Page 77 of Blindsided By You

I wake at daylight, disoriented by the distant bubble and hiss of a coffee machine, and the rhythmic snoring coming from a large body next to me. A sliver of light peeks around floral curtains, highlighting unfamiliar sage green walls and a simple white pendant light above my head. A head which is surprisingly clear given how I ignored last night’s threat of migraine, consuming not only red wine, but way too much whisky with Kyle.

It’s definitely weird waking up in his house. Hell, I never thought I’d give the man the time of day, let alone choose to spend a night under his roof. Old me would never have trusted old Kyle to stay in his own room.

This Kyle is, as others tell me, a changed person. Dora obviously thinks so, and dogs are surprisingly accurate judges of character. I mean Andy bit him, but Andy has bitten lots of people, even Geordie, so his reads on people can’t be trusted.

I pull on my jeans and jersey, trying not to disturb a sleeping Dora, but as I’m lacing my trainers, she bounces to life and waits by the door, tail thumping. She follows me to the kitchen where Kyle is at the worktop, pouring coffee into a flask.

“Want one?” he says. “Help yourself. Breakfast too, if you want. Eggs in the fridge, cereal in the cupboard. But you’ll have to make your own. Connor and the lads will be here in five. Stay as long as you like. Just pull the door behind you when you go—it’ll lock itself—and putDora out in the yard.”

I’m tempted by the inviting scent of fresh coffee, but leaving now might allow me to slip back inside my house unnoticed before Dad wakes up.

“Thanks, but I’ll head off when you do.”

“That’s about now,” he says, tucking the flask into a pocket of the large hiking pack leaning against the wall. “Just got to shove my boots on.”

“How about I put Dora away for you?”

Armed with Kyle’s instructions for feeding his dog, I set off downstairs, calling her after me. She doesn’t look unhappy at being sent to canine jail, bounding through the high gate and immediately beginning an investigative mission around her grassy walled space, which is littered with dog toys. Dora doesn’t even seem concerned when I lock her in, more intent on inhaling the scoops of kibble I placed in her dish.

I meet Kyle on the front steps, just as a long van pulls into the kerb in front of us. Connor, in the driver’s seat, smiles and tips a hand in greeting.

“Good timing,” Kyle says, taking the steps two at a time. “Wish us luck climbing the fucking mountain.” He tosses me a grin over his shoulder, then joins Connor, who’s now standing at the back of the van, the hatch open, ready for Kyle to sling the pack inside.

This isnotgood timing. I’m paralysed, a statue on the steps, knowing exactly how this looks. Geordie’s in the passenger’s seat and his eyes bore into mine, filled with bleak devastation. I want to go to him, explain this isn’t what it looks like, but there’s no time.

Connor dives back behind the wheel. The gaping side door swallows Kyle before sliding shut. With a roar of the engine, the van speeds off, leaving me standing there, stunned by the cruelirony—just as I’ve finally found the courage to free Geordie and me from this endless holding pattern, one stupid decision may have cost me our relationship.

Chapter 41

GEORDIE

Twohourstrappedina van, then four hours trudging on foot, glaring at the back of a man I truly hate. It’s only the presence of five other decent men in our hiking party that keeps me from grabbing Kyle Stewart by the throat and throttling him. Or simply giving him a shove as we edge along the narrow trail, skirting high bluffs and sheer drop-offs on our way to Beinn Greannach’s summit.

Now we’re there, the bad news is I get to spend the night with the fucking piece of scum too. Connor, as an experienced mountaineer, checked off every last detail of this trip, including the forecast, but no amount of preparation is enough to guarantee Scotland won’t throw some unexpected weather in your path, just to make it interesting.

That’s why Connor made the call to camp here tonight. We’ll descend at dawn, after the unseasonal blizzard passes, when we can safely pick our way back to civilization. We all joke about having a legit reason to skive off work on Monday, everyone in good spirits despite the weather—except for me. The last thing I want is to spend any longer than necessary in bloody Stewart’s company.

Connor’s yelled instructions carry over the rising wind, which already stings our faces with needles of snow. Our three tents, anchored against the storm, stand as bright beacons of refuge in a world of grey stone and wind-whipped tussock.

Connor assigns us to tents through lip-read shouts and wild gestures, factoring in each man’s size for the best fit. The sleet hammers my face like steel shot, but I linger, feet leaden, as I process his arrangement. Tonight, I’m sealed in with Brandon and Kyle fucking Stewart. Maybe once Brandon drifts off, I’ll press my jacket over that smug face and smother him. Connor, blind to the hatred crackling between us, has sentenced me to what promises to be the longest night of my life.

The vision of Jenna standing on Kyle’s front steps this morning, still in yesterday’s clothes—the evidence of her overnight stay written in her untamed hair—haunts me. Nothing happened between them. It couldn’t have. She’s made no secret of despising him. Christ, only last night I was the one defending the bastard to her. Never imagined she’d twist my words into some warped permission slip, getting pally enough to spend the night at his place. My jaw locks, teeth grinding until they ache.

Pain knots through me like barbed wire as I picture her standing there, casual as morning coffee, making a fool of me in front of my mates. Whatever her reason for sleeping at Kyle’s, she had to know what it screamed to the world. Might as well have walked straight from his bed, the way she stood on those steps—shameless, unconcerned about appearances, or the whispers that she and Kyle are more than friends which are no doubt already echoing around Cluanie. While I’m the one she keeps hidden, her dirty secret stashed in the shadows.

I still blame Kyle. The underhand bastard must have loved it—convincing her to stay, then parading her on his doorstep for maximum exposure. Everyone watching. A calculated show.

The hours drag by over hands of cards. I find myself grimly grateful for Kyle’s army habit of carrying a deck. Even wedged as far from him as possible in our seven-foot prison, he dominates the space, his laughter with Brandon bouncing off the walls while I maintain a sullen indifference to his attempts to draw me into the conversation. Brandon senses the tension, but I force normal conversation with the kid. Not his fault Connor threw him into a war zone.

We break for meals—emergency rations that taste like cardboard and necessity. Water does nothing to ease the sandpaper in my throat.

When exhaustion sets in, we agree it’s time to pack in the card game. I retreat to my sleeping bag along the left wall. Kyle wisely takes the right. Brandon between us is an unwitting human shield, preventing murder in the night.

Though we lie shoulder to shoulder, the darkness isolates me in my own lonely space. The weather’s relentless howl wraps around my thoughts like white noise. I force my body to still for the sake of Brandon alongside, but inside my brain is a riot. Outside, the wind hammers at the mountainside, but our little tent, tucked into an outcrop, shields us from the worst of the blast. I wish I had a similar shelter from the storm pummelling my heart.

Kyle pissed me off, but rational me knows he’s not the source of the problem between Jenna and me, only a symptom.

That first night in Edinburgh, I knew. Knew my life wouldn’t be complete without Jenna in it. Desperate to have anything of her Icould, no matter how small or superficial or infrequent, I grabbed the scraps she offered.

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