Page 85 of Wild Scottish Fortune

“As for Orla, I can’t say why she didn’t tell you. She’s still learning about it all, I’m told, so maybe she wanted to figure it out for herself first?”

“She lied to me. I love her and she lied to me. I put her on a damn pedestal, Munroe. Just like—” My voice broke. “Just like my father.”

“And he knocked himself off that pedestal, didn’t he? Aye, it was a shite thing he did, Fin. To you and your mum. But this is not the same.”

“How is it not?”

“Because when are you going to realize that everyone has faults?”

I froze, staring into the dregs of amber liquid left in my glass.

“Of course they do,” I said automatically.

“You say that, but I don’t think you mean it. You were taught to idolize those you love by a hard and controlling father who insisted you live up to his standards. I know this, because I had much the same, remember? The problem is because your father never showed weakness, at least not until his death, you were gutted when the illusion fell to pieces. But he made it black and white, Fin. When in reality, we all exist in shades of gray. Orla is not your father, and she had every right to be careful with her story as she figured herself out. You can’t go around putting people on pedestals and then freaking out when they fail you. Because they will. Every damn time. It’s only human.”

“I—”

I didn’t really know what to say. He was right. Damn him, but he was fecking right.

“Don’t. Just let that sit for a moment.” Munroe stood and crossed the room, bringing the bottle back and topping up our glasses. I stretched my legs out, confusion whirling inside me.

“It’s clear Orla came from a tough upbringing. Don’t you think that would make it hard to trust?”

“Aye.” Nerves kicked up as I began to see how I’d treated her.

“And maybe she was right not to trust you. Because, what did you do?”

“I yelled at her, and I left her.”

“Just like everyone else before her,” Munroe finished for me, and a wave of shame crashed over me. Here I was supposed to be the one to show up for her, and instead I just did the one thing she knew to be true of people in this world.

They left her.

“Bloody hell. Och, I’ve royally screwed this up. I need to go?—”

“No, not now. Lia’s with her. Just…give this a moment to settle.” Munroe checked his phone. “Lia said that Orla went home. She wants to be alone.”

“I could go there.”

“Not after three whiskies you’re not. She needs more from you than a drunken apology.”

“You’re right.” It went against my Scottish stubbornness to admit that, but I couldn’t fault the man’s logic.Lia is a witch. How did he process that when he found out? And more than that, was he right about how I love people?

“You were taught to idolize those you love by a hard and controlling father who insisted you live up to his standards. You can’t go around putting people on pedestals and then freaking out when they fail you. Because they will. Every damn time. It’s only human.”

In other words, I love…conditionally.Was that why it had taken years for me to see my mother for who she truly was? Had I been blinded by my father’s deceit but not really considered that he’d never been perfect and worth idolizing in the first place?

Was that why I’d reacted to Orla as I had?

“Orla is not your father, and she had every right to be careful with her story as she figured herself out.”

Fecking hell. Orla didn’t need me to put her on a pedestal, not in an unhelpful way. But she still deserved to be loved and adored.Believed in,no matter what it was about her that needed to be championed.

I just had to figure out how to communicate to her…after groveling and begging for forgiveness. Sighing, I sipped my whisky.

“So a ghost coo, huh?”

“Clyde’s the best. Let me tell you…he made Lia pee her pants one time.”

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