Page 53 of Of Heather and Thistle

Time slowed. The kitchen faded, leaving only the hush between them—soft breaths, flushed skin, the echo of everything they’d just shared. Flynn pressed a kiss to her neck, his touch gentler now, grounding her.

Heather leaned back against the counter, fingers still tracing the line of his jaw. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes locked on hers, quiet and steady.

A shiver ran through her—not from pleasure, but something deeper.

“I… I’m afraid,” Heather whispered.

Flynn reached for her hand, their fingers intertwining. His touch was gentle now, a stark contrast to the fire they’d just shared.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked softly.

She looked up at him, eyes brimming with fear. “Getting too close. Getting hurt again. This place—Scotland, Glenoran—it’s so heavy. My mom, my dad… the grief is su ffocating. This house feels like a tomb. I can’t breathe.”

Flynn’s gaze softened. He understood. Glenoran wasn’t just stone and timber—it carried echoes of everything lost. Her pain. Her history. Her ghosts.

He squeezed her hand. “I know. It’s not easy. Grief lingers—it doesn’t ask permission. But you don’t have to carry it alone.”

He paused, searching her face. “I want to help you heal.”

Heather’s voice cracked. “But what if I can’t? What if I’m too broken?”

Flynn’s half-smile was full of memory. “I knew you were the one the second you showed up at my door, soaked to the bone and covered in cow shite,” he said with a soft chuckle. “You looked completely out of place—and yet, somehow, stronger than anyone I’d ever seen.”

His thumb brushed her cheek. “I didn’t plan on you, Heather. But I knew, right then, you were meant to be in my life.”

Her heart twisted. Tears stung. “Flynn,” she breathed.

He leaned in, his lips grazing hers—not with hunger, but with quiet promise.

“I’ll be here,” he whispered. “No matter what.”

Heather searched his face, desperate for doubt. But there was none—only steady, unshakable certainty.

It scared her. But it also gave her the one thing she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time.

Hope.

Her breath caught. The walls she’d built around her heart—stone by stone—were starting to crack. And somehow, with him, that felt okay.

“I… I need to tell you something,” Heather said, voice tr embling. She gripped Flynn’s hand tighter, grounding herself. “I’ve never really said it out loud. Not to anyone. But you deserve to know. Why I’m like this.”

Flynn didn’t speak. He just looked at her—open, steady, patient. His presence was a lifeline, the kind she hadn’t known she needed.

“My mother died when I was nine,” she began, barely above a whisper. “I remember the silence afterward. The way the house felt hollow. Like everything that had been warm in the world was just… gone.”

She stared at their joined hands, as if they held the past in their grip.

“My dad didn’t know how to grieve. So he drank.

And when he drank, he got mean. It wasn’t just yelling.

It was the way he said things—the things that stuck.

I’d come home and never know which version of him I’d find.

If I messed up—or even if I didn’t—it was always my fault. Everything was my fault.”

Flynn’s hand tightened in hers, silent and solid.

“He called me worthless. Said I ruined everything. And the worst part? I started to believe him.” Her voice cracked. “The words were like chains. They didn’t go away just because I got older.”

She swallowed hard. “When he got sick, the alcohol had already destroyed him. And when he died… I thought I’d feel relief. Closure. But it just felt like stepping out of a cage and realizing I didn’t know how to live outside it. I was free, but I was still numb. Still carrying it.”

Her voice went quiet.

“I don’t know who I am without that weight. And sometimes… I think I’m afraid to find out. ”

Heather looked up at Flynn, his eyes dark with quiet ache. He was listening—really listening—but she still felt like she was sinking under the weight of it all. Her chest ached as the next truth clawed its way out.

“And then there was Ivy…”

She hesitated, gripping his hand tighter.

“She was my best friend for years. The loud one. The fearless one. She pulled me out of my shell, made me feel like I wasn’t completely broken. But then… she did something I can’t forget.”

This was different than her father. This wasn’t grief.

This was betrayal.

And shame.

Flynn’s brows drew together. “What did she do?”

Heather swallowed hard. “There was this guy—Sam. I never told her I liked him, but she knew. And instead of encouraging me, instead of just letting it be… she made a deal with him. She bribed him to ask me out. Promised she’d sleep with him if he pretended to like me for a night.”

Flynn’s grip tightened, his jaw ticking. “She what ?”

“She thought she was doing me a favor,” Heather said bitterly. “Said it would help me feel confident. But it wasn’t about me. It was about control. She always gets what she wants—no matter who it hurts. And I let her. I let her shape how I saw myself.”

Her voice cracked.

“After that, I couldn’t unsee it. The way she used people. The way she used me. I realized I had to get out. I couldn’t stay in that life, around those same patterns. So… I ran. I came here. To Glenoran.”

Flynn’s thumb traced gently over the back of her hand. “To escape?”

She nodded, brushing away a tear. “Yeah. I thought distance would fix it. That if I ran far enough, I’d finally feel free. But I didn’t leave the pain behind….

I brought it with me.

All the broken pieces. All the fear. I thought this place could be a fresh start, but…”

Her voice faltered. “Now I don’t even know what I want. I don’t know who I am without the pain.”

Flynn stepped closer, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to know yet. And you don’t have to carry it alone. Whatever you decide—wherever you go—I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Heather looked up, breath trembling—something fragile and fierce blooming in her chest.

She didn’t want to run anymore.

Not from this.

Not from him.

Not anymore.