Always You (Adair Family 3)

“Good morning to you too!” Marcello yelled over his shoulder at Mac in sarcasm. Then he turned to me and said, “Who pissed in his coffee?”

I couldn’t answer. I could only stare out the window as Mac jumped into his SUV, swung it around, and drove out of sight. As much as I wanted to shrug off his implied words of love or the realization that the guilt and shame Mac carried regarding his relationship with Robyn was much deeper than I’d thought, I couldn’t. In fact, his lack of self-worth was shocking. Destructive. It had ruined us.

And I wanted to fix it. I wanted to show Mac how wrong he was. To make him see his good.

But with so much anger still between us, such broken trust, I was smart enough to know that I couldn’t be the one to make him see it when right now, I could only see the worst he’d wreaked on my life.

Out of nowhere, the dam I’d built broke, and a loud sob burst forth before I could stop it. Uncontrollable sobs racked through me, and I heard the vague rumble of Marcello’s surprise before his arms came around me.

For the second time in as many days, I let a friend hold me through my heartbreak.

16

Mac

Leaving my car in a multistory car park, it took me less than five minutes to walk to the building on the banks of the River Ness. I hated being this far from Arro, but Jock was guarding her, and there had been no further incidents these past few days.

Still, I was concerned by the escalation, considering the perpetrator had left the last two notes within less than forty-eight hours of the other. That Arro would barely talk to me wasn’t helping. I’d discovered she’d blocked my number on her phone and was reluctant to unblock me for security purposes. She’d done it, though. But it fucking hurt that she’d blocked me in the first place.

Which brought me here.

I’d never have considered something like this, but Billy’s advice plagued me for weeks. And during our many long conversations since she’d come hurtling back into my life, Robyn had talked about her experiences with therapy. She considered therapy something ongoing that helped her stay in a good place mentally and emotionally, and she had regular video conferences with her therapist back in Boston. It was therapy that had helped her face her fear of facing me.

Arro’s words at the Portakabin were the final push I needed.

Because it finally hit me that what I’d said in return was true. I’d never love anyone like I loved Arro, and if I was to make things right between us, I had to get my head sorted.

I looked at the main door, at the entrance buzzer with the therapist’s name beside it, and despite my determination, I wavered. I considered walking away.

Yet her expression filled my vision. Arro. Her torment. Shame. Rejection. Pain.

All of it, I had caused.

Everything I felt, everything I’d never wanted to put on someone I loved, I’d left those emotions with her. I couldn’t go on this way.

Even if Arrochar never forgave me, I couldn’t go on this way.

I pressed the buzzer.

Not long later, I found myself in an office that wasn’t overly large with views toward the River Ness. My therapist introduced herself and asked me to call her Iona. She was a little older than me and had a quiet, soothing voice and a relaxed way about her.

It didn’t help.

I wanted to escape. I wanted to turn around and get as far from this building as possible.

My jacket was too warm over my jumper and the jumper too tight across my chest.

“Would you like to take a seat?” Iona gestured to one of the twin sofas opposite each other in the center of the room. Ignoring the one she pointed at, I took its mate because it faced the exit.

Iona smiled pleasantly and sat down across from me. I wasn’t expecting her to dive right into psychoanalysis. “Can I ask why you chose that seat?”

It wasn’t her fault I was desperate to get out of here, so I answered politely, “I don’t like sitting with my back to a door. I was a police officer, then moved into security—private bodyguard, head of security on a private estate … just programmed to know where the exits are and to be aware of them.”

The counselor nodded. “That makes sense, Mackennon. Though, I should assure you, you don’t have to do your own psychoanalyzing just yet.”

I smirked. “I knew where you were going with the question.”

She nodded again.