was Fyfe.
Like the miracle I’d always thought he was, he held back my intrusive thoughts so blissful sleep could claim me.
Thirty-Three
FYFE
Lewis brushed his wet paintbrush over Callie’s nose and she squealed before chasing him with hers. Eilidh giggled at their nonsense, shaking her head before turning back to help me with the peel-and-stick mural.
It had been a couple of weeks since Peter Pryor’s attack. We’d postponed decorating the nursery because I wanted Eilidh to be a part of it, and I wanted her to feel comfortable in my home again.
Since her attack, a few things had happened.
The media descended on Ardnoch, attempting to hound Eilidh. Like always, Ardnoch rallied around one of their own and made sure the media felt so unwelcome, they fucked off onto the next big story only a few days later.
Walker shooting Peter had the bonus of apparently scaring the shit out of Cameron Phillips. He’d departed Ardnoch before his week was up. Lachlan, never one to let an abuser get away scot-free, was keeping tabs on Dr. Dick. He’d taken a job in Edinburgh. Lachlan had put him on the radar of a journalist down there who was, as we speak, digging up enough dirt to bury the bastard, at least under the scrutiny of public opinion.
As for Peter Pryor, although his attack on Eilidh took place in Scotland, many of the charges he faced had occurred in London, so he was transferred to jail down there where he’ll await his hearing in a few weeks. If the case goes to trial, and we’d been advised it most likely would, Eilidh would have to face the bastard again in about four or five months. We’d deal with that then.