Always You (Adair Family 3)

Brows furrowed, Mac swung the SUV out of its spot in the car park outside the Gloaming, but instead of turning left out of the village, he drove right. Toward the beach.

“Where are we going?”

“We need to talk.”

Indignation rushed through me. “I’m hungry, and I want to eat my bloody sandwich and get back to work.”

He shot me a look of disappointment that pissed me off. “Please, Arro. There are some things I need you to know.”

Something in his voice gave me pause. “About what?”

“A few different things. I thought we could have our lunch out by the beach and talk. Like old times.”

Like old times.

We weren’t the people we were then, though.

Still … something in Mac’s tone made me loath to say no. Moreover, I was wearied of being angry at him. It did me little good to hold on to such anger. I might have been hurting Mac, but I was also hurting myself.

“All right,” I agreed.

Mac’s shoulders seemed to drop with relief, and we drove the rest of the way in silence. While he parked at the edge of the lot on Gordon’s caravan site, raised up over the sand dunes, windshield framing the sea, I settled the coffee we’d gotten from Morag’s into the car cupholders in the central armrest before unwrapping our sandwiches. I handed Mac his once he switched off the engine and removed his seat belt.

“Thank you.”

I nodded and took a massive bite of my ham salad sandwich. Gesturing with one hand, I gave him a wave that said, “Go on, then.”

Mac studied my face so tenderly, it made me self-conscious. Swallowing my food, I huffed, “Don’t watch me eat. Just tell me whatever it is you brought me here to tell me.”

He smirked and took a bite of his roast beef and pickle sandwich instead. I’d ordered it without asking him, I realized, because I knew that’s all he ever ordered at Morag’s. I knew some of the tiny details about him that a girlfriend would know. But not all.

My bitterness rising, I looked out the windshield and stayed silent, waiting for him to talk.

“I started seeing a therapist.”

The food in my mouth wasn’t broken down nearly enough when I jerked in shock at his words, and the damn bite got caught in my throat. Choking, I fumbled for my coffee.

“Are you all right?” Mac patted my back in concern.

I waved him off as I took a drink of the hot coffee and let it wash the choking hazard down. Coughing, eyes watering, I shot Mac an accusing look. “Warn a person before you make an announcement like that.”

His lips twitched. “Apologies.”

Once I’d fully recovered, I asked. “Are you serious?”

“About therapy? Aye.” Mac took another bite, and my gaze dropped, watching the muscles in his jaw and then the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Why was everything about him still so physically fascinating? Focus, Arro. Therapy, remember.

“You, Mackennon Galbraith, willingly visited a therapist? Not a physical therapist, but a counselor?”

“Who specializes in cognitive behavioral therapy, especially for men.”

Holy shit, he was really seeing a therapist.

A swell of hope baffled me.

So I ignored it.

“Why?”