Page 37

He shakes his head, but I spy a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

A comfortable silence falls between us as we continue through the woods. I’m surprised by how natural this feels. Lately, most of my time with Robbie has been me flirting and him expertly dodging every advance. But with Project Bang a Bad Boy officially on hiatus, at least for today, I’m discovering he’s actually decent company. He might not be much of a talker, but being around him is surprisingly easy.

The path soon opens up to reveal a small clearing, where sunlight glints off a pool of water, still and glassy. The branches of the trees around it are adorned with strips of cloth in every colour imaginable, fluttering and twisting in the gentle breeze. A clootie well.

“Ever made a wish here?” I ask.

Robbie crouches, picks up a smooth stone, and rolls it between his fingers like it’s suddenly fascinating. “Aye. As a kid. Tied a scrap of cloth to one of those branches and wished my maw would treat me the same way she treated Johnny.”

My eyebrows lift in surprise, but I don’t interrupt. I give him the space to continue, if he wants to.

He lets out a short, humourless laugh. “Obviously, it didn’t work. That’s when I knew it was all a load of nonsense.”

I let his words sink in. It’s hard for me to imagine someone as big and tough as Robbie standing here as a young lad, desperate enough for his maw’s love that he tied a clootie to a branch and wished for something most folk never have to ask for.

“She . . . had this way of looking at me.” Robbie stands but doesn’t meet my eye. “Like I was a problem she couldn’t solve. Johnny? He could do no wrong. But me? I was just . . . more bother than I was worth.” He pauses then shakes his head as if to dismiss the memory. “Doesn’t matter now.”

I reach out and lightly touch his arm. “It does matter. She should have made you feel safe and wanted, not like that.”

My maw never treated me that way, not even when I went through my moody teenager phase. She’d just sigh, call me her “wee hurricane”, then pull me into a hug so fierce I’d forget why I was storming about in the first place. My heart aches at the thought of Robbie growing up without that warmth.

He glances at me, just for a moment, then looks away again. “Aye, well. She left Scotland years back. Lives somewhere sunny now, I think. I’ve not spoken to her in . . . honestly, I don’t know how long it’s been.”

I want to ask more, like whether his maw has ever tried to reach out, or if he’s ever confronted her about the way she treated him. But before I can form a question, Robbie blows out a long breath.

“Didn’t mean to spill all that. Let’s leave it there, aye?”

I hesitate, my natural curiosity urging me to push for more. But I catch the tightness in his jaw, the way he’s still avoiding my gaze, and I know better than to press him further. So I nod.

There’s more to Robbie MacDonald than the “bad boy” label that’s been slapped on him, that’s for sure. He’s complex, with his own struggles and vulnerabilities, just like everyone else. I’m starting to realise how shallow my previous impressions of him were, never mind my recent campaign to get into bed with him. A twinge of guilt twists in my gut.

I take a step closer to the well. “I think I’d like to make a wish.”

“You actually buy into this nonsense?”

“Maybe . . . maybe not.” I shrug. “But they say folk have been tying wishes to these branches for hundreds of years. Maybe there’s something in it, eh?” I look down at myself, considering, then grab the hem of my shirt and tear off a small strip of fabric.

Robbie doesn’t say anything, but he watches me as I approach one of the trees. I could wish for something for myself, but instead I make a silent plea for Robbie. Let him be cleared of these accusations. Let the truth come out.

I tie the clootie to a low-hanging branch then step back and brush my hands together decisively. “There. Now we wait and see if it works.”

Robbie scoffs softly but doesn’t say anything more.

We wander back through the woods, sunlight flitting between the trees and striping the path at our feet. The mood has changed—not quite awkward, but not exactly easy either. Heavier, if that makes sense.

When I spot a flash of chrome through the trees, I decide enough is enough. Time to lighten things up.

“Race you back to the bike! First one there gets to ask the other a personal question, so be prepared to give me a very detailed answer about what it was like to get that”—I point at his crotch—“pierced.”

Before Robbie can respond, I’m off, sprinting along the last stretch of path with a whoop. Behind me, there’s a muttered curse, followed by heavy boots pounding on the ground.

I’m fast—years of running alongside horses when helping out at lessons have given me speed—but Robbie’s legs are much longer than mine. Just as we near the motorcycle, his strong arms wrap around my waist, lift me clean off my feet, and spin me away from it.

“Cheater!” I squeal, but I laugh when he sets me down. He does too.

We’re standing close now—too close, maybe. His hands linger at my waist, and I’m very aware of the warmth of them through my clothes. Our eyes lock, and everything else fades away. The flecks of silver in his gaze steal the breath right out of my lungs.

But then, as if suddenly remembering himself, Robbie steps back, breaking the spell. He reaches out and taps his motorcycle before I can gather my wits.