“And it fucking kills me that after all this time, you’re still in pain.” His voice was gruff now. “But, Lewis, you cannot live your life making choices because you’re afraid of that pain.”
His words ricocheted through me, freezing me to the spot.
“You will regret it, son, and I don’t want any of my children to live with regrets.” He cupped my nape, giving it a firm squeeze, and suddenly I was a boy all over again. “If you want to come home, you come home … don’t let anything or anyone stop you. You get me?”
I nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak.
Dad pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Proud of you, Lew.”
“Proud of you,” I forced out.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
I nodded again as he released me and strode away to say good night to Eilidh. For a moment, I watched my sister and father embrace.
Maybe Dad was right. Maybe I was letting fear stop me from being back with my family.
Turning to stare out at the city again, I contemplated what life in Ardnoch would look like now, if I was remembering it through rose-tinted glasses and I’d miss the hustle and bustle of the city. Or if that longing for a quieter pace of life, for golden beaches and rugged mountains and wild weather, was more than nostalgia.
For years, I’d longed for something beyond Ardnoch, and it seemed impossible and almost cruel that I could miss it as much as I did. Considering it was my desire for somethingmorethat had lost me Callie.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and swiped the screen. Tapping the social media icon, I opened the app and searched her name.
Her feed was a collection of photos of her, the baked goods she’d created, France, and the people she’d met there.
One of her latest photos glared up at me. Like the masochist I was, I tapped on it for the hundredth time.
Callie’s beautiful face was wreathed in smiles as she beamed into the camera whilehepressed a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth. The caption said: “Another day in Paris with him.” The lips and heart emojis followed.
She’d tagged the Frenchman in a clutter of photos throughout her feed for the past year. His name was Gabriel Dumont. The year before him, there had been Remy. She’d dated that Frenchman for a few months. Both were good-looking bastards, and I hated them with the fire of a thousand suns.
A part of me hated Callietoo.
Because she said she’d never leave Ardnoch.
But there she was in Paris at a baking and pastry school. Dating French men. I clicked on another photo of them. Callie had clearly taken the selfie of them kissing beneath the Eiffel Tower. My gut twisted.
“What are you doing?”
I jumped, almost dropping my phone. Glaring at my sister, I ignored her knowing look. “Where is your harem of men?”
Eilidh nudged me. “They’re boring. All they do is talk about how much money they want to earn, what car they want to buy, what TV shows they’ve booked.”
“You invited them.”
“No, I invited my castmates, who invited everyone else in London.” She leaned her elbows against the balcony, facing me. “You still look at her social media?”
Glowering, I stared straight ahead. “You’re too nosy for your own good.”
“Maybe. But I’m worried my big brother is pining his life away.”
I’d already had this discussion with our dad and I wasn’t in the mood to have it again. “Eils?—”
“It’s been seven years, Lew.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“Well, I’m not telling you to move on.”
