Chapter 33 Tierney
Despite the lack of rain, the island still smelled like it.
It had rained every day since my return for the past ten.
Today was the first morning I’d woken up to dry skies, though the sun was trapped behind a cavalcade of pale gray clouds.
I missed waking up to a view of the harbor, which made me realize how much I’d miss it once I moved into the B and B.
The harbor-view rooms were, of course, for the guests.
Taran always left super early to open the coffee shop.
She’d been reluctant to leave me at first, but to both of our surprise, Ramsay had shown up the first few days to make sure I was all right.
He wasn’t warm or tender about it. But he was there.
He’d also brought private security to keep the tabloid journalists off the property.
For once, I didn’t push him to explain how. Or what was going on between us.
I let it go for ten days and allowed myself time to heal instead.
Too afraid to look online at what the rest of the world had to say about the story, Cammie informed me the commentary was positive toward my family.
The B and B’s social media profiles had gained a ton of new followers from the notoriety and Cammie took over going through all the messages of support and sympathy that had flooded my DMs.
The Silver Group had fired Halston Cole, but they weren’t innocent in this.
When the Chronicle informed them of the story, they should have fired him then, but they wanted to protect the company name more than seek justice.
As it was, apparently the resort in question had been inundated with cancellations, and human rights protestors from all over had descended upon it.
Halston had not only been charged with my attempted murder but with the murder of my parents and Ben.
The charges of manslaughter were separate and being brought by Rahman’s family against the security guard who killed him.
Halston would be directly charged with subverting the course of justice once the case of manslaughter was proven.
Rahman’s family was also suing the Silver Group for covering up Rahman’s death.
The Chronicle had started a crowdsourcing fund for their legal fees when I’d offered to pay them. Perri had reminded me I didn’t have an unending well of wealth now, and I had my own legal fees to cover so she’d initiated the funding page for Rahman’s family.
Yeah, it was a big legal mess.
And the truth was, it might never go to court.
A judge had to decide whether there was enough evidence against Halston to move forward.
It was a waiting game.
I’d been stuck in Taran’s house for days waiting for the media leeches to fuck off.
On day four, a UK celebrity was caught on film kissing someone who wasn’t his wife, which took the UK paps off the island.
On day seven, the US paps left because they hadn’t seen a peep out of me, and they had other stories to cover.
I knew they’d come swarming again if the case went to court, but despite everything I’d been through, I wouldn’t change it.
All that mattered, all that had ever mattered since I discovered the truth, was bringing justice to Rahman, my parents, Ben, and all the islanders affected by the displacement.
Taking in a deep breath, I didn’t mind that my pace was slower than usual as I walked to the B and B.
I no longer had pain from only walking a little.
Every day since the paps and the private security had departed, I’d gone for a walk, increasing my steps daily, not pushing too hard.
But it was so good to get some air after feeling cooped up.
I’d thought the villagers would be angry with me about the paps, about the threats and drama, but I was greeted with nothing but kindness and generosity.
People brought around meals and gifts and offered to help me when they saw me walking slowly down the street.
Everyone knew about my coffee addiction, so someone always brought me an Americano.
I felt loved and taken care of by the entire community.
Except Ramsay.
Sure, I felt taken care of … but he didn’t touch me. He hadn’t touched me in a week. I wasn’t talking about sex, of course. In general. No touching. No affection. No tenderness.
He was all business.
And the last few days … he’d disappeared entirely.
In truth, I was more in emotional knots over him and London than the looming legal battle or trying to complete the work on the B and B through it all.
All that seemed manageable. But Ramsay …
he’d never been manageable. Or more, that my feelings for him had never seemed manageable. Too big, too fast, too everything.
Then, of course, there was my best friend and all my worries about her.
London had called the day after I arrived home from the hospital, hostile and hurt, demanding to know why I hadn’t told her I’d been attacked.
Stunned, I’d relayed what Cammie told me about telling Nick and then I informed her I’d left a voicemail on her phone.
There had been silence and then London had whispered hoarsely, “What? No. I don’t have any recorded calls or voicemails from you or Cammie.”
I promised her I wasn’t lying.
We’d talked for a little while and she said she’d fly over, but I told her not to.
I wanted her to, but it was a long flight, and I knew it wasn’t easy for her to get time off.
When London texted me two days later from a new number without explaining why she had a new number, my mind started racing.
Why hadn’t Nick relayed Cammie’s message?
Why didn’t London see the voicemail or calls?
Why did that mean she needed a new number?
I thought about my concerns regarding Nick in general. After the blinders had been lifted about Hugh, it worried me that he and Nick were such good friends. I’d grown to think of them as two peas in a pod. Were they two peas in a narcissistic, controlling pod?
Now I was anxious about London on top of everything else.
London wasn’t a problem I could solve right now while I was still recovering.
But Ramsay … Ramsay was a problem I knew I needed to face, or I’d drive myself crazy.
By the time I reached the hilly driveway that led up to the B and B, I felt a little twinge in my gut and my limbs were shaky.
What shocked me more than anything was how much my whole body needed time to recover from the attack.
I grew exhausted easily and couldn’t wait for my energy levels to return to normal.
“Ms. Silver.”
I turned from where I’d stopped to take a moment’s rest.
The young man walking toward me was familiar. Dressed in paint-splattered coveralls, I recognized him as a member of Quinn’s crew. He had a coffee cup in hand as he hurried toward me, his brow furrowed.
“Fit like?” he asked.
I stared at him in confusion and then down at my feet because I knew the Scots sometimes pronounced foot as fit.
He chuckled. “Jus’ askin’ how ye are? Should ye be oot and aboot like this?” he asked in his thick Scots accent.
I gave him a tired smile. “I’ve been walking a little farther each day. And I miss the B and B. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Greig,” he offered, pronouncing it like Greeg. “Ah dae all the plasterwork an’ painting fer Quinn.”
“Greig. Hi. You’re not from Glenvulin, though, right?”
“Originally Banff. Noo Oban. I stay wae a friend here in Leth Sholas an’ then heid back tae Oban at the weekends.” He gave me a cheeky smile as he offered me his arm. “Want tae lean on me?”
Greig was good-looking with close-cropped auburn hair and a strawberry blond beard. He had freckles and light blue eyes. He was also probably only a year or so younger than me and yet he seemed too young for me to find attractive.
Ramsay had ruined me for men my own age.
He’d just ruined me, period.
Asshole.
Gratefully, I took Greig’s arm, and we began our ascent. “I thought I could make it. I’ve been getting better every day.”
“I think ye’are amazing. Most folk might hole up in their hoose after what ye’ve bin through.”
I wanted to. But I knew that was a path to nowhere good. When I first left the house, I’d been constantly looking over my shoulder, feeling vulnerable in a way I’d never experienced. Over the last few times, that feeling of needing to be hypervigilant had eased somewhat.
It helped to know my attacker, Shawn Prescott, hadn’t been granted bail.
“Thanks. You … gotta get on with it, right?”
“Ye were born tae be an islander, Ms. Silver,” Greig replied with a grin. “Even if ye are fair trauchled by this here hill.”
I chuckled because clearly, I hadn’t hidden how out of breath I was by the climb. “Trauchled. I’ve never heard that one. Exhausted, though, right?”
“Aye.”
“Your accent is so different.”
“It’s the Doric dialect. Even Lowlanders huv a hard go understandin’ it. Yer doin’ weel. Even if yer pechin.”
I merely smiled in response because I didn’t understand the last part.
After a second, Greig cleared his throat. “Ye’re, um … ye’re pals wae Cameron McQuarrie, right?”
My lips twitched with knowing. “I am.”
“I dinnae s’pose ye’d think she’d be interested in a bloke like me?”
“What age are you?”
“Is that a factor?”
“You definitely seem younger than Cammie.”
“Och, age is merely a number.”
“And yours is?”
He grinned. “Twenty-four.”
I grimaced.
Greig scoffed. “Och, it’s no’ that bad, is it?”
“She’s nine years older than you, and I think she likes her men a little older than her.”
“I think she can be persuaded.”
I laughed. “Then why did you ask?”
“So ye can tell her the gid-lookin’ painter-decorator fancies her and it’ll move things a long a wee bit fer me.” Greig winked.
My amusement made my breathing even worse as we finally made it to the top.
Greig frowned. “Ye need tae tak a wee rest noo, all right? I’ll get Quinn.”
“I’m not here to see Quinn.”
“McRae?” Greig guessed and then nodded. “I’ll go find him fer ye.”
“Thank you.”