Chapter 8
Eight
WALKER
It was the end of the first week of September, and a heat wave had hit the country. Portobello Beach was fairly busy for the middle of a working day. I sat on the concrete wall of the promenade, feet dangling above the sand, staring out at the sky-blue water.
The cool breeze sweeping off the North Sea masked the heat from the sun.
People walked behind me, in front of me. Some ran. Some hurried after dogs. Others sat on the sand, enjoying the last of the summer sun before autumn hit.
There was no sign of turmoil here. Laughter lit the air, loud chatter muffled by the squall of seagulls above, the aroma of fish and chips prevalent and familiar.
My hometown shouldn’t have been a place that hurt.
But, fuck, sitting there, I might as well have had a knife sticking out of my chest.
Every year, I took the same two weeks off work. Disappeared. I always went somewhere different. Somewhere I could hide. Somewhere safe I could be distracted. My head was not in the game, and in a job like mine, that could be a danger to someone else. So I took off on this anniversary every year.
But Rich had asked me to come here.
“Are you taking time off work at the beginning of September? Like always?” Rich asked.
“Of course.”
“This year I want you to go home, Walker.”
His suggestion made me instantly defensive. “I didn’t realize emotional torture was part of your process.”
Rich’s answering smile was patient. “You need to face the past if you’re ever going to move forward.
Avoiding it does you no good. I think this is a gentle first step toward processing what happened there.
You don’t have to see anyone. I just want you to explore Portobello.
Spend some time there. If it’s too much, you can leave. ”
And because I hadn’t started seeing Rich just to ignore his advice, I’d done as he’d suggested.
But I was starting to wonder if my therapist was a fucking sadist.
Here … she was everywhere. And they were here.
It was a wonder we hadn’t crossed paths.
Good thing I was leaving tomorrow to spend my last week off catching up with some lads from my military unit.
This year we’d decided to meet up in Perthshire to camp and fish and get drunk.
It’s what I needed. It would hurt less than this shite.
A burst of giggles to my left drew my gaze, and I saw a child with blond hair and blue eyes walking with her mum, swinging her arm as she held tight to her hand. The mum was blond, young. The sight of them miraculously drew my thoughts of her to Callie and Sloane.
Before I’d left, I’d had a Zoom call with the Ardnoch Estate board members along with North Hunter.
We told them what we’d witnessed. I was on my way down south when Aria called to let me know Hoffman was out.
Membership stripped. Unsurprisingly. Lachlan had people looking into rumors about Hoffman’s behavior, trying to find someone to come forward.
I was doing the same, using what contacts I’d made while working as private security for the rich and famous.
North Hunter had reiterated his offer, but I’d turned him down. I liked Ardnoch.
I wished I was there now.
Wished I knew if Sloane was doing okay. She’d seemed better before I left.
Had shocked the shit out of me when she chased Chloe off. For good, I might add. Her strategy had worked. My lips curled in amusement, remembering the moment. Aye, Sloane Harrow had fire in her.
My smile dropped, remembering the hurt she’d tried to cover when I shot down her offer to have coffee.
Fuck.
That invisible knife in my chest twisted deeper.
“That’s it. I’m done,” I murmured before jumping off the wall onto the promenade. I’d come face-to-face with whatever it was Rich thought I needed to find here. I’d hovered around the coastal town outside Edinburgh for a week, haunting it like a fucking ghost.
Nothing was better.
Nothing was solved.
And worse, thoughts of another female I’d let down had chased me here.
I needed temporary oblivion. It was time to go find that instead.