Page 108

The room is a mess, but my head is even messier. When Rhonasaid that this entire time I’ve been staying in Dad’s old room, it feltimportant. Like the missing piece of a puzzle, almost. I was certain that somewhere within these four walls I would find the journal that I’m still convincedhasto be on the property. Even if, after this little episode, I can’t deny that the doubts are starting to creep in.

Because what if hedidbring it back to New York with him? What if he simply got rid of it? Lost it during a number of arbitrary moves? What if it simply wasn’t as important as my brain seems to have decided that it is? Any of these possibilities threaten to leave me feeling lost, because what else is left when it comes to finding a solution for Lachlan? What if I can’t fix things? What if I losehimtoo?

I feel the frustration bubbling up inside my chest, climbing higher into my throat, almost choking me. For the second time tonight I feel the sting of tears, and this time, I don’t try to stop them from falling. It feels good to let them out, to allow the physical manifestation of my stress to slide over my cheeks and down into my lap—and I tell myself that after this pity party of mine, I’ll pick myself back up. After this, I’ll somehow manage to tighten my grip on my own determination.

But for now, it kind of feels good to fucking cry.

I just can’t stop thinking about Lachlan just…not coming back in the morning. What would I do if he never changed back? I know that I would carry that guilt with me for the rest of my life—that no matter how short a time I’ve had him, I’d feel the loss of him forever. It makes a squeezing sort of pain grip my chest just thinking about it, making it harder to breathe.

There has to be something. There just has to be.

I’m wiping my eyes when I hear a soft knock at my door, and I swipe at my cheeks more frantically before bidding them entry,realizing that I probably look like I’m having some sort of breakdown—which to be fair, I guess I kind of am—sitting here in such a mess while quietly weeping.

“Key?”

I sniffle, using the heel of my hand to rub the last bit of liquid from beneath my eyes. “Oh. Hey, Brodie.”

“I heard you from the hall…You all right?”

I want to laugh, but I’m just too tired. I shake my head instead. “Just having a bad day.”

“Oh.” His mouth turns down in a frown, and I can tell that he’s not used to dealing with a crying woman. The poor guy looks like he’s wishing he’d walked past my door now. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I tell him, blowing out a breath. “Or it will be. Just having a little ‘woe is me’ moment.”

He nods, eyeing the open bins and the stacks of papers and random items scattered around the floor. “You…looking for something?”

“Looking for something,” I echo. I do laugh then, but it sounds bitter. “You know when you get an idea in your head, like an itch or something, and you can’t think about anything else until you scratch it?”

“I…suppose?”

I gesture my hands around the room. “This is my itch.”

“I see.” He eyes me warily like I might burst into flames at any second. “Anything I can help with?”

I chuff out another sardonic laugh. “Not unless you’re clairvoyant and haven’t told me.”

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “Can’t say that I am.”

I bob my head in a nod. “Figures.”

“Rhona said you weren’t feeling well,” he says.

“Oh, I…” I give him a sheepish expression. “Honestly? I just wasn’t feeling like socializing this evening.”

I consider telling him the truth, that I’m up here destroying my room in search of Dad’s old journal, but I can’t for the life of me think of one rational reason as to why I would be so desperate for it without hinting at Lachlan’s dilemma. And that’s just not my place. Especially given that Lachlan hasjuststarted coming around to the idea of letting Brodie help at all.

“Aye, I get it.” He nods idly, letting his eyes sweep around the room again. “Well, if you need anything, you just give me a shout, yeah?”

I offer him a smile. “I will. Thank you.”

“None of that,” he says, waving me off. “You’re family.”

You’re family.

Fucking hell. Between Rhona and Brodie, this family is determined to make me weep all night. Next thing I know, Finlay will be coming up here to give me some family heirloom and read me a bedtime story.

“I know,” I tell him, my voice just alittlethick. “But seriously, thank you.”