Chapter 1 Monroe #2
Once upon a time, Brodan would have been the first person rushing across the street to help me.
I was vaguely aware of footsteps as I crouched and stretched under my car for the milk. When I finally got it and pulled it out, I turned to see Brodan’s friend gathering the other groceries.
Straightening, I looked back at Flora’s. No Brodan. I searched Castle Street. No sign of him at all.
His quiet friend came to me with an armful of food. “Where do you want them?” he asked. He was Scottish too.
“Uh, in the boot, thanks.” I gestured.
He drew up to me, and I could smell his attractive aftershave as he leaned in and dumped the items in for me.
“Thanks,” I repeated.
He met my gaze as he stepped back. “No problem.”
“I’m Monroe.”
“I know who you are,” he said mysteriously.
“Do you have a name so I can thank you properly?”
“Walker.”
“Thank you, Walker.”
He gave me a stoic nod before he turned and strode away.
If I lived in a world that gave a shit about me and what I needed, I would have been able to drive straight back to the caravan (if we were talking ideal world, I’d have my own house) and cry a bucket of tears over my first encounter with Brodan.
Not only had he ignored me, he’d turned his back on me.
His bloody monosyllabic friend was more chivalrous!
Was picking up spilled groceries beneath the almighty Brodan Adair?
Arsehole.
But no. In my shitty, emotional mood, I had to spend time around Mum.
“I said last time that I hate this kind of bread,” Mum snipped at me as she hovered in the kitchen doorway.
“You should be off your feet,” I reminded her.
When she fell down the narrow stairs in the house and broke her hip, Mum’s healing didn’t go as the doctors had hoped. She was now scheduled for a hip replacement, which meant I was stuck playing nursemaid for goodness knows how long. The thought made me want to scream.
“That’s the wrong soup,” she sniped, picking up the can of lentil. “I hate this brand.”
“It’s cheaper,” I murmured.
“Och, well, I’m paying for it, so just buy the bloody brand I like.”
I sucked in a breath. “Actually, I’m paying for it. You haven’t given me any money for your groceries.” She’d promised she would, but I’d bought her groceries for six weeks now, and she hadn’t coughed up a penny.
“Oh, so now I’m a scrounger!”
I winced as she raised her voice, but continued to put away the food. “What do you want for dinner?”
“A grateful daughter,” she snarled. “I paid for your food until you were eighteen, lass. Surely a few weeks of returning the favor is little to ask.”
Well, technically, it’s a parent’s job to feed their child, but who could argue with that logic?
“Dinner?”
She made a sound of disgust and turned away. “Doesn’t matter. It’ll taste like shit, anyway.”
Tears threatened again, but I allowed my indignation to fight them back as I hurried to unpack the rest of the food and prepare Mum’s dinner. Curiosity got the better of me, and I googled Brodan’s name on the off chance it might explain his return to the village.
And yup, there it was.
Articles detailed how Brodan had pulled out of several film projects, and it was believed he was recuperating from exhaustion at his brother Lachlan’s famous Ardnoch Estate.
Brodan was home.
Indefinitely.
Fuck.
Brodan was also recuperating from exhaustion.
A bit of concern lit through my panic, but I shoved it straight back out. The man didn’t care if I existed, so why should I care about him at all?
Pushing the thought to the rear of my mind, I took dinner out to Mum and changed the linens on the single bed we’d put in the living room to save her from having to walk upstairs.
“Have you heard from Dad lately?” I asked, the words spilling out before I could stop them. I’d asked her numerous times over the last few months if she’d heard from my father, but she always said no. She did so again, with a grunt of annoyance, but still I pushed. “Do you know how to contact him?”
“No,” she snapped. “Now let me eat in peace.”
It was worth a try. I’d searched the internet to find him, but nothing.
I could hire a private investigator, but I didn’t have the money for that.
Something bothered me about the way Mum always evaded eye contact whenever I asked about him.
My gut told me she knew something. I’d just need to try again later.
I left with her criticism of the baked potatoes and salad dinner I’d made ringing in my ears.
I’d needed to make her something quick so I could get the hell out of there.
My mum was the last person I wanted to be around after the horrible, empty encounter with Brodan.
Driving to the caravan park nestled above the dunes of Ardnoch Beach, I let the misery of it all wrap around me. Just for a few seconds.
As I stepped inside the caravan and felt that prickly chill of fall in the evening air, I clung to the misery for a little longer. This place would freeze come winter.
Worry churned in my gut.
Mum’s nastiness echoed around my head.
Then I thought of Brodan.
He was home.
Why the hell did I come back here?