As he closed in, her profile came into sharp focus, and his emotions expanded like a physical thing through his chest. No woman was as beautiful to him as Robyn Penhaligon.
And the thought of losing her—
Fuck, it literally took his breath away.
Lachlan inhaled a gulp of fresh air, trying to quell his rising panic.
He watched as she stood, stretching those long legs as she lowered her camera so it hung heavily around her neck from its strap. She stared out at the water, lost in thought. The light breeze flicked at her ponytail while loose strands danced around her cheeks.
Every morning.
Every morning he wanted this woman’s face to be the first thing he saw upon waking.
Sensing a presence, Robyn looked sharply toward him. A wary expression tightened her features, and he hated himself for making her feel that way about him. “What are you doing here?” she asked. He loved her voice. Low, mellifluous, with a slight rasp to it.
He couldn’t imagine not hearing her voice every day.
For a moment as he stopped before her, Lachlan just looked, enjoyed memorizing every piece of her in case he didn’t see her for a while. The only sounds between them were the lap of the water, the gulls above them in the sky.
Finally Robyn spoke again. “Mac told you I’m leaving.”
He nodded.
“I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye,” she promised.
He knew that. She was too honest, too honorable to just walk away without a word. Not that he deserved it. “I stayed away too long. I’m sorry.”
Robyn looked away with a shrug. “I get it.”
“I don’t want you to get it. I shouldn’t have stayed away.” He took a step toward her and that not only brought her attention back to him but she retreated.
Fuck.
“Braveheart,” he said hoarsely, “I am so fucking sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. It isn’t your fault.”
“Not about that. Yes, about that … but I mean …” He gestured between them. “For pushing you away. Twice.” He reached for her hands, and thankfully she didn’t pull them away. “Fergus hit me over the head when I was on my way to come see you. To tell you I was sorry for the ultimatum … and that I love you.”
Her eyes widened.
He forged on. “I love you, Robyn. I want you to stay.”
The return of her wariness gutted him, as did the way she tugged on her hands until he had to release her.
“You don’t believe me,” Lachlan whispered, vacillating between self-directed fury and at her for her faithlessness.
“I don’t know,” Robyn answered, ever honest. “I don’t know, Lachlan. And I can’t stay even if I did. I’ll have to return for Lucy’s trial, but for now, I need to go back to Boston. I have to figure things out with my mom and Regan … I just … I have to figure things out.”
The urge to argue, to persuade, bubbled inside him, but that little voice in the back of his head, the one that taunted him for being unable to save her, whispered maybe this was how it was meant to be.
Because you could love someone more than you loved yourself.
But that didn’t mean you deserved them.
38
Robyn
Children’s laughter, ducks quacking, traffic passing in the distance were the soundtrack to the park as I strolled with my mom. It had been some time since I’d walked in the Public Garden, even before I’d left Boston for Scotland.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” Mom said.
The sun beat down on my bare skin revealed by my tank top. “I forgot how pretty this place is.”
“Yeah.” Mom sighed. “So … how are you doing after everything? You’ve been through the ringer, baby.”
I shrugged, my tone masking the truth. “I’m okay.”
“The tabloids kept phoning the house.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be silly. Seth handled it. We’re just worried about you.”
I didn’t know what to say to her. There were so many reasons I was reeling. One, because I never thought anyone could ever deceive me the way Lucy had. That messes with your head, questioning how you missed it. I’d considered myself pretty astute, but at no point did I ever suspect her.
That’s scary.
It makes you doubt yourself.
It makes you doubt other people.
And I didn’t want what she’d done to make me not trust people anymore.
Maybe I’d already let her win by not trusting Lachlan when he told me he loved me. I’d yearned, I think for far longer than I even realized, for him to say those words to me. Yet when he said them, they were terrifying. He’d pushed me away before, several times, and I couldn’t live my life like that. Loving someone so much and having them love you back but on their terms, always holding you at arm’s length. Never the priority.
That wasn’t the kind of love I wanted.
And he’d only proved me right when he didn’t fight it. When he didn’t fight to make me believe. Maybe it was wrong to want him to. Maybe that wasn’t love either.
I felt empty without him, though.
It was survivable.
But it was awful.
It was like waking up every day knowing that no matter what goodness the day brought, it lacked the joy of anticipation because the person you most looked forward to seeing would never be there.
I think that’s what love is: the person you most look forward to seeing.
The person you looked around for when something funny happened and you wanted to share it.
I wondered if I’d ever really laugh again.
Not the sound or the action—those were easy. You just opened your mouth and out came the sound.
But real laughter came from the soul. Something that sparked true joy.
“I think I have a right to be worried. You’re not yourself,” Mom said, breaking through my dismal musings.
“I’m fine, Mom. Aren’t I always?”
She considered this. “And are we fine?”
I looked at her, directly in the eye because we were the same height. Except for the fact she had cornflower blue eyes and mine were hazel, we were almost mirror images of one another. While Regan inherited Seth’s red hair and chestnut eyes, I’d inherited my mother’s hair (and of course, Mac’s eyes). I’d also inherited her height and figure, though I always thought she moved with more femininity than I did. I blamed my no-nonsense stride on my athleticism. Mom wasn’t into physical activity beyond a stroll in the park. She was more of a creative. She liked reading and fashion and gossip rags. Regan was more like her than I was.
I loved my mom.
But I was Mac’s.
There was no denying it.
And I missed him already.
“I’m mad at you,” I answered honestly. “I’m hurt.”
“If this is about those letters—”
“Don’t make excuses, Mom. It’ll only make things worse. Mac has accepted his blame in all of this, and he and I have worked through that … but we could’ve worked through it long before now if you hadn’t made it so hard for him to see me.”
She strode away and sat down on a rare find—an empty bench overlooking Duck Island. I followed, contemplating the petulant twist to her mouth and trying to tamp down my answering irritation.