Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ROBBIE
I pull up outside Cat’s flat, kill the engine on my bike, and sit there for a moment, gathering myself. The morning air is crisp, carrying the scent of dew and pine from the nearby woods. I probably should’ve just texted to say I wasn’t coming today. Last night was... complicated. But I need the money, and the sooner I finish this job, the sooner I can move on to the next one.
It’s just work , I think to myself as I swing my leg off the bike. Same as yesterday. Same as the day before. Best not to overthink it.
I make my way up to her door and knock. At first there’s no response, so I have to rap again. Finally there’s shuffling from inside, then the door swings open to reveal Cat in a baggy T-shirt and tartan pyjama bottoms, her hair a tousled mess. She takes me in then blinks, suddenly wide awake.
“Oh. I... wasn’t expecting you today.”
She looks different this morning. Her usual sparkle is missing. She’s pale and washed out.
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “We agreed I’d work on Saturday to get the job done quicker. Don’t you remember?”
“Aye, I do.” She hugs herself awkwardly, looking everywhere but at me. “But I thought...”
I know exactly what she thought—that last night changed things. That I wouldn’t show up today because of what happened in the woods. But this is a job. This is how I pay my bills now.
“Well, I’m here.” I step past her into the flat. “Might as well crack on.”
“Actually, could we maybe not do this today? I’m not feeling great.”
I turn back and hold her gaze, observing the regret swimming behind her eyes. “Look, I know this is about last night. It’s like I’ve been telling you all along: I’m here to work. If we cancel today, it’ll just be awkward on Monday, so why don’t we get the awkwardness over with now, eh?”
She nods slowly, then her face crumples and she bursts into tears.
Shite. This is... new. I’ve had women get clingy after a hook-up. I’ve had them get angry when I made it clear it was just a one-time thing. But tears? Full-on sobbing? This is uncharted territory.
“Cat...” I rub the back of my neck, completely out of my depth here. “Come on now. You don’t have to cry.”
She tries to swipe the tears away with the back of her hand, but they keep coming—fat drops rolling down her cheeks no matter how she tries to hold them back.
“I’m s-sorry,” she chokes out.
God, what the hell do I do now? I don’t know the first thing about comforting someone who’s upset. It’s not like it’s a skill I learnt from my maw—she was hardly the epitome of maternal warmth. I can’t remember the last time I even heard from the woman. Hasn’t so much as sent a birthday card in years.
My first instinct is to leave. I’ve got enough on my plate without adding emotional support to the list. The police could show up at my door any day now with a warrant for my arrest. I don’t need this.
But something stops me from walking right out. Maybe it’s because Cat listened to me the other day when I needed someone to talk to. Or maybe I’m just not as much of a heartless bastard as I pretend. After all, I suppose there were times, when Johnny and I were lads, that I’d comfort him if he was upset. But... that was years ago. And anyway, this? A grown woman in tears? That’s an entirely different beast. Right?
“Come on.” Awkwardly I place a hand on her back and guide her through to the kitchen. “Sit down. I’ll, er, make tea, okay?”
She doesn’t protest, which I take as a yes. Good. I can manage tea. It’s just hot water and a bag. But the kettle’s hum doesn’t entirely cover her sniffling. Christ, what the hell have I got myself into?
Once the tea is ready, I hand Cat a mug then lower myself into the chair across from her. A bit late, I say, “Er, is it okay if I sit?”
Part of me hopes she’ll give me an out and say she’d rather be alone. But she nods and wraps both hands around the mug like she’s trying to draw every bit of warmth from it.
All right, now what? I’ve no idea what to say next. The silence stretches, broken only by the occasional hiccup or sniff from Cat.
“Honestly,” I say eventually, largely just to break the tension, “your family and breakdowns recently.”
Cat looks up, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. “What does that mean?”
I take a sip of my tea. “Well, about a month and a half ago, I ran into Jamie on the old stone bridge. It was pissing down, and he was just standing there in the rain, getting soaked through. He looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.”
“Jamie?” Cat’s nose crinkles as if I’ve just short-circuited her brain. “As in, my brother Jamie?”
“Aye. Things weren’t going well between him and Maisie at the time. He and I had a bit of a heart-to-heart, if you can believe it.”
“Wow.” Cat wipes at her eyes. “I... had no idea. Jamie’s always acted the clown. Hell, even when he finished that hill race without his kilt, and with his arse—and everything else—out for all of Bannock to see, it was all jokes and laughs. It’s stupid, but I suppose I forget he has hidden depths under all that daftness.” She gives a watery smile. “As families go, we’re close. We really are. But I suppose everyone’s got bits of themselves they keep tucked away.”
I take another sip of tea then say, “So, you going to tell me what this is about?”
Cat draws a shaky breath. “Last night I had this really vivid dream. It was me, my brothers, and my parents at Loch Bannock. We used to have picnics there in the summer.” Her voice wavers. “It felt so real, you know? When I woke up, I missed them so much it physically hurt. Then you showed up at the door, and it all just became a bit much. Because you were the one who...”
She trails off, but she doesn’t need to finish. I know exactly what she means. I was the one who came across the crash. Who saw her parents dead in their car. Who called the ambulance for Jamie.
“I’m so embarrassed,” Cat says quickly. “And... I want you to know this has nothing to do with last night.” Her cheeks flush. “The dreams... they come when they come, and when they do, they knock me for six every time.”
It hits me then that she’s not just the flirty, cheeky lass who’s been throwing herself at me and trying to get into my pants. She’s someone who lost her parents when she was, what, seventeen? Someone who’s been carrying around a whole lot of pain and sadness beneath that bubbly exterior.
I reach for her hand across the table, intending to give it a squeeze, but chicken out halfway through and tap my fingers against the tabletop instead. Nice, Robbie. Moral support through Morse code. Real smooth.
To my surprise, Cat snorts out a laugh through her tears. “God! Comforting someone doesn’t come easily to you, does it?”
I grimace. “Sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.” She sniffs again. “About the tears, but also about last night. I’ve been silly around you. I’ll be more sensible from now on, I promise. I’ll let you get on with your work without bothering you. And I’m still going to help you clear your name.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” she insists, wiping away another tear. She gives me an embarrassed grin. “God, what must you think of me? It’s funny: you think you have it all together, but then every so often, boom ! It hits you again, out of nowhere. Grief, I mean.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then: “Did I ever even thank you? I’m not sure I did.”
“Thank me for what?”
“For calling the ambulance and saving Jamie’s life.” Her eyes, still wet with tears, are earnest. “He can be a real pain with his constant teasing—I don’t think anyone in town would disagree with that—but I don’t know what I’d have done if I’d lost him too.”
I wave away her gratitude, uncomfortable with the praise. “I was just the first on the scene. Anyone else would have done the same.”
“Well, thank you anyway.”
Something about her sincerity, about the raw vulnerability she’s showing, makes me want to offer her something in return. I’m not used to opening up, but I did it the other day about the resort, and somehow it feels right to do it again now.
“That night changed me too, you know,” I say, staring down at my mug.
I can feel Cat’s gaze on me, waiting for more.
The memory surfaces again: the lashing rain as I approached the car wreck. Jamie slumped in the backseat, blood pouring down his face. And in the front, Mairi and Angus McIntyre... they were already gone.
“I got into a lot of trouble growing up. More than my fair share, as you’ve probably heard.” My mouth curls into a humourless half-smile. “For a while, as a young man, I was into underground fighting. It gave me an outlet for all my anger.”
I remember the rush of it—the roar of the crowd, the sharp crack of knuckles against flesh, the taste of blood and victory.
“It was brutal, but it made me feel alive. And the money didn’t hurt either.”
I glance up at Cat, whose eyes are wide, and who’s looking at me like I’ve just confessed to being Batman or something. “You were an underground fighter? I had no idea.”
“Not something I advertise.” I shrug. “Anyway, the night of your parents’ accident, I was riding back from a fight in Inverness.” My jaw tightens at the memory of it. “I knocked a bloke out cold in that fight, and for a moment, I didn’t think he was going to get up again.” I can still see Big Cal lying there, motionless on the concrete floor.
“He did, though. He was all right. But then on the ride home, I came across the crash. Coming face to face with... well, death... it made me realise how bloody fragile life is. After that, fighting didn’t feel like freedom anymore. It felt like... tempting fate.”
I let out a slow breath, the admission leaving me feeling oddly exposed. “That was it for me. Never fought again—not properly anyway. It’s just me and my punchbag these days.”
Cat reaches over and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. There’s nothing flirty about it. It’s just a simple, heartfelt gesture. And unlike my attempt to do the same to her, it’s natural. I can’t remember a woman ever having comforted me like this before. When women touch me, it’s with intent, with desire. This is... different. Nice.
“I believed you when you said you weren’t responsible for the thefts,” Cat says, “but hearing all this? Now I’m doubly sure. I trust you, Robbie. And I’m sorry I haven’t found out anything concrete about Samantha yet. Maybe I could try to do a bit more digging today while you get on with some tasks around the flat?”
I look at her, still puffy-eyed from crying, and before I know what I’m doing, the words slip out. “Or... we could go for a ride on my bike?”
Cat blinks at me in surprise.
“Well, someone made me leave it here last night,” I point out, a hint of teasing in my voice. “And as I was on the prowl, the pillion seat is on, and there’s a spare helmet in the saddlebag.”
“A... ride?”
“Aye. As you’ve already pointed out, I’m hopeless at comforting people. All I know is that, when I’m feeling down, going out on my bike always makes me feel better.”
She studies me—eyes still red but brightening slightly—then says, “What about your work here? You said?—”
“I can miss a day. I wouldn’t mind a ride anyway.”
“And the investigation?”
I can’t help but smirk at this. “With all due respect, I doubt going around Bannock and bursting into tears in front of people is likely to help me too much.”
She rolls her eyes at this, and just like that, some of her spark is back.
“You ever been on a bike?”
“Nope.”
“Well, once you’ve experienced a motorcycle, I doubt you’ll ever bother with a horse again.”
Cat snorts then pats under her eyes. “So, this is how you win women, is it? Take them out on your motorcycle and show them a good time? Well, newsflash: despite how I acted last night, the last thing on my mind is getting frisky with you. At least, not today.”
I huff out a dry laugh. “Understood and agreed, but this is just about getting out of Bannock for a while and clearing our heads. I think we could both do with that. What do you say?”
She considers, then nods. “Well, I’d better get dressed then.” At the doorway to her bedroom, she pauses and shoots me a glance over her shoulder. “What should a girl wear for her first dose of biker therapy?”