Page 51

“But that was Friday,” I say, shifting gears. “Yesterday, the way I view Robbie changed a bit.”

David cocks his head. “How so?”

I hesitate, thinking back to the clootie well, to Robbie’s quiet confession. “Robbie mentioned something about his maw, about how he wished she’d treated him more like how she treated Johnny. It made me realise there’s so much more to him than I thought.”

David’s playful demeanour slips away, replaced by something gentler. “Ah. Fiona.”

“Has Johnny spoken about her? I know she left when Robbie and Johnny were young, but I was even younger, so I barely remember her.”

David paddles over to the pool’s edge and props his elbows up on the tiles, water beading on his arms. I follow suit.

“Johnny’s told me bits here and there. She . . . struggled. She was quite a bit younger than Craig—had Robbie when she was barely out of her teens.”

“That is young,” I agree.

“Some people do just fine becoming parents at that age. Others, though, aren’t ready for the responsibility, and Fiona fell into the second category. From what I understand, she felt trapped. Craig was working all hours here at the resort, and there she was, stuck at home with a baby, and then another one a few years later. Small town, no career, just nappies and housework day after day.”

I think about my own maw, how she managed to balance running the hotel with raising four children. But she had my da, and they were a team. Plus, she chose that life—she wasn’t thrust into motherhood before she was ready.

“And Fiona . . . took things out on Robbie?” I ask carefully.

David nods. “Johnny says she’d compare them constantly. ‘Why can’t you be more like your little brother?’ That sort of thing. Johnny was the ‘easy’ child—quiet, obedient. Robbie was . . . well, Robbie. And he got the blame for everything, whether it was his fault or not.”

I think about the man I’ve come to know the past week and a half. Guarded. Defensive. Quick to assume the worst in people. It makes a painful sort of sense now.

“Johnny only hears from her every now and then,” David goes on. “A text on his birthday, maybe a call at Christmas. She travels a lot. Has flings. Lives this wild, free life—the complete opposite of what she had here.”

I fiddle with the strap of my bikini top, letting David’s words sink in. “So she just . . . left them? To go live her best life?”

“Pretty much,” David says with a small shrug. “Left them both behind for adventures and hot men in hotter climates.”

Something uncomfortable shifts in my stomach. I think about my own life—the wild nights out in Glasgow, the string of casual hook-ups, the constant chase for the next thrill. My Project Bang a Bad Boy plan suddenly seems not just mortifying but cruel.

“God, I feel awful,” I mumble.

David lifts an eyebrow. “About what?”

“When I first saw Robbie again, I literally made a plan called Project Bang a Bad Boy. I even told Maisie and Iona about it.” I cringe at the memory. “I treated the whole thing like it was a challenge, something to spice up my return home to Bannock. Didn’t even think of him as a real person.”

David’s expression softens. “Cat⁠—”

“Chasing excitement, not caring about who gets hurt along the way . . . not so different from Robbie’s maw, right?”

“Cat,” David says firmly, “there’s a world of difference between being young and wanting a bit of fun, and abandoning your children because you resent the life you’ve built. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

I sigh. “Maybe, but it still feels wrong now. What if what Robbie really wants isn’t some wild fling, but someone stable? Someone who won’t leave him, the way his mother did?”

David doesn’t answer right away, and I can tell he’s genuinely considering my words.

“I’ve been thinking,” I continue, “if I keep pursuing Robbie, it can’t be because I want a bit of fun with the town bad boy. It has to be because I genuinely care about him.” I pause, struck by the truth of what I’m saying. “And I think I do care about him. These past few weeks, I’ve seen beyond his reputation, and . . . I like what I see.”

“Well,” David says with a small smile, “that sounds like growth to me. Johnny would be thrilled to hear you talking like this about his brother, by the way. He worries about Robbie—says he’s too isolated, too stuck in his own head.”

I think about Robbie in his secluded cottage, with his motorcycle and his punchbag and his walls built so high that hardly anyone gets to see the man behind them. The man who stopped fighting after witnessing death. The man who saved my brother’s life.

“Robbie deserves better than being someone’s rebellious phase,” I say.

“He does,” David agrees. “And for what it’s worth, I think you two might actually be good for each other. Yesterday, when he was looking at you . . . I don’t know. There was something there I haven’t seen before.”