Chapter 12
Heather—Present Day
H eather’s knuckles whitened around the doorframe, her robe clutched tight as if it were armor.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Flynn didn’t flinch, but the hurt was unmistakable.
Something in him stilled, like he’d taken a blow right to the gut.
His jaw worked once before he answered, quiet and wounded.
“Right… And yet… here I am.”
Her chest squeezed painfully. She pivoted and strode toward the kitchen like she could outrun his hurt. She gripped the counter edge so hard the wood creaked.
“Why?” Her voice cracked. “Why would you want that?”
Flynn stopped just inside the doorway.
“You’re Flynn Duncan,” she snapped, panic tightening into something jagged. “You fix everything. You fix houses, you fix broken furniture, you fix people just by walking into a room.” She whirled on him, eyes burning. “And I’m—”
Her throat closed, but the words forced themselves out anyway.
“I’m the sad orphan whose parents left her. Whose Dad drank himself into an early grave. My mother apparently drowned chasing treasure like she thought she was Indiana fucking Jones. That’s my history. That’s what you’re signing up for!”
Flynn’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t speak.
Heather’s voice rose, slamming against the walls.
“You deserve someone normal. Someone whole. Not someone constantly trying to stitch herself together before she falls apart again.”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a trembling, wild, bitter laugh.
“How do you love someone who doesn’t even know what love is supposed to feel like? How do you stay with someone who keeps proving everyone right when they say she’s too much?”
“Stop.” His voice was firm.
But Heather barreled on, spiraling.
“How can you love someone who has never learned how? Someone who’s just going to—”
“Stop!” Louder now. Sharper.
She didn’t.
“You shouldn’t have to deal with the catastrophe that is my life! Sooner or later, you’ll get tired of me and walk out the door for good—”
“Heather. Look at me!”
Her name broke from him—not angry.
Hurt.
Real hurt.
“You think I’m made of stone?” His voice trembled at the edges. “You push me away the second something hurts, and you expect me not to feel it? You expect me to just… wait in the doorway until ye’re done destroying yourself?”
The air wooshed out of Heather’s lungs. She hadn’t expected him to break, too.
He took a single step forward.
“I’m here because I care,” he said roughly. “And every time you shove me out—every time you slam a door in my face, turn your back, walk away—it feels like…”
He exhaled hard.
“It feels like you’re done with me.”
Heather’s heart clenched. Oh no.
“That’s not true,” she whispered.
“Well, it bloody feels true.”
“You don’t answer my calls. You vanish for days. And when I show up, all I get is you tearing yourself down and pushing me out like I’m the enemy.”
Her lips trembled.
“Flynn, I was—I am… grieving. I don’t want to hurt you with it.”
He shook his head and moved toward her: slow, steady, but with a weight she’d never seen in him before.
“But you did .”
The quiet of it hit harder than shouting ever could.
She had to escape. Had to get some space between the two of them. She made a beeline to the kitchen.
Flynn followed her.
“I’m human, Heather. I’m not perfect,” he continued. “I’m not unshakable. I care for you so much it scares me, and when you shut down and shove me away—”
His breath hitched.
“It lands. I feel it. Every damn time.”
A tear slipped down his cheek. Heather nearly crumbled right then.
Flynn’s voice softened, but didn’t lose its urgency.
“You say everyone leaves. You say I’m going to leave.”
He swallowed hard.
“But you keep leaving me first.”
Her knees nearly buckled.
He brushed by her, bracing his hands on the counter around her hips.
“I’m here,” he whispered, forehead close to hers. “But you’ve gotta stop shoving me away every time your fear gets too loud.”
Heather shook her head, sobbing. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know.” His voice softened.
“ I kept quiet because I thought you needed space. But you don’t need space, Heather.”
“You need someone steady. And I’m trying—God, I’m trying—but I cannae keep being punished for loving you when life gets hard.”
She sucked in a breath.
He swallowed again, visibly struggling to hold himself steady.
“But even that’s not what broke me.”
Her eyes snapped up.
“What broke me,” he said quietly, painfully honest, “was knowing you were hurting… and you didn’t let me hold any of it.”
Her breath collapsed in her chest.
“Oh…”
His fingers slid to her jaw, tilting her face up, steady as bedrock.
“I want all of you,” he murmured. “Even the storms. Even the rough bits.”
He leaned in, voice cracking.
“But you’ve got to let me in, mo chridhe… or you’ll lose me to walls you built before I ever walked through your door.”
Her breath hitched violently.
She felt that line in her bones.
In shame, she pressed her face into his chest, voice small and wrecked.
“I didn’t know I was hurting you. I’m sorry.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry about your mum. All of it.”
Her voice splintered.
“I’m scared.”
“So am I,” he breathed. “But I’m still here.”
His thumb stroked beneath her eye.
“And I love you.”
She cried again, unraveling into him instead of away from him.
Flynn exhaled shakily. Then the truth came.
“My mother ran off when I was fourteen.”
Heather went still.
“Packed a bag, kissed my sister goodbye, and walked out like we were an old life she was done livin’. Five years later she had a new husband, two new bairns, and apparently plenty of love left for them.”
Heather’s chest ached.
“And my father?” Flynn huffed out a humorless laugh. “The mighty Duncan solicitor. Too busy being everyone’s hero to notice he’d lost his wife—or that he had two kids still standin’ there.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, exhausted.
“So I raised Islay. I fed her, got her to school, kept her safe. And when I finally walked away from my father’s path because I would rather carve my own life than drown any longer in his—”
His voice cracked.
“He shut the door. Told me I was no son of his.”
Heather’s tears continued to spill freely.
“Flynn…”
He shook his head, stepping nearer.
“I know what bein’ left feels like. I know why your heart runs.”
His voice softened.
“And that’s exactly why I’ll never walk away.”
Her body shivered at the admission.
“You still… want this? After everything?”
His forehead pressed to hers.
“Yes. I do.”
Heather’s breath hitched.
“God, Flynn. You mean it?”
“Aye.”
His voice was barely a whisper.
“I mean every word. Hold onto me. Right now. Not the grief— me .”
Something inside her cracked open completely.
She reached up, fisted a hand in his shirt, and pulled him into her mouth.
The kiss wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t careful.
It was surrender.
“Good,” he murmured, voice rough with relief. “That’s it. Let me in.” Flynn groaned into her, hands sliding around her waist, dragging her against him like he’d been starving for touch.
Her robe slouched off her shoulder, the cashmere useless now. The cool air kissed flushed skin. Flynn’s eyes flicked down, darkening, then lifted back to hers with reverence and hunger tangled together.
She dared a shaky whisper.
“Still want me now?”
His hand wrapped her thigh, lifting her effortlessly.
“God, lass,” he rasped, “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
He swept her off the floor, her legs locking instinctively around his waist as he carried her to the stairs.
“I’m not too heavy, am I?” she whispered breathlessly.
His grip only tightened.
“You weigh nothin’. And even if ye didn’t, I’d carry ye anyway.”
Her heart cracked wider, fuller.
At the landing, her robe slipped even lower, exposing more heated skin to his hands and the Highland draft. Her fingers curled in his hair, face pressing into his temple.
He nudged her bedroom door open with his shoulder, kissed her again—slow this time, grounding and claiming all at once—and carried her inside without loosening his hold.
She felt carried.
Held.
Home.