Chapter 25
Theo
‘Theo MacMickin.’
There’s a pause on the other end. It makes my stomach brace before my brain catches up.
Then: ‘It’s me.’
I sit bolt upright. ‘Finn?’
He sighs, the sound is low and defeated. ‘Didn’t mean to wake you. I called the agency. Got forwarded to your number, I guess.’
He’s guessing correctly. Charlie’s off-grid for her monthly date weekend with Brodie, which means I’m emergency coverage. That’s usually a missed flight or a schedule mix-up in a different time zone, if anything.
Clearly not as simple as that when Finn Lennox is involved.
I let out a groan. ‘What’s going on?’
‘You won’t like it. I’m…not exactly tucked up in bed.’
‘Where the hell are you?’ I’m already swinging my legs out of bed.
‘Police station in Edinburgh. St Leonard’s.’
‘What the fuck?’ My feet hit the floor. ‘Jesus. Are you okay?’
‘Mostly. You should see the other guy.’ He tries for a laugh, but it comes out more like a cough.
I sit there, phone wedged between my shoulder and ear. Blood drains to my feet. ‘That’s not funny! Are you injured?’
‘Not really. Just a small… It was…’ He clears his throat. ‘Breach of the peace. Got into it with a guy in a club. Nothing serious. They’re keeping us for a wee while, cooling-off thing. No charges.’
There’s a rustle of movement on his end. Footsteps. A murmur of some other voice I can’t make out.
I reach for the hoodie on the chair. ‘What does “got into it” mean? And what sort of club?’
‘The Wolf Room.’
I stop moving. That’s not a club, it’s a cesspit for fucked-up behaviour. Rich-kid depravity. ‘Dammit, Finn!’
I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. I should be asleep, dreaming of inbox zero. Instead, I’m getting dressed in the wee hours to pick a rugby player up from St Leonard’s. And not any old rugby player – the one who wormed his way into my heart and knickers and life.
‘Are you mad?’
‘Och, Lennox!’ I unzip my make-up bag. Stare into it. Close it again. ‘Is there press?’
‘Not that I can tell. Quiet night so far.’
My brain starts rearranging itself as I hop into the hallway on one leg, pulling my joggers up. Priorities, logistics, optics. But under that…terror. The helpless fury that only comes when someone you care about gets into trouble and you weren’t there to stop it.
And beneath that a shocking clarity. I’d do anything for him, no questions asked.
Until now, I had no clue what it meant being ready to bury a body for someone. There are few people I’d pick up from a police station in the middle of the night.
And Finn Lennox is right at the top of that list.
I don’t know what I’m going to say to him when I get there. If I slap or shake or kiss him. But he’s alone and angry, hurt, probably a bit scared.
So I’m on my way.
My keys are already in my hand. ‘I’ll be there in twenty. Do not speak to anyone else.’
‘Theo, I didn’t know this call would… You really don’t have to—’
‘Shut up. Your call landed here. That means I’m the one who shows up, and that’s that.’
He exhales. ‘Okay. Thank you.’
I hang up, grab my bag, rush into the kitchen, reach above the microwave where I keep the emergency shortbread tin, and shove it in the bag.
A girl can’t pick up her man from the cells without biscuits.
The waiting room of St Leonard’s police station reeks of bleach. My keys dig into my palm as I perch on a plastic chair. My brain is a pinball machine of worst-case scenarios. He’s been arrested. His career is over. Our deal is over. He’s hurt. He’s…
A harsh buzz slices through the quiet, followed by the heavy clank of a magnetic lock releasing. A door at the end of the corridor swings open.
Finn comes in like he’s braced for impact.
There’s a sudden vacuum where my breath should be.
He looks fucking miserable. A raised, angry-red bump swells beneath a fresh scrape.
His eyes are bloodshot, and the first hints of a bruise are starting to bloom above his brow.
He moves with a weariness that has nothing to do with the hour, holding a sealed pouch in his right hand.
I assume that’s his personal belongings.
Every ounce of my composure evaporates. My feet move, and I don’t stop until I collide with his chest, my arms wrapping around his torso, pulling him into a hug that’s more about not falling apart than an embrace.
He’s warm and solid and stiffens for a second, then melts into me, his arms coming around my back to hold me just as tightly.
That’s all I needed. That right here.
I almost cry.
‘You stupid bampot,’ I mumble into his shirt. ‘What have you done?’
He rests his chin on the crown of my head, a deep sigh shuddering through his frame. ‘It’s okay, darlin’. I’ll tell you outside. But you’re not gonna like it.’
I pull back, my hands still gripping his arms, and search his face. As I take in the damage, a fresh wave of fury and fear washes over me. ‘Has anyone ever been elated to pick someone up from a holding cell?’
Then I grab his big, strong hand, and wrap my fingers through his without thinking.
I give a sharp tug and pull him toward the exit. ‘Come. You can explain yourself in the car, Mister.’
For three minutes, the only sounds are the rhythmic swish of the windscreen wipers and the clicks of the indicator as I navigate the sleeping city. Edinburgh’s streetlights smear across the wet tarmac in long, orange streaks.
I will not speak first. I will not.
Every red light bathes us in crimson, turning his bruised face into something from a horror film. He lets out another gusty, world-weary sigh that could deflate a bouncy castle and rattles the last of my patience.
‘Will you stop moaning and explain what happened?’ The words burst out of me. ‘Or shall I drive around in circles until morning?’
He rubs one large hand along his jaw, a nervous habit I’ve catalogued alongside his twenty others. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Ah, complicated. You’ve been detained by police at a members-only sex club, and complicated is the best you can offer?’
‘It’s not a sex club.’ He pauses. ‘I don’t think.’
I take a corner too sharply, the car lurching. ‘Oh, well that’s better then.’
He drops his head back. ‘I found out who leaked the tape.’
My foot slips on the accelerator. ‘What?’
‘Kit Lascelles-Finch.’ His voice hardens around the name. ‘One of the – individuals, as you phrased it in your press release – in the video contacted me. Said Kit recorded us and sold it for cash.’
‘And you thought confronting him there was a wise solution?’ I navigate around a delivery van. ‘What about letting a solicitor handle it?’
He has the grace to look ashamed. ‘I wasn’t planning anything. Just saw in his Instagram story where he was, and I snapped.’
My brain clicks back into strategy mode.
‘He confessed? We have a witness? That’s fantastic.
We can sue him into the next century. Defamation, breach of privacy…
Oh, that’s going to be some juicy legal action.
’ I try to sound professional when all I really want to do is find Kit and run him over with my Fiat.
‘Revenge porn is illegal in Scotland. Recording without consent—’
‘Naw.’ Finn cuts me off and shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. ‘The guy’s a mess, Theo. A sad, sleazy bastard. He’s fucked enough as is.’
‘You’re defending him?’
‘I’m not defending him. I’m just saying I don’t want to spend the next year of my life in court with him.’
I turn onto Queen’s Drive, the road curving upward. Finn frowns, peering out the window. ‘Wait. Where are we driving? That’s not where my car is, and that’s definitely not the way to Leith.’
‘I think it’s high time that we talk.’ The words come out way steadier than I feel. ‘And I know the best spot.’
He doesn’t argue, just watches the city lights spread out below us as the car climbs.
‘So, Lennox – what exactly occurred in that sinkhole for the financially advantaged and morally compromised?’
‘Found him in a booth and told him I knew what he’d done and what a disgusting, blackmailing cunt he is.’ A pause. ‘Was planning to leave it at that.’
‘But…?’
‘But he said something as I was walking away.’ His voice drops. ‘And I lost it.’
We’re approaching Blackford Hill now, the dome of the Royal Observatory visible against the night sky. I pull into the small car park, and kill the engine. The sudden silence feels heavy. Below us, Edinburgh is a constellation of gold and white lights against the deep black of the Firth of Forth.
‘What do you mean, “something” and “lost it”? Elaborate.’
Finn stares straight ahead, his profile sharp in the dim light. His jaw works, as if he’s chewing on words he doesn’t want to say.
I reach into the back seat, grab the tin of shortbread, and shove it into his hands. ‘Here. Eat and tell me everything.’
He pries open the lid, takes a biscuit, and puts it back without taking a bite. His eyes meet mine. ‘He insulted you. And I head-butted him.’
I glare at him, unable to process the words. ‘You…head-butted him?’ I repeat slowly. ‘Because he insulted me?’
Finn nods, the movement small and tight.
‘You got yourself arrested,’ my voice rises with each syllable, ‘risked your career and everything we’ve worked for because a bully said something mean about me?’
‘Aye. I don’t care what it costs me. Nobody talks about you like that.’
‘How old are you? Six?’ I stare at him, mouth slightly open, brain buffering.
He shrugs, his eyes on the skyline as if this isn’t the most confusing night of either of our lives. ‘He deserved it.’
‘Oh, no doubt. Grade A arsehole. But this is not medieval Scotland, and you do not have to defend my honour with brute force. You’re lucky that this kind of club doesn’t allow cameras or mobiles.’
His head turns. Slowly. ‘Wasn’t really a pro-and-con decision, Theo. He riled me up.’
‘Riled you up?’ My voice squeaks on the word you. ‘You’re a professional athlete.’
‘I won’t let anyone speak about you like that. Not in my presence. Ever.’