I can’t believe this. “Why didn’t you say anything in the interview? This totally ties into what Bram is doing.”
“Because that was about Bram. That was for his cause, not mine.” Suddenly he gestures for me to be quiet, to stay still. I hold my breath, frozen in place. There is a rustle in the distance, but I don’t dare lift my flashlight. Two pairs of eyes glint in the dark.
“Over there,” he whispers. “They aren’t going to be easy to catch. They’re scared.”
He slowly starts moving in their direction and I reluctantly follow.
“Aren’t they dangerous?”
“We’re the dangerous ones,” he says. “Until we prove to them otherwise.”
“And how do we do that?” I ask.
“With a fuckload of patience, love,” he says.
I grin. “Did I ever tell you that I love it when you call me that?” I tell him. I can’t help it. “Love. It’s so…endearing.”
He gives me a curious look. “Have I called you that before?”
I nod.
He frowns. “Interesting.”
He doesn’t elaborate and keeps moving forward through the dark. I follow, matching his movements, even though I wonder how the hell we’re going to catch these dogs. They’re just going to keep running, it’s late at night, and the park is absolutely huge. Unless we corner them somewhere, we could keep running until dawn.
Not that I’m complaining. Even though it’s a bit creepy in this park at night, and despite what Lachlan says the dogs could be rabid, I still feel nothing but safe with him.
“Wait here,” he says to me. “Turn the flashlight off.”
I lift up my phone to do so just in time to see it turn off by itself. As in the battery just died. “Uh, it’s not going to come back on. Do you have your phone?”
He doesn’t answer me. I blink rapidly, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the dark. Thanks to the light pollution, it doesn’t take that long, and I can see him moving forward. The dog’s eyes in the distance have faded, and I’m not sure if I’m looking at them or something else.
Lachlan stops walking and kind of shuffles around, leaves crunching on the ground. I can’t see him anymore. I hear something crinkle, like he’s taking something out of his pocket. He begins talking in low, hushed murmurs and I can’t make out what he’s saying.
I want to call out after him but I don’t dare. I feel like he’s part dog whisperer and I have to stay as quiet and still as possible. So I stand there for what feels like an hour, though maybe it’s just minutes, while he does his thing.
Finally I hear him walking toward me. He stops a few feet away.
“Now we wait,” he whispers. I’m about to ask him what for, but he grabs my hand and leads me to a eucalyptus tree close by.
He sits down on the ground at the base of the tree and pulls me down beside him. For a moment I think he’s going to put his arm around me, but he doesn’t.
“So we just sit here?” I ask him, my shoulder pressed up against his. It’s starting to get cold and my flannel isn’t holding up very well. Still, I don’t dare complain. I don’t want him to think I’m not tough.
“Aye,” he says quietly. “They’ll come around. Eventually.”
“What did you do?”
He turns to face me. “I talked to them in dog speak.”
I’m not sure whether to laugh or not. Is he serious? I can’t tell in the dark—not that I could tell anyway. He doesn’t add anything to that statement, so that doesn’t help either.
We lapse into silence for a few moments. I think I can hear the dogs in the distance, eating something maybe, but I can’t be sure. The concert is over and though you can see the faint light of the venues through the forest, the music is gone. I really need to text Steph or Nicola and let them know I’m okay. They’re probably freaking out.
“Can I use your phone?” I whisper.
“I forgot it,” he says.
“Shit,” I say. “Mine’s dead. They’re probably worried about me.”
“Did you just take off?”
“Yeah. Well, Bram knew I was going after you. He told me not to bother.”
A pause. “I see.”
“Obviously I didn’t listen.”
His face comes closer to mine and I can feel his eyes on me. “And why is that?” he murmurs.
“I don’t know, I’m stubborn,” I tell him, folding my hands in my lap. “And I don’t like listening to Bram.”
“Neither do I,” Lachlan says lightly. “So that makes two of us.”
I try and swallow the butterflies in my throat. “And I was worried about you.”
“About me?” he repeats. “Whatever for?”
I shrug, wondering how much to reveal. “I don’t know. I just…I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Well,” he says after a beat. “I’m okay.”
“Are you?” I ask. I expect him to balk at that, the fact that I’m second-guessing him. He’s such a manly man, I don’t blame him for taking offense.
But he just sighs. “Yeah. Right now, I’m okay. I’ll feel better when we get those dogs. And tomorrow, who knows. I take it one day at a time. That’s all you can do.”
What happened to you, I want to ask. What made you this way?
Can I fix it?
“Are you okay?” he asks me.
“Me? Yeah.”
“About the article and everything?”
I sigh and lean back against the tree. I fight the urge to run my hands up and down my arms to keep warm. But even without me saying anything, Lachlan puts his arm around me.
“Are you cold?” he asks softly, his breath sweet on my cheek, his grip strong.
“Yes,” I admit. I match his voice, afraid to break the spell. “And no, I’m not okay about the article. Not at all.”
I launch into a long, rambling confession about my dashed hopes and dreams, laying out the nitty gritty with absolutely no fear of being judged or second-guessed. It’s refreshing.
When I’m done speaking, Lachlan doesn’t say anything. He’s still holding me close. I turn into him slightly, inhaling his peppery, woodsy smell, and gingerly place my hand on his stomach, sliding it along his waist until I’m holding onto him. His abs are hard, rigid, and well-earned. I bite my lip in want.
“So why don’t you get another job?” he asks gently. “Go for what you really want? There’s no use wasting your days doing something that doesn’t excite you. You only get one life. Well, two lives. The second one starts the moment you realize you only have one.”
I look up at him. He’s staring off into the distance. “Where did you hear that one?”
He smiles briefly, his eyes twinkling. “I think I saw it scribbled on a bathroom door. People are philosophical when they’re taking a shit.”
I laugh. “True.”
“So, why don’t you?” he asks again.
“You’re persistent,” I tell him, my fingers gripping the soft fabric of his shirt.
“It’s only fair,” he says. “You got to ask me all the questions earlier. Now I can turn the tables. I want to know more about you.” He says the lasts word like they mean everything.
My heart skips, warm, bubbly. “Okay,” I say slowly. “Well, the truth is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid that I’ll give up something steady and loyal and normal, and trade it in for something I’ll fail at. You know?”
He nods. “I know. But if you don’t try…can you imagine spending the rest of your life never having that passion? That pull? Never feeling if who you are and what you offer will ever be used the way it should be? You have talent, there’s no doubt. And if you believe it and never share it with the world…well what a bloody shame that would be.”
He’s got this uncanny knack of just reaching inside and knowing what I’m feeling and thinking. As if I don’t think about that all the time. The regret that lies ahead of me if I keep going on as I am. One foot in front of the other, never looking up, never looking for a bette
r way.
“But it’s not that simple,” I tell him, holding his shirt tighter.
“Is it ever simple?”
“No,” I say. “It’s just that…I don’t want my mother to worry about me.”
“Your mother?”
I nod. I take a deep breath, summoning strength. “Yeah. She’s in her seventies and not doing too well. She hasn’t been doing well ever since my father died. That was seven years ago. I’m really the only one in the family that seems to worry about her. That seems to care. My brothers, they’re all older and have their own lives—most of them have their own families. She just isn’t on their radar. They all assume that I’ll take care of her forever, like it’s my job. And it’s not my job. I do it because I love my mom more than anything—I do it because she took care of us. I do it because she deserves so much more than to be a widower, all alone in that same house.” I pause my rambling, remembering to breathe. “She’s happy with me, with the job I have. It’s steady. It’s reliable. I want to be as steady and reliable for her as I can. I’m not sure how much time she has left and the thought of losing her…it only adds to it. It ruins me.”
Lachlan doesn’t say anything for a moment. Far in the background, there’s drunken laughter, but then it disappears. The night grows still again.
“That’s commendable,” he finally says. “You’re a good daughter, Kayla, and she knows that. But I’m sure your mother would want what’s best for you. What makes you happy.”
I feel the question burning on my lips and I do everything I can to hold it back.
But he can sense the change in my body. He cranes his head to look down at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“You can ask me,” he coaxes.
I swallow. “Did you know your mother?” I ask softly, holding my breath, thinking he might blow up at me.
He stares at me, deep into my eyes, and I gaze further into his, barely visible in the dim. He slowly licks his lips, gives a single nod. “My mother gave me up when I was five. She was all I had. I like to believe that she wanted what was best for me. I don’t think she realized what it would do to me. What I would become.”
What I would become.
The words echo in my head, sharp and potent in the dark, in this isolation.
Who had he become?
Who is this man, this beast, I am holding onto?
More than anything in this world, I want to find out.
I stare up at him, craving so much more than he’s given me. He looks away, frowning, almost if he’s in pain, head hanging down.
“You know, I’ve never told anyone that much about what happened,” he says gruffly, the depth of his voice making the skin on my arms prickle.
I press my fingers into his skin, relishing the feel of him against me. “Thank you for telling me. I won’t tell a soul.”
He slowly turns his head to look at me. His eyes are deep, intense pools that pull me in. They welcome me to drown in them, tell me I might even enjoy it.
I’m such a fucking goner.
I was from day one.
“I know you won’t,” he murmurs. “You’re not like the rest of them. I don’t think you’re like anyone I’ve ever met.”
I raise my brows. “You mean you don’t have a slutty, immature, loud friend back at home?”
It’s a joke but he doesn’t smile.
He puts his hand on my chin, tilting my head up further. “That’s not you. That’s not what I see.”
I want to tell him that it is, that it’s all anyone ever sees of me.
But for once in my life, I keep quiet.
He runs his thumb over my bottom lip.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he says.
Oh Jesus, is this happening? I’m not going to survive this.
“Please tell me you’re not joking,” I whisper.
His fingers grip my chin tighter and he lowers those gorgeous lips toward mine, his expression still caught in that frown, as if he can’t quite believe it himself.
“I’ve never been more serious,” he says.
Coming from a man like him, I know that’s saying a lot.
I close my eyes and there’s a delicious, aching second before his lips meet mine. Soft, unbearably soft, and I’m sinking into them, falling down, down, down into a rabbit hole.
The kiss is sweet, slow, gentle. The kiss is like lingering in satin sheets with sun streaming on your skin. The kiss is soothing but it does nothing to soothe me.
It only stirs up those butterflies. It lets loose the birds from the cage. It makes my mouth open against his, suddenly insatiable, hungry, desperate for everything he can possibly give me.
He responds in kind. He groans into my mouth which shoots fire down my spine, incinerating my nerves. His lips are wet and wanting, enveloping mine with softness, with wildness, with desire that I can taste.
His hands bury themselves in my hair, holding me, his body twisting against mine to get closer. I grab him tighter, pulling him toward me, then let my hands roam up and down his sides, feeling the taut muscle underneath. I slip my fingers underneath his shirt, his skin soft and warm beneath my caress.
The tip of his tongue touches mine and I am lost to him. Whatever armor I had over my black, bitter heart is being chipped away with each passionate kiss, each deep, slow pull of my mouth to his.
I feel like I’m being kissed for the first time. This kiss is erasing every single man that has ever crossed my path. It’s a restart button being pushed.
It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.
And it doesn’t seem fair that the finest lips to ever grace mine are leaving in a week.
He pulls away¸ just briefly, his lips sliding away from my open mouth and slowly moving down my jawbone, nipping, sucking, tasting. His rough beard tickles my skin, inflaming my desire. His grip around my head tightens, containing me, and his mouth is hot against my neck as he lets out a ragged breath.
I moan, unable to help myself, pressing against him, wanting him to devour me. There is so much heat, so much built up tension between us, I don’t know how I can ever extract myself from him. I’ve wanted him so badly and now that his lips are kissing my neck and he’s holding me, so tight, and I can feel his own lust for me, I’m not sure if I can ever stop.
A rustle sounds from the bushes beside us, bringing me back to a hazy reality.
Lachlan pulls away, breathing hard with my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. He slowly turns his head and looks to the side of us. I suck in my breath, my lips still throbbing from his kiss, and follow his gaze.
Eyes stare at us from the bushes. I freeze up but Lachlan whispers in a raspy voice, “Shh, shhh, it’s okay.” He slowly moves into a crouch and I shuffle over to give him room. He turns and faces the eyes in the bushes—which I hope are the dogs—and takes something out of his pocket.
“Did you like that?” he asks them gently. “Here.”
He tosses something into the bushes.
The eyes come closer, the wet snap of jowls, eating whatever it was.
“Do you just carry dog food with you everywhere?” I whisper, but he doesn’t answer me.
He coos at the dogs, tosses them something again, and slowly moves toward them, keeping his hulking frame as low as possible.
I squint, trying to watch him in the dark. I’m a bit worried that the dogs might attack him. At the same time, I’m cursing them for being cockblockers.
“Easy now,” he says, taking off his belt. “Easy.”
Is he going to use his belt as a leash? What kind of dog superhero is this guy?
A bunch of shuffling follows, then more hushed, calming words from Lachlan until finally he stands up slowly.
“Okay,” he says to me. “I’ve got one of them.”
I get to my feet, dusting off the dirt from my ass, and peer at him. At his side is the shadow of a dog, his belt looped around its neck. Though the dog is tense, straining slightly at the makeshift leash, it amaz
es me that he’s not fighting, not trying to run.
“How did you do that?” I ask in awe.
“Used my belt. It’s a little too big for me anyway.”
“No,” I say, “I mean the whole thing. How did you lure them here?”
He gently taps his cargo pants pocket and the dog looks there. It’s then that I notice the other stray slowly coming forward, also drawn by the noise.
Lachlan reaches in and pulls out what looks like beef jerky. “I always carry some sort of food on me, just in case.”
“Wherever you go? Just in case you find a stray dog?”
“Aye,” he says calmly, as if it’s totally normal.
I gesture to the other dog. “What about that one?”
He glances at the scruffy mutt now standing beside the leashed pit bull. He hands both dogs more jerky and they take it, eager and wary at the same time. “This one will follow the alpha.”
“Aren’t you the alpha?” I ask.
“I will be by the time the night is over.”
God, he can alpha me anytime he wants. Even with the dogs here now, I’m having a hard time forgetting that just moments ago my lips were locked with his and I was lost in all he was giving me. I need more of it. That kiss can’t be it.
But now he’s preoccupied. A cold, wet breeze laced with fog washes over me and I fold my arms across my chest. “The fog is rolling in again.”
“We’ll get going,” he says.
“Where? To the pound?”
“Fuck no,” he says sharply. “These dogs will be put down in a few days if I do that.”
I obviously have a lot to learn about all of this. “Really, why?”
“Because the pound is overwhelmed with dogs, as are most shelters in any given city. There just isn’t any room for them, and these two are shy. Being a pit doesn’t help either. They won’t get adopted. They won’t get rehomed. They’ll be killed.”
I swallow uneasily. “That’s horrible. I’m sorry, I had no idea.”
“Most people don’t,” he says, staring down at the dogs. “So I’m taking them home.”
“Home? To Scotland?”
“I’ll take them to my flat here first and try to find homes for them this week. If I can’t, they’ll fly back with me.”