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.
