“Aye, I get it.” Disappointment filled me. “Is that a no, then?”
“I just … I’ll see if I can squeeze in a quick trip, but I don’t know.”
My stomach churned as I prepared to mention Monroe.
“You still there?”
“Aye, I’m here.”
“You okay?”
“Fine, fine. It’s just, um … well, I thought you might want to know that Monroe is back in Ardnoch. Permanently.”
A heavy silence fell between us.
“Monroe Sinclair,” I stupidly added.
“I know who the fuck Monroe is, Arran,” he snapped.
“Of course.” An awkwardness I hadn’t felt with my brother in a long time settled in. Jesus Christ, I’d give anything to take back that night.
“Family okay?” Brodan abruptly changed the subject.
“They’re good.”
“Arro and Robyn doing okay? Can’t believe they’re pregnant at the same time. More nieces or nephews or both, eh?”
“The more, the merrier,” I offered, wincing at the small talk.
Brodan obviously couldn’t take it. “I have to get up and get going. I won’t be able to make it to the ceilidh, but give everyone my love. Bye, Arr.” He hung up before I could say another word.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, wracked with guilt.
All these years, and Monroe was still a thorn between us.
Because of what Brodan considered my betrayal … or because he’d never gotten over her?
As selfish as it was, I hoped like hell it was the latter, not just because I didn’t want that kind of ugliness between me and my brother, but because of Ery.
One day soon, I hoped I’d have reason for another awkward fucking conversation with my brother, and it would really help things along if Monroe Sinclair, and not Eredine Willows, was the woman renting space in Brodan’s head.
“Fuck,” I muttered, very much not looking forward to that inevitable discussion.
Well, inevitable once I convinced Ery we’d be great together.
8
ARRAN
It happened slowly. My personal dark cloud appeared above my head and stayed there over the subsequent days. At first I barely noticed it, but as the weeks passed, growing closer to the anniversary of a time I’d like to erase from my memory, it grew heavier and darker and harder to bear.
I could’ve become an actor like my brothers, for I shrugged on the part of carefree Arran and no one seemed to notice the grim clutch of the past dragging down my shoulders.
Except Eredine.
We’d switched roles. Gone was her distraction in place of mine. The last few days on our runs along Ardnoch Beach, she’d asked several times if I was okay. I’d flirted in return, evading her concern.
Part of me couldn’t believe it had been four years since that tragic night in Thailand.
Horrible fucking coincidence it fell on the night of Ardnoch’s anniversary ceilidh.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the kilt with the Sutherland tartan the Adairs wore. The dark green plaid with red, black, and white accents had been worn in this family for generations. While Clan Adair was actually from the Lowlands of Scotland, our particular offshoot of the Adairs had migrated north and broken away from the clan. We became more involved in the politics of Clan Sutherland, and our ancestors had opted to adopt the Sutherland tartan in lieu of the tartan worn by Clan Adair, which was actually Maxwell tartan.
I came from a long line of Scotsmen who left their home to start anew.
Only problem was, I’d eventually regretted my choice, missing my family. Missing Ardnoch. I wondered if any of my ancestors had missed their clan in the Lowlands.
The jacket I wore was dark gray to match my brothers’ kilts. I looked the part.
But that cloud above my head felt almost unbearable tonight.
I grimaced at the mirror, trying to force a smile.
Fuck.
I barely drank these days, and tonight it seemed like a poor decision to do so, but maybe a glass or two of whisky would loosen me up. It would all be fine.
Thane and Regan were bringing the kids to the ceilidh, and my niece and nephew looked adorable. Lewis wore a wee kilt to match ours, and I managed a genuine smile when Regan took photos of us. Eilidh was on cloud nine wearing what she called a princess dress that matched the color of Regan’s much sexier dark green gown.
“You look absolutely gorgeous,” I told Regan truthfully.
“Stop flirting with my wife.” Thane stepped between us to grab his car keys, giving me a warning look.
Affronted that he was genuinely annoyed, I scowled. “Not your wife yet, brother.”
His eyes narrowed. “As good as.”
“It was just a compliment, handsome.” Regan patted her fiancé’s arm while offering me an apologetic look.
Whatever Thane saw in my expression caused remorse to flicker across his. “Sorry. You and Brodan are just so similar that sometimes I forget you’re also not.”
“What does that mean?”
Instead of answering, Thane ushered the kids into the hall while Regan stayed behind to tell me quietly, “Brodan deliberately flirted with me to get a rise out of Thane when we first started dating.”