Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Call it intuition, call it this connection Taran and I had shared since we were children—a bond that seemed so otherworldly, like it snapped into place between us the moment Taran was born … I found myself releasing Angus and moving to the sideboard where I’d put my phone on charge before heading to bed.
Tapping on the screen, sure enough, there were several texts from Taran.
My heart started to pound as I swiped to open them.
I’m sorry for not being brave enough to do this face-to-face.
I know you’ll try to fight me on it, and I don’t want to put us through that.
I’m so happy you’re okay, Quinn.
But I can’t do this anymore. We’re over. For good. I’m sorry.
“Fuck!” I launched the phone across the room, and it hit the sofa with a thud.
“Dad!” Heather cried.
“Quinn, what’s wrong?”
“Dad?”
No.
She didn’t get to do this.
We weren’t going to end us over a fucking text message.
I wanted her to look me in the eye and tell me she didn’t love me.
“I’m going out.” I turned to my concerned family. “I’m fine. I just …” I looked to Cammie. “I have to do something. Can you watch the kids?”
“Quinn, you need to eat something first.”
I snatched up a slice of toast from the pile on the island, tearing off a piece with the savagery of my fury before storming out.
“Is it about Taran?” I heard Heather ask.
“Most likely,” my sister replied. “Here are your eggs, Angus. Your dad’s okay. Don’t look so worried.”
I grimaced as I hurried upstairs, angry at myself for making my kids anxious all over again.
This time I’d lay the blame for that at Taran’s door.
Breaking it off with me via text!
She’d lost her fucking mind if she thought I’d let that stand.
43. Taran
Lòchran Dòchas Lighthouse sat on its own perfect peninsula north of Leth Sholas. The sun glowed against the dirty white paint of its brick exterior. Despite it only being a twenty-minute drive around the coast of Glenvulin, I hadn’t visited the lighthouse in nineteen years.
It perched on the Sound of Glenvulin and had been automated for decades. The lighthouse keeper’s cottage was abandoned, derelict and in need of renovation. The storm had brought a small tree down into the cottage’s garden, and there were leaves and debris everywhere. Still, it was the only sign a storm had raged last night.
However, a tempest still raged inside me.
I was a coward, and I hated myself for it.
London was so worried about me, I couldn’t stay in the bungalow with her. I needed to get out. For some reason, my car brought me here.
The last time I’d visited the lighthouse was with Quinn. It was the summer before I left for Glasgow, and we’d gone on a long walk together one weekend. We’d stumbled upon a tourist proposing to his girlfriend at the base of the lighthouse, and we’d taken their photo for them.
The narrow road that led out to the building on its peninsula was covered in sand and stones from the surrounding coast. The waves must have crashed over this part of the shore last night, washing away and leaving debris behind.
I shuddered, staring out into now calm waters, imagining Quinn out there in that lifeboat. He was wrecked last night, and I knew despite his assurances that he’d been scared. Whatever happened out in that storm had been bad.
And you left him.
I squeezed my eyes closed, gritting my teeth against fresh tears. They were useless. I didn’t want to cry anymore!
The sound of a car engine made me groan. I’d just wanted somewhere peaceful, empty of humans, to indulge in a wee bit of self-reproach and loathing. Was that too much to ask?
Glancing over my shoulder to check who was disrupting my solitude, my breath caught at the sight of the familiar truck.
How the hell had he found me?
I turned around, bracing myself, pulse escalating quickly as Quinn parked next to my car and got out. The slam of his door was a forewarning to his mood, as were his tight expression and long, powerful strides.
“Seriously?” he yelled to me. “A text!”
There was no good reply to that, so I waited until he neared, stopping and keeping a distance between us that I was grateful for.
A strong breeze rushed across us suddenly, blowing my hair in my face. I shoved it back, meeting Quinn’s tortured, angry expression. “Well?”
“How did you find me?”
He shifted impatiently. “Annie was out walking. She saw you drive down the coastal road.”
“Why are you here?”
“I came here to make you face me when you tell me you don’t love me.” He practically seethed, bracing his hands on his hips. “Go ahead, Taran. Tell me you don’t love me and that’s why we’re over before we even restarted.”
“Quinn, you’re exhausted. I don’t want to do this with you right now. You should be home resting.”