38. Aiden
AIDEN
ISLE OF SKYE, SCOTLAND
Sweat dripped off Aiden’s brow as he leaned down by the cottage gate, trying to unwedge a pebble from the tread of his trainers. He’d pushed himself hard this morning, running over twelve kilometers down the country roads and back again to the small cottage he’d bought a few years earlier.
Meant to be a place to escape to, it had sat mostly empty since the day he’d bought the damned thing on an impulse. He’d hired a local gardener to look after it, make sure that it remained cared for, but the truth was, he’d only actually come out here three times since purchasing the damn place.
He dug the pebble out, then straightened, squinting from the glare of the morning sun. Then he frowned.
A Range Rover Sport was parked beside his at the cottage.
Wiping his face with his shirt, he started toward the cottage, then stopped mid-step as the doors to the car opened.
Callum stepped out, then Mason.
Then Quinn.
Aiden stared at them, his pulse burning slow and steady.
Fuck. The time away had been absolutely bloody necessary, but he knew he’d cocked up every relationship he was in. It hadn’t taken long, and he’d mostly felt shame. But then there was the pain he still felt from Isla’s last message, asking for space. Again.
So much for a peaceful interlude.
There was only one reason they'd come all this way, and it wasn't for tea. But he was too tired to keep running—both figuratively and literally—and they’d already spotted him anyway.
He strolled toward them, taking his time as he stretched one arm, then the other. Like their presence here didn’t rattle him.
Like the last time he’d seen them, they hadn’t all been looking at him as though he was an unforgiveable villain.
“Morning,” Quinn said first, unsmiling.
“Morning.” Aiden furrowed his brow, trying to read their expressions.
He didn’t have much to say. A part of him already knew why they were here, so he nodded and gestured toward the cottage, then walked past them and went inside.
Quinn and Mason followed.
Callum did not.
Smashing.
Aiden went toward the small kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, then downed it in a few gulps. He barely lifted his gaze toward his brothers. “Tea?”
“Yes, thank you,” Mason said, then sat on the small sofa that took up most of the adjoining living room.
Aiden filled the kettle, then plugged it in. He set both hands on the counter, bracing his weight against it, then leveled his gaze at Quinn, who was busy staring out the window.
“Nice view,” Quinn said in a deep voice.
“May was always my favorite month here,” Aiden said. “Rain’s not quite so unbearable.”
Thank goodness for stereotypical English behavior. He could always count on a nonthreatening conversation about the weather.
But that would do nothing to end the awkwardness, so he cleared his throat. “Why are you here?”
Quinn glanced at Mason, who clasped his hands, leaning forward. “Everything’s running smoothly at work, you should know. In case you were worried.”
“I wasn’t.” Aiden poured another glass of water. “I think I’ve earned a bloody holiday, wouldn’t you say?”
“You have,” Mason said with a grimace. “You absolutely have. And Dad told us to remind you that the best CEOs should be able to take leave or holiday and know that everything will be in good hands. Which it is. Because you do a good job, Aiden. Better than good—excellent?—”
“I know I do.” Aiden’s eyes narrowed at him. Maybe he shouldn’t be such an arsehole about accepting a compliment.
Quinn sighed, then turned fully toward Aiden.
“What Mason is doing a piss-poor job of telling you is that we’ve all been a bit hard on you, mate.
Don’t worry, we’re not here to interrupt your well-earned holiday, and we won’t be staying, even if it did take us a bleeding long time to get to this remote part of the world.
But both of us owe you an apology. Not only for interfering in your personal business but also for putting so much on you. ”
They were here to apologize?
Aiden held Quinn’s gaze, unable to fully comprehend what he was hearing.
He’d spent the week certain that the only way to bridge this chasm between him and his brothers was if he groveled. Came back on his hands and knees.
He hadn’t expected this.
“But I’m the one who insulted you.”
Quinn sighed. “Look, I’ll admit, I was angry in Nashville. But you weren’t entirely wrong. I almost lost the woman I love by being a fool when I was younger. I don’t love to be reminded of the fact, of course, especially by my obnoxious younger brother, but it’s true.”
“That’s a hell of a way to give an apology,” Aiden said in a wry tone.
Quinn smirked. “I’m trying, you know.” He approached the other side of the counter.
“You shocked me. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised that one of us might fall for Isla—I’ve always seen her like a sister—but I was still shocked.
And I suppose a protective side of me reared its ugly head.
It was wrong of me to kick you out of my house, and Elle’s been upset with me ever since.
I just didn’t want to see Isla get hurt or for things to get messy.
But it wasn’t my place to interfere or judge you so fiercely.
Retrospectively, I can see how I made everything worse. ”
Aiden blinked at him.
Am I dreaming?
When Aiden didn’t answer, Quinn’s eyes flickered with regret—and resignation. He exhaled sharply and turned toward Mason. “Your turn,” he said, walking over toward the couch and sinking beside him.
“Right. What he said,” Mason said with a frown.
Quinn elbowed him in the side. “Well, you’ve got to do better than that.”
Mason rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t have interfered,” he said in a flat voice, with considerably less enthusiasm. Then he lifted his chin. “But I maintain I was barely involved.”
“You were a bloody snitch,” Quinn snapped. “Made everything so much worse.”
“That’s for goddamn sure.” Aiden chuckled.
Mason sat back on the couch and crossed his arms. “How was I to know that they loved each other? It’s Aiden. Stirring up scandal is practically a hobby.”
“Tosser. That’s the worst apology I’ve ever heard.” Quinn scowled.
Aiden almost smiled. Shaking his head, he relaxed his shoulders, feeling slightly less wary. “And that’s what you’ve come all this way for? To apologize?”
The idea was ludicrous.
To begin with, Aiden was the one usually having to issue apologies—it’d been that way for all his life. Broken window? He got the blame. A fight between them? He’d be punished.
Not that he hadn’t usually deserved it.
Not always, though.
That was the trouble with being the second born, though.
“Mason and I have, anyway. Callum has his own reasons and, sorry, but he hasn’t quite told us what they are.
We left London last night and stayed in Inverness so we could be here first thing.
You didn’t, by any chance, happen to watch the premiere of Isla’s show a couple of nights ago, though, did you? ”
Aiden shook his head. Even the sound of her name cut through him like glass. He’d tried to reach out, but she’d asked for silence. Time to think. And he’d given it to her. Every aching second.
That had been the hardest thing of all. He’d wanted nothing more than to send her a message. Had typed them out and let his thumb hover over the send button. Only to force himself to delete the message and turn his phone off.
He wanted to respect her wishes, but it was killing him.
And it had been a week. He didn’t think he could handle watching her on that show. Not right now. And depending on how things went between them, maybe not ever.
“My service is a bit spotty here,” he answered truthfully. “But also, no.”
“You should watch it,” Quinn said quietly. “It might ...help. Maybe. It helped us anyway to see your side better.”
What in the hell does that mean?
Aiden lifted his brows. “My side?”
Mason gave him an impatient look. “Just watch the damn thing.”
The kettle clicked off, and Aiden gave it a scant glance, then pulled a box of tea from the cupboard. “Not much of a selection here, I’m afraid.”
Quinn came back over and took the box. “We can handle it. You should go talk to Callum.”
Grimacing, Aiden flicked his gaze back out the window. He didn’t particularly want to talk to Callum, but it wasn’t as though he could avoid him forever.
“Fine.” He grabbed a jumper he’d left on a chair and pulled it over his head.
May as well get it over with.
Aiden strode out of the cottage. Callum wasn’t where they’d left him—not that he’d expected him to be. Instead, he’d wandered off toward the cliffside. The view was the reason Aiden had bought the place to begin with. The cottage itself needed updating, but he doubted he’d ever get around to it.
Pushing his way through the gate that led toward the tall grass on the cliffside, Aiden made his way toward Callum. The grass was still wet from last night’s shower, so it soaked his legs and trainers, seeping into his socks by the time he stopped beside him.
Somehow, he doubted this conversation would go as painlessly as the one with his brothers had.
Callum’s jaw was set, his eyes focused on the water. “It’s beautiful here,” he said without looking at Aiden.
“I always loved Isle of Skye,” Aiden said, his voice a rough scratch.
“Isn’t that what you used to call her? Isla of Skye, I think.”
He remembers.
Aiden’s shoulders tensed. “Yes. Or Miss Skye. She didn’t get it, though.”
Callum nodded. His hands slipped into his pockets, his frown deepening. “You know if you had told me that you were in love with her?—”
“And you believe that now? That I love her?” Aiden crossed his arms. “Because I’m not certain that she does. Not after last Saturday.”
Callum turned toward him. “I’m not here to fix things between you and Isla.”
“Then what?”
“The hell if I know.” Callum looked away again.