Chapter 27
FINN
The Drunk Doctor and the Truths That Destroy Everything
(Or How Alcohol Reveals What You’d Rather Bury)
I’m drinking.
It’s a terrible idea.
I know that.
As a doctor, I should be the first person to understand the dangers of drowning your problems in alcohol.
But right now, sitting in the darkest corner of The Grumpy Sheep, I honestly don’t give a damn.
The whisky burns down my throat.
It’s the only sensation I can still clearly identify.
Everything else is just a painful blur filled with Mary’s face, her tears, and my own cruel words replaying in endless loops like a sentence handed down by a judge.
“There is no us, Mary.”
“It was a mistake.”
“A lapse in judgment.”
I order another drink.
Ewan pours it without comment, but his expression says enough.
Probably something along the lines of: Poor idiot. He’s destroying himself.
And he’d be right.
The Highland Games continue outside.
The day has been endless.
Nothing but an endless string of patients treated mechanically, forced smiles, and questions I answered automatically while my mind stayed somewhere else.
With her.
Always with her.
I saw her once from a distance.
She was laughing with Cameron and Connor.
A fake laugh.
I know the difference now that I’ve heard her real ones.
But she was pretending to be okay.
The whisky goes down.
I order another.
You should stop, a small rational voice somewhere in my head warns.
Go to hell, the rest of my alcohol-soaked brain replies.
The pub door opens.
I don’t even look up.
I don’t care who comes in or leaves.
I just want to be left alone with my guilt and self-destruction.
But naturally, the universe has other plans.
Footsteps approach.
Someone sits on the stool beside me.
“McLeod.”
His voice is cautious, like he’s talking to an injured animal.
Which honestly isn’t far from the truth.
I glance up at the newcomer.
“Jamie MacNeil,” I say flatly.
I pour every ounce of bitterness I’m feeling into those two words.
Perfect.
Really.
Because apparently my night wasn’t miserable enough already.
I lift my glass in a mock toast and drink.
“You should probably slow down with that,” he says.
I shoot him a dark glare while he settles onto the bench across from me.
“Thanks for the medical advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”
He orders a beer, waits for Ewan to bring it over, then looks back at me.
“I came to the Games to figure some things out. About Glenfield. About the past.”
I don’t answer.
None of this concerns me.
Nothing in this town truly does.
“About Mary too,” he adds.
I stiffen despite myself.
“I was in love with her.”
The words land between us like stones.
Jamie says it so naturally, like admitting his feelings is the easiest thing in the world.
My grip tightens around my glass.
“That’s why I left two years ago.”
He turns his beer slowly between his hands, watching the foam instead of me.
“I thought time would change things. I figured distance would help us grow into different people and maybe one day I could come back and… I don’t know. Take my shot?”
He laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it.
“But when I saw her talking to you today, I knew.”
Now he looks directly at me.
“She’s not in love with me. She never was.”
My chest tightens.
“She’s in love with you, Finn.”
“No.”
The word comes out too fast.
Too sharp.
“Yes. It’s obvious to everyone. Except maybe the two of you.”
I slam my glass down harder than intended.
The alcohol makes me clumsy.
Or maybe it’s the anger.
Or the pain.
I don’t know anymore.
“You’re wrong. It’s an arrangement. A fake relationship to fool her grandmother. Nothing more.”
Jamie frowns, genuinely confused.
“An arrangement?”
“A fake couple.”
The bitterness in my voice could poison someone.
“To get Maggie off her back and help the village accept me. Mission accomplished. We can end it now.”
I take another long drink.
The whisky doesn’t numb anything anymore.
It just amplifies the pain.
Jamie studies me like I’m some fascinating medical specimen under a microscope.
“So that’s why she looked devastated this afternoon? Because you ended your little performance?”
I freeze.
The glass stops halfway to my mouth.
“What?”
“I ran into her near the paddocks. She’d been crying.”
Something twists violently in my chest.
“When I asked what was wrong, she said it was nothing.”
He watches me with a new kind of intensity now.
Harder.
“But I know her. It wasn’t nothing.”
Silence stretches between us.
I grip my glass hard enough that it could shatter.
“What did you do?”
His voice has changed completely.
No empathy left now.
Only accusation.
I close my eyes.
“I told her the truth. That there’s nothing between us. That this was all just an arrangement. Nothing more.”
“Even though it’s a lie?”
“It’s not a lie.”
“You’re lying.”
I hear him lean closer.
“I saw the way you look at her. You’re in love with her. So why are you lying?”
I open my eyes again.
The room tilts slightly from the alcohol.
Or maybe that’s just my entire world collapsing.
“Because I can’t condemn her to this.”
“To what?”
“To me.”
My voice sounds rough.
Broken.
“To a doctor who killed a patient.”
The pub suddenly feels quieter.
Or maybe I just can’t hear anything except blood roaring in my ears.
Jamie says nothing.
He waits.
And like an idiot stripped bare by too much alcohol and zero self-control, I keep talking.
“It happened in Edinburgh. A year ago.”
The words fight their way out like they’ve been lodged inside me for too long.
“An eight-year-old girl. Fever. Fatigue. I told her parents she just needed rest at home.”
I drink again.
The whisky doesn’t even burn anymore.
“Fulminant meningitis. She died forty-eight hours later.”
I lower the glass.
My hands shake slightly.
My words come out fragmented now, but I’m too far gone to stop.
“The investigation cleared me. Technically. Nonspecific symptoms. Difficult diagnosis. No malpractice.”
I let out a bitter laugh that scrapes painfully against my throat.
“But I know that if I’d been more attentive, less rushed, if I’d ordered more tests… she’d still be alive.”
I finally look at him.
Jamie’s face has gone still, but there’s something in his eyes I don’t want to see.
Pity.
Maybe understanding.
“Her parents trusted me. And their daughter died.”
Jamie slowly shakes his head.
“So you came here to hide.”
“I came somewhere I could do less damage.”
“And where does Mary fit into all this?”
His voice is softer now, but every word still cuts.
“Mary deserves someone who isn’t haunted by a dead child. Someone who can love her without destroying her.”
“You think rejecting her isn’t destroying her?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t have an answer.
Or rather, I do.
I just refuse to admit it.
Jamie stands.
“You know what’s ironic?” he asks.
I look up at him.
“I left because I was afraid she’d reject me.”
His gaze pins me in place.
“You reject her because you’re afraid to love her.”
He pulls on his jacket and adds quietly:
“We’re both cowards. At least I admit it.”
Then he walks toward the exit.
And I’m left alone with my whisky and a truth burning hotter than the alcohol ever could.
Coward.
The word echoes through my head again and again.
I stare into the amber liquid.
At the distorted reflection of a pathetic man who destroys everything he touches.
This is better for her.
She deserves better.
But the voice repeating those words inside my head sounds less convincing every second.
I stay there in the dark corner of The Grumpy Sheep with my whisky and the crushing weight of what I just lost.
Ewan eventually approaches and wipes down the table with slow movements.
“You really gonna leave things like this with Mary?”
Apparently he overheard my entire conversation with Jamie.
Why I confessed all of that to a man who’s basically a stranger to me remains a mystery.
“It’s better for her,” I mutter.
“You really believe that?”
I don’t answer.
Because no.
I don’t believe it.
But I also don’t know how to stop punishing myself.
I don’t know how to accept that maybe I deserve a chance to be happy too.
“I don’t know how to be the man she deserves,” I admit quietly.
Ewan sighs and walks away.
I stay there alone.
Outside, the Highland Games continue.
Life keeps moving.
The world spins without me.
And the impossible hope that maybe I could’ve had something real with Mary drifts farther away with every passing second, taking with it everything I might’ve become if I’d only been brave enough to try.