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I gripped the wheel tighter, my pulse a steady, uneven thrum.
I wasn’t built for this.
I had spent my whole damn life making sure I didn’t need anyone. Because needing people meant losing them. It meant letting them see every sharp edge, every cracked and broken piece.
But Mike . . .
Mike made me want to try.
I clenched my jaw, flipping the audiobook off. The sudden silence pressed in around me, too loud, too full of everything I didn’t want to think about.
The only narration came from my own frail mental voice.
I should turn it back on. I should let the story swallow me whole, let it drag me under until I don’t have to feel this anymore. Any of this. Damn it.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I let myself sit in the quiet of the wind racing through the open window, the tires against rough pavement, the roar of engines as they passed.
Drowning in those sounds, I let myself miss him.
And as the miles stretched on, carrying me closer to home, one truth became painfully, undeniably clear—
I was already falling.
And I had no idea how to stop.
Chapter thirty
Mike
Mrs.Hwastryingto kill me . . . again.
At least, that’s what I assumed as I stared down at my plate, fork hovering over the strange, lumpy mass she’d plopped in front of me. It smelled . . . interesting. Not bad, exactly, but not quite like food either. The texture was questionable at best.
She sat across from me, her sharp eyes twinkling with mischief as she watched me hesitate. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, lad, it’sskirlie.”
I arched a brow. “That sounds like something you name a stray cat.”
She let out a sharptskand waved her wooden spoon at me. “It’s oats,suet, and onions, all fried up in a pan. A proper Scottish dish.”
Why was everything this woman made "a proper Scottish dish?" I frowned at the wordsuet. “Wait . . .suet. . . that’s beef fat, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” she said proudly. “It’s good for you.”
I gave her a skeptical look. “We have very different definitions of ‘good for you.’”
“Oh, hush,” she huffed, spearing her spoon at me like it was a weapon. “It fills your belly, and it keeps you warm in the winter. What more do you need?”
“I don’t know . . . vitamins?”
“Ach, you’re worse than my niece. She married one of those health nuts—won’t eat a thing unless it’s been blessed by kale.”
I bit back a laugh, shaking my head. “Fine. I’ll eat it, but if I die, I’m haunting you.”
She smirked. “Lad, I’d love the company.”
I sighed, bracing myself before finally taking a bite. And of course—it wasn’t bad. It was rich and buttery, the onions adding just enough sweetness to keep the fried oats from feeling too heavy.