Dove Island would always be bittersweet for him.
The place where he felt the closest to Britt and the place where he lost her.
A sarcastic laugh erupted from Stacy. “You went to Dove Island, didn’t you?”
Lachlan opened his mouth to respond, then hesitated.
“Don’t bother denying it. It’s written all over your face,” Stacy said, grabbing her purse from the couch.
“I don’t want things to be weird between us,” Lachlan said, trying to fix the mess he’d made of their relationship. Stacy had become a good friend to him over the years. Too good to have messed things up by getting intimate when his heart wasn’t really in it.
“It can’t be helped,” she said, then exhaled. “You have an amazing daughter. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t get sucked into her life and yours, feeling like things are progressing toward something that they’re not. Please tell the camp to remove me as your backup contact.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that right away.” Lachlan took a step toward her. “Do I also need to find a new flight attendant?” She was a damn good attendant and would be difficult to replace, considering the discretion he needed for flying around the King Family as well as the work he did for Stingray.
But he was done being selfish.
He needed to do right by Stacy.
Stacy looked down, twisting the chain of her purse between her fingers.
After several long moments, she looked back at him. “No. I’ll continue to work for you. Let’s just stop crossing lines, okay?”
“Right. No crossing lines ever again,” Lachlan said, taking her decision as the first step toward reconciliation between them. He held the door open for her.
“And if Paloma asks for me, just let me know. I’m not going to disappear from her life.”
“I appreciate that.”
Stacy nodded, then walked along the sidewalk to her car.
He closed the door, then pressed his forehead against the warm wooden surface.
He had to get himself fucking together. Now.
“Daddy …” his little girl’s groggy voice floated from behind him.
“Hey.” Lachlan turned and crossed the living room. He lifted her into his arms. “I heard you had quite the scare this morning. How are ye, hen, really?”
“I’m okay.” Paloma wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her head against his chest. Her small fingers reached for the Celtic trinity knot hanging from his neck, tracing the intricate silver patterns as she often did when seeking comfort. The same comfort it gave to him. He remembered standing next to his father in the small Edinburgh shop, learning how the three interwoven loops represented past, present, and future, binding the Ritchie clan for generations. His father had told him the knot would protect him from harm and remind him of where he came from.
As Paloma's fingertips followed the eternal knot's path, Lachlan made the silent promise he'd held since her birth—when his little hen reached twelve, he'd take her to the same shop, continue the tradition that even an ocean couldn't sever. Perhaps then, he'd finally tell her how the trinity had taken on new meaning for him: father, mother, child—a family circle that could never truly be broken, even when one point seemed lost.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you when you were scared,” Lachlan said, tears clogging his throat. “I promise ye, it won’t happen again.”
“It’s okay, Daddy. I wasn’t scared,” Paloma announced. “Mommy’s angel was there. She protected me.”
“Mommy’s … angel?” He choked on the words.
“She was at the park. She looked like the picture I have of Mommy.”
He had thousands of pictures of Britt, but he’d only printed one for Paloma to sit on her dresser in her bedroom. The one of Britt holding her at two years old, only days before the car bomb.
It was his favorite picture of them.
“You saw someone who looked like Mommy?” His heart thundered in his chest.
Paloma shook her head. “It was Mommy.” Her voice faltered a bit. “But she’s in heaven. So, it had to be her angel, right?”
