by Lisa Sorbe
On the other side of the truck bed, Adair positioned the last bag and laughed, not bothering to take offense to the nickname I’d begun to give the women he dated. “Her name is Jessica, doll. And cook? Nah. I wouldn’t call what we do cooking.”
I rolled my eyes and groaned. “You’re a dork.”
“You know you love me.” He smirked and hopped into the truck before I could answer.
I pulled my keys from the pocket of my jean shorts and followed, sliding into my spot behind the wheel and starting the engine. I’d just thrown the truck into gear and was looking over my shoulder for oncoming traffic when I felt a tug on my hair. I glanced over to see Adair fingering one of my braids. “You, lassie, look like a right farmer’s daughter today.”
I huffed and swatted his hand away, trying but failing to hide my smile. “I’m no farmer’s daughter.”
He shrugged, releasing my braid with a sigh. “But we could always pretend. Get you one of those straw cowboy hats, some cowboy boots…”
I shifted the truck into third, then fourth as I picked up speed on the highway. “Uh-huh. No way. You will never ever see me in one of those stupid, generic hats that every single one of your,” I took my hand off the stick long enough to flutter my fingers his way, “girly friends seem to think makes them look sex-say.”
“Doll,” he said, “there’s nothing at all generic about you.”
The cab fell silent, and this was one of those times when the air seemed to bulge with insinuation. Sizzle with electricity. I was suddenly overcome with the knowing that if I pulled the truck off onto one of those dirt sideroads right now, slid over the bench seat, climbed into Adair’s lap and kissed him, neither one of us would miss a beat.
Instead, I just pressed my sandaled foot down on the gas pedal harder, accelerating and shifting gears. “Says the only Scotsman in the Iowa,” I shot back.
His laugh was loud and rolling, and it filled the cab, tickling my own belly. “I doubt I’m the only Scotsman in the Iowa. Though any that are here have to be goddamn crazy—my arse included. These summers have me sweatin’ my balls off.”
“This is, what, your third summer out here?” I asked.
“Something like that.”
“I’d think you’d be used to sweating your balls off by now.” I took my eyes off the road long enough to shoot a glance his way, noting the sunburn he was still sporting from last weekend’s softball tournament. The poor guy couldn’t tan if his life depended on it.
“Says the bonnie lass with the golden tan,” he tossed back, as if reading my mind.
Compliments, in any shape and form, had always made me uncomfortable; I could never tell if they were being given in sincerity or spat out in sarcasm. I’d learned long ago that I couldn’t read people very well—what they said versus what they did were usually two very different things. It was like they kept their true intentions cloaked behind well-crafted masks. Masks they rarely took off and, I suspected, some didn’t even know they were wearing.
But Adair? Adair was different, and I still wasn’t sure what to make of him.
I huffed, dismissing his flattery.
The next few miles back to his place passed in silence, the only sounds the hum-buzz of the truck’s air conditioner and the thrum of the tires against the blistering asphalt. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. In fact, nothing about our friendship was uncomfortable; we seemed to pair together as well as two people could. And with as much shit as we could deal one another—our playful banter more often than not had people looking at us like we were crazy—we could sit in silence just as easily. Being with Adair wasn’t difficult, and each time we were together, I felt more and more of my guard drop.
That alone should have worried me. But, for some reason, it didn’t.
“You ever think about moving someday?”
I spotted the exit we needed and flicked on my turn signal. “Like, out of Cedar Hills?”
Next to me, Adair shrugged. “Sure, out of Cedar Hills. Out of the state. Hell, out of the country, even.”
I slid my eyes his way to find him looking at me expectantly. “I don’t know. Guess I never really thought about it.” Truth be told, I didn’t like thinking about the future much. It always left me with a feeling of loss I couldn’t quite explain.
“Would you be open to it?” he pressed. “Moving. Starting over somewhere else?”
I blew out a long breath, taking my foot off the pedal and feeling the pull between my shoulder blades as the truck slowed. “I don’t know. Maybe, but I doubt it. It would depend on the place.”
I turned onto the dirt road that led out to Adair’s property, passing the old barn where he did his brewing, where one day he hoped to open up a tap room. Rusty Bucket was quickly making a name for itself in the area, and I was so proud of him. The man worked night and day on his business, a trait I admired but could never quite seem to mirror. I was flighty in my pursuits and wishy-washy with my passions.
“What about Scotland?”
I wrinkled my nose, squinting to see through the dust the truck’s wheels kicked up from the road. “Scotland? Why the heck would I want to move there? I have my very own piece of Scotland right here.” My answer was flirty, but Adair knew me well enough not to take it seriously.
“Aw, doll. You’d love Scotland,” he said. “And it might do you some good to get out, stretch your wings a bit. It would give you a whole new outlook on life, I can tell you that much.”
There was a wistfulness to his voice, one so great that it reached over and plucked my heartstrings, made me ache. The silence that fell over us now was filled with regret, and it made me wonder if he missed his homeland more than he let on. I knew he had secrets, things he brushed away with a joke and a laugh. Like the fact that he moved here because he lost a bet and threw a dart at a map? There was no way that was true.
“You trying to get rid of me, McTaggart?” I joked as I pulled into his driveway and turned off the ignition.
He just looked over at me and smiled. “Never.”
“Well,” I said, reaching out to pat his knee, “that’s good to know. And as for me? I’m an Iowa girl, through and through. Pretty sure I’ll never leave.”
A ghost of something flickered in his eyes, a flash of vulnerability that I’d never seen him show before. But it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, and it was easy to convince myself that I’d just imagined it.
“So, are you ready to experience the absolute joy of running through a sprinkler or what?”
Fire is mesmerizing. I’m not a pyro by any means, but staring into the flames and listening to the wood snap and pop as it crackles against the hearth is soothing. And though my anger has abated in the last hour, my heart still hurts. So I pull my knees to my chest and watch the flames from the fire that Adair started when we moved from the kitchen to the living room shimmy and dance, hypnotized by its performance. The heat washes over me, warming my face, my arms, my legs. But it does nothing for the cold I feel on the inside, the chill that has my heart in a vice, my stomach in a cinch.
“You always said that you moved here because you lost a bet and threw a dart at a map,” I say. “But I didn’t think you were actually serious. I thought, you know, that you were just you being you.” I look at him sideways and try to smile, but it wilts, my attempt at humor dying on my lips. “But I didn’t expect this.”
Adair is sitting next to me, cross-legged, his forearms resting on his knees. “Nope.” He’s solemn, like has been since he broke the news about his life back in Scotland. News I’m still trying to comprehend. And this new version of my friend isn’t something I’m used to. It’s like all the humor, the wit and playful banter has been zapped right out of him. He’s grim, downright grim.
“You could have told me.” I’m not saying this in accusation. Not anymore. I’m saying this because I’m sad. And I know what it’s like to move through life with regrets, the weight of past mistakes pressing down on you so hard that some days your legs
feel like they can barely hold you upright anymore.
“I know. But what good would it have done? I was trying to get away from something. Make a fresh start.” He chuckles, a sad and weary sound. “Prove a goddamned point.”
“Well, you proved it.”
“Aye, that I did.” He doesn’t sound very happy about it.
I’m not very happy about it. But that’s selfish, because what Adair is going back home to is what he came over here for in the first place. “Taking over the company from your dad, that’s huge.”
He nods. “Didn’t think it would be so soon. Hell, there was a time that I—that no one—thought it would happen at all.”
“But you proved them wrong,” I point out, proud of him despite own melancholy feelings on the matter.
I still can’t believe he’s leaving. He’s leaving to go back to Scotland so he can take over the family business from his ailing father. And a highly successful family business, at that. MacBhàtair Whiskey is one of the best around, and it’s been in the McTaggart family for generations. All those times when Adair and I would share a shot together, I had no idea that he owned the very brand we were drinking.
“And William owns a boat touring company, you said? Like sightseeing and cruises and stuff?”
“Yeah. My uncle Gerry owns it, but William will have his hands in it soon enough. We McTaggarts are a highly entrepreneurial bunch,” he says with a grin.
I grin back, though my heart isn’t in it.
“William prefers to be outside, doing business on the water. Though, from what he tells me, he was worried that I’d stay the same prick I used to be. That he’d come over here and find I haven’t changed at all, then he’d feel the heat for taking over MacBhàtair. Guess my father and uncle had a chat with him about it all a few years ago. He prefers to be on the water, he does. Can’t say I blame him.” He rubs the back of his neck and says this next part like he’s embarrassed to admit to it. “But me? I like business. There’s a wild aspect to it… Almost primal in the way you can build something from nothing.”
“And MacBhàtair is already built,” I say. “It’s already a success, and has been for a long time, from what I take of it.”
“Aye, and my father wants to make sure it stays that way.”
I return my attention to the flames, thinking of the father Adair hasn’t spoken to in six, almost seven years and who, earlier this week, suffered a mild heart attack. “Which is why he sent you on this little quest.”
“We’ve never seen eye-to-eye on much. Though, what parent and child rarely do? But our feelings on that matter have always been of the same opinion. We’re more alike than either one of us will admit, at least to the other.”
“He thought that sending you out in the world to start a business from nothing would make you appreciate the one you were born into more. I get that.”
“Yeah well, at the time I thought he was being a goddamn prick. ‘Course now I understand.”
Gabe hops down from his spot on the couch and pads between us, dropping to the floor with a soft huff. I reach out and run my hand over his head, and he sighs, content. I’ve offered to take him, and if my landlord doesn’t like it, I’ll just move.
I’m not losing anyone else I love.
“Even though my taking over of the business was always assumed, it was never pushed. My parents always let me know I had a choice. But for me, there was never a question. It was what I wanted. I was proud of what my family had built, and I wanted to be on top of it.” He looks at me sideways, the heat from the fire brightening his face. The ghost of a smirk dances on his lips, and he lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “I had a bit of an ego back then.”
“Only back then?” I joke, giving his leg a half-hearted smack with the back of my hand.
His face breaks out into a full-blown smirk, and for the first time today I can see the life back in his eyes. The humor and wit they were missing earlier, when I was so close to hating him and he was so angry with me.
But we’re not that way toward each other anymore. Although, we’re nowhere near how we were, either. Things still feel wobbly between us, like the very foundation of our friendship is quaking beneath our feet. We’ve never been this polite, this well-mannered around each other.
I take it as a bad sign.
“Truth is, I’m excited to go back and show them what I made of myself over here. I’m excited to take over the reins. After graduating from University, I was wild. Got myself into a lot,” he huffs out a laugh, “a lot of trouble. Came into my trust and thought I was king of the fucking world. My dad brought me in, trying to show me the ropes, but I was an arrogant prick. I didn’t take directions well at all. Ruffled a lot of feathers to the point that a lawsuit was almost filed.” He looks down at his hands, picks at his nails. “It was a shit time, I’ll tell you that much.”
I frown. “Lawsuit? Why type of law suit?”
Adair grimaces. “Sexual harassment.”
I bristle. Adair wouldn’t… Adair isn’t like that…
No.
“Tell me about it,” I say, more like demand.
He sighs. “I stared a sort of relationship with someone in the company. She worked in finance, and her and I, we…” He releases a sigh, one that sounds like he’s been holding for years, and rocks back, kicking his legs out in front of him. His foot touches my thigh, and I feel tingles with the contact. “Well, we started giving each other looks on day one. Of course, interoffice relationships were frowned upon. But I was the goddamn king of the company. I could do whatever the hell I wanted, right?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Long story short, it ended badly—I wasn’t relationship material, if you can believe that—and human resources got a whiff of it, which meant my dad learned about it, and my whole fucking world blew up. Fortunately, Lexy admitted that our relationship had been entirely consensual. She had no plans to file any sort of lawsuit. Was more hurt than anything. Turns out she actually cared about me. Not that I deserved it.”
I frown. “No, it doesn’t sound like you did.” My words carry a bite. But with my past, I can’t help but bristle any time that phrase is mentioned. I know how important it is to always give the benefit of the doubt, though it’s hard to when…when what happened all those years ago, well, happened.
I still have trouble even thinking the word. My mind drifts to the business card George gave me yesterday, the name of a counselor pressed into the cardstock. For the first time since accepting the referral, I think about actually using it.
Adair nods, fully accepting the blame, which, I have to admit, is something. Some people go through their whole lives wreaking havoc on others, stripping away trust, and never accept fault. Never apologize. Never admit they were wrong.
“Even though everything about our relationship was consensual,” he raises his brows and pins me with a look, almost as if, on some level, he knows how this confession of his has affected me, “it was a stupid thing to do, and something I should have never allowed to happen in the first place.”
I mirror his posture, leaning back on my hands and sliding my legs out in front of me, the heat from the fire warm on my feet. It’s a subtle move, one that shifts me away from his touch, the foot he carelessly rested against my thigh, that simple contact stimulating sensations I have no desire indulge. Not now.
“We all make mistakes,” I say. “But what about the lawsuit thing?”
He groans. “That was my dad. When he heard about the relationship and the not so tactful way I ended things, he flipped. Absolutely lost his shit. Said I was lucky that woman was a class act because she could have turned the whole thing into a sexual harassment suit. And while it wouldn’t have been true, it would have cost the company millions and irreparably tarnished our image.”
“So he sent you here.”
Adair reaches for Gabe, stroking his head, his back, like he needs the calming contact that dogs naturally instill. “Nah,” he says. “My dad wanted me gone. For good. The
man was seeing red, and I was too, to be honest. On the surface, I acted like he was blowing the whole thing out of proportion. But, deep down? I was scared shitless. On some level, one I wouldn’t even admit to myself, I knew I had screwed up. But every time I thought about the mess I caused—or could have caused—I fought harder. It was like, at the time, I was two people living inside one body. One guy had common sense, knew he had been an arse and that father was right to take away his position at the company. The other one, though, couldn’t bear to be wrong, so he disregarded the proof, even when it was right in front of his face. My mum,” he says, his voice almost reverent, “was the one who suggested the idea. Of course, it was ultimately up to my dad. But because he loves her so damn much, he agreed. Neither one of them would give me a cent to start out on, which was the right thing to do. I see that now. A second chance, this second chance? Hell, it was—is—more than I deserve.”
I shake my head. “No, you do deserve it, Adair.”
But he just chuffs and turns his head, and now he’s the one looking for substance in the flames.
“You deserve it,” I continue, rising to my knees and reaching out to tug on his arm so that he’ll look at me, “because you took this second chance and ran with it. You admit fault, which is something so many people fail to do. And you didn’t give up or, worse, self-destruct out of spite or self-pity, which is also something a lot of people do.”
Like me.
Adair’s eyes roam all over my face, like he’s looking at me one last time as this Adair, as the person he’s been these past six years. The person who’s been my best friend, the one who shares my warped sense of humor, who knows what I’m thinking before I even do. Who knows me better than I know myself.
Because from here on out, he’s going to be someone else. Somewhere else.
After he leaves, I may never see him again. And if I do see him, if our paths happen to cross years from now, nothing will be the same.
I can already feel us peeling apart, like two halves of a whole being torn down the middle, our jagged edges too rough to ever be put back together again.