Page 98 of Kilt Trip

Jack’s eyes widened in terror as she thundered into the room. His mouth opened, but she was having none of it.

She held up a hand to stop any conversation. “Don’t even look at me.” If he asked if she was okay, she’d start crying. And if he told her she looked like shit, she’d cry, too. And she wasn’t crying anymore. She’d gotten it all out of her system.

Addie swiped an entire bottle of whisky from the counter and grabbed a flowery teacup and a bag of Pink Panther Wafers that didn’t belong to her before slamming the cabinet door. Jack threw his hands up in self-defense, not saying a word, as she stormed back to her room.

She poured herself a cupful of whisky, taking an extra swig in the process, and set the teacup on her nightstand. The scent of pine, infused into her blankets, wafted to her—thankfully before she made the perilous mistake of climbing into her bed and wrapping herself up in Logan’s smell. Holding her breath, she balled up the comforter and flung it into the corner of the room.

Her mom’s black-and-white plaid blanket wasn’t up to combating the chill of the Scottish night—or the desert for that matter—but the whisky would take care of that. And hopefully dull the ache in her chest.

Addie turned off all the lights except the small lamp and climbed into bed, pulling the knit blanket up to her armpits and pinning it in place with her chin. It smelled like wool, which only reminded her of those godforsaken sheep she’d nearly crashed into.

They were lucky they weren’t meeting her now. She could go off on a snooty-ass sheep.

Yanking her computer onto her stomach, she tapped on the mouse pad seven times before it turned on and typed in Flights to Amsterdam, stuffing vanilla wafers into her mouth like they were made of air.

She booked the next flight out of Edinburgh, which, unfortunately, didn’t leave for another twelve hours. If she wasn’t creeped out by airports at night, and if Logan hadn’t accused her of sneaking out in the dark, she absolutely would sneak out in the dark. She’d sit in the airport, trying every British candy on the snack wall of the souvenir shop because she was never coming back here.

After saving a copy of her boarding pass, she texted Elyse, whose phone was always on Silent.

Addie: Broken heart. Airplane. 6am. Heart U

Full sentences were too hard.

All that mattered now was finishing her report for Marc. She finalized color-coded spreadsheets, spell-checked the new website, and wrote detailed instructions for everything else she could think of.

Addie couldn’t go back to The Heart’s office. The team would have to get by on the training she’d done and iron out the hiccups over Zoom.

Even through the computer screen, seeing Logan would be devastating. But as long as she couldn’t smell him, reach out and touch him, or watch him turn from her again, she would manage.

She always did.

By three in the morning, her eyeballs burned, and she rubbed out the grittiness. Only, when she blinked to clear them, she made the mistake of looking up at the picture above the dresser. Her heart clenched. The heather fields. Which made her glance over at the castle with dark corners.

Between that and the lingering smell of pine which Addie had been resolutely ignoring, this place was a shrine to everything she’d lost.

Slamming her laptop shut, she crossed the room and yanked the picture off the wall. The string snagged on the nail, pulling it out and sending it clattering behind the dresser. Addie let out a frustrated growl before getting down on hands and knees to retrieve it.

Her movements swiping for the nail stirred up a commotion on the floor, and she inhaled an entire dust bunny, bumping her head in her haste to retreat.

Coughing, she rubbed at the sore spot and brushed off her arms, blinking back a wave of complete hopelessness at the inability for one single thing to go right.

She absolutely was not going to pieces over this.

The other pictures came off the walls without protest and she stuffed them into the closet. The slamming door probably woke Jack, but it couldn’t be helped. They had to go.

She had to go.

Addie pulled her suitcase from under the bed and opened it against the headboard. Grabbing handfuls of clothes, she balled them up, chucking them across the room with all the power and none of the finesse of a professional baseball pitcher. It felt good to be impulsive and violent. Or, as violent as one could be wielding a blouse.

When she was through, the absolute mess towering above Frank’s zipping capacity zapped her glorious rage. Cramming it all back inside would be an insurmountable feat, same as fitting all the feelings she’d spilled back inside their original packaging.

Addie dumped the contents on the floor and started the monotonous job of folding. No matter how fast she went, the process took too long.

Sitting on the stuffed suitcase, she finally managed to zip it. The streetlight shone into Addie’s room, lighting up the emptiness. Adrift, with nothing to do and nowhere to go, her nausea matched the swirling of the dust mites drifting lazily in the air.

Cleaning. That was exactly what she needed.

Addie found some supplies under the bathroom sink and got to work. None of this was Jack’s fault, and the least she could do was clean the flat.

---