Chapter 30
Kane
The sun is dipping below the horizon as we board the chartered plane that will take us back to the MacGallan estate. I watch Kori hesitate at the stairs, her eyes lingering on the horizon as if she’s still weighing her decision even now.
“Having second thoughts?” I ask, pausing beside her.
She turns to me with a small smile. “Just thinking about how much has changed since I last boarded a plane. Last time, I was running away. Now I’m running toward something.”
I take her hand, still marveling at how naturally our fingers intertwine. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you decided to come.”
“Me too,” she says, and the certainty in her voice eases something tight in my chest.
We settled into this arrangement after hours of discussion back at Wavecrest—Kori would come with us to the MacGallan estate, stay for a few days while we prepared for Alberta, and then... Well, we left that part open. One day at a time, as promised.
The interior of the plane is luxurious in that understated way only old money can achieve—cream leather seats, polished wood accents, a bar stocked with top-shelf liquor. The perks of being a MacGallan, I suppose, though I’m still not entirely comfortable claiming that identity.
Kori slides into the window seat, and I take the one beside her. Across the aisle, Declan and Wren are already deep in conversation about logistics for Alberta, while Rory and Kat have claimed the seats at the back, already pouring drinks.
“Fancy,” Kori murmurs, running her hand along the leather armrest. “I could get used to this.”
“Don’t,” I warn with a half-smile. “It’s a slippery slope. Next thing you know, you’ll be demanding caviar for breakfast and complaining about the help.”
She laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. “I draw the line at caviar. Disgusting fish eggs.”
The pilot announces our departure, and soon we’re accelerating down the runway, Ireland falling away beneath us.
I watch Kori as she gazes out the window, her profile illuminated by the last rays of sunlight.
The past few days have softened something in her—the raw pain I first saw on the plane to Dublin has receded, replaced by a quiet determination that suits her.
“I still haven’t opened it,” I say, nodding toward my carry-on where Ella’s package sits untouched.
Kori turns from the window. “Why not?”
I shrug, trying for casualness, though we both know better. “Waiting for the right moment, I guess.”
“And when will that be?”
“When I’m ready to see her as a real person, not just an idea.” I’m surprised by my own honesty, but that’s what Kori does to me—pulls truth from places I didn’t know existed.
She reaches over, her hand settling on my forearm. “She’s real, Kane. And in a few days, you’ll be face-to-face with her.”
The thought sends a jolt of anxiety through me. “What if she hates all of us?”
“Then we’ll deal with it,” Kori says.
Her use of “we” doesn’t escape my notice. I cover her hand with mine and give it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“Thank you for asking.” Her smile turns playful. “Though I’m still not convinced this isn’t all an elaborate scheme to get me to meet the rest of your family.”
I laugh, grateful for the lightening of mood. “Yes, because everyone dreams of introducing a girl to their long-lost sister and estranged biological father on a ranch in Alberta.”
“When you put it that way, it does sound like the plot of a bad rom-com.”
“Starring who, though? That’s the real question.”
She tilts her head, considering. “Ryan Reynolds for you, obviously.”
“Obviously, but he would need to wear a wig,” I agreed solemnly. “And you?”
“Sandra Bullock in her Miss Congeniality era.”
“I can see it,” I say, studying her face with exaggerated intensity. “Though your hair’s better.”
She touches her choppy locks self-consciously. “This disaster? I cut it myself with kitchen scissors after finding out about Mark and Lana.”
“I like it,” I tell her honestly. “It suits you.”
The conversation flows easily from there, through dinner (definitely not airline food—the MacGallans don’t do plastic trays) and into the night as the others gradually drift off to sleep around us. The cabin lights dim, leaving us in a cocoon of soft shadows.
“You should get some rest,” Kori says, stifling a yawn.
“Not tired,” I lie, though exhaustion tugs at my limbs.
She gives me a knowing look. “Liar. You’ve barely slept in days.”
“I slept fine with you,” I point out, immediately regretting how it sounds. “I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” she says, saving me from myself. She hesitates, then lifts the armrest between us. “Come here.”
I blink, not sure I understand until she pats her chest. “Seriously?”
“You need sleep. I make a decent pillow. Simple solution.”
It’s not simple—nothing between us is—but I’m too tired to argue. I shift in my seat, resting my head on her breasts. She’s warm and cushiony, smelling faintly of vanilla and something uniquely her. My eyes drift closed almost immediately.
“Better?” she murmurs, her breath stirring my hair.
“Mmm,” is all I can manage.
I feel her chuckle more than hear it. “Goodnight, Kane.”
I intend to reply, but sleep claims me before I can form the words.
I dream of her and what a future with her would be like.
When I wake, sunlight is streaming through the windows, and Kori is still beside me, though now I’m the one being used as a pillow.
Her head rests against my chest, one hand curled loosely in my shirt.
I stay perfectly still, not wanting to disturb her, savoring the weight and warmth of her against me.
Across the aisle, I catch Declan watching us, his expression unreadable. When our eyes meet, he doesn’t look away; instead, he gives a slight nod that might be approval or might be something else entirely. Then he returns to his tablet, leaving me to wonder.
Kori stirs, her body tensing slightly as she wakes. Her eyes flutter open, confusion giving way to recognition as she realizes where she is—and who she’s using as a mattress.
“Morning,” I say, my voice rough with sleep.
She sits up quickly, a blush coloring her cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“I didn’t mind,” I assure her.
She runs a hand through her tousled hair, somehow making bedhead look appealing. “How long until we land?”
“About an hour,” Declan answers from across the aisle, not looking up from his tablet.
Kori’s blush deepens at the realization that we’re not alone, though everyone else seems tactfully absorbed in their own activities. She excuses herself to the bathroom, leaving me to deal with Declan’s knowing glance.
“Not a word,” I warned him.
“Wasn’t going to say anything,” he replies, the ghost of a smile playing around his mouth.
When Kori returns, freshened up and more composed, the captain announces our initial descent. She settles back beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch.
“Nervous?” I ask quietly.
“About meeting the rest of your family? A little,” she admits. “About being back in Canada? Terrified.”
I hadn’t considered that aspect—that returning to Canada means being closer to Mark, to Lana, to all the pain she left behind. “We don’t have to stay long,” I promise. “Just enough to prepare for Alberta.”
She gives me a grateful smile.
The MacGallan estate comes into view as we descend—sprawling grounds surrounding a stone mansion that looks like it was plucked straight from the Scottish Highlands.
“Holy shit,” Kori breathes beside me. “That’s where you grew up?”
“Not exactly,” I remind her. “I visited occasionally, but I grew up in Toronto with the Murphys. The original home was destroyed a year ago. Declan had it rebuilt larger. Likely to accommodate all of Tomas’ offspring.”
“Right,” she says, still staring at the estate. “I keep forgetting the whole ‘secret identity’ thing.”
“Join the club,” I mutter.
We land on a private airstrip at the edge of the property, where a fleet of black SUVs waits to transport us to the main house. As we disembark, I find myself suddenly hesitant, hanging back as the others move toward the vehicles.
Kori notices, of course. She always notices. “What is it?”
“Last time I was here,” I say slowly, “I was Kane Murphy, disappointing nephew. Now I’m returning as Kane MacGallan, prodigal son. It’s... a lot.”
She takes my hand and squeezes gently. “You’re still you. The name doesn’t change who you are.”
“Doesn’t it, though?” I gesture toward the mansion looming in the distance. “That place, that legacy—it’s not just a name. It’s power, expectations, and history. Things I never asked for.”
“Then make it your own,” she says. “Redefine what it means to be a MacGallan.”
Her words settle over me, not solving anything but somehow making the weight more bearable. I press a quick kiss to her forehead. “When did you get so wise?”
“Trauma does that to a person,” she quips, her smile taking the sting from the words.
We join the others in the lead SUV, Kori’s hand still firmly in mine. As we approach the main house, I can see staff lined up to greet us—another MacGallan tradition I’ve always found excessive.
“Home sweet home,” Kat mutters beside me, her tone suggesting it’s anything but.
The vehicles pull to a stop in the circular drive, and we step out into the crisp Canadian air. At the top of the stone steps, a couple stands. They aren’t smiling. If anything, they look concerned.
I lean close to Kori and murmur next to her ear, “That’s Connor, another brother who recently found out he’s a MacGallan, and Mia, his wife. Connor used to be the cook and caretaker of Tomas when everyone thought he had dementia.”