Maybe it was a single-dad thing.

Whatever it was, it looked good on him.

He raised an eyebrow at me, and I realized I was staring. “You all right?”

“Yeah. How are you?”

Thane sighed heavily. “Fine. The kids have been asking to see Mac all week.” He turned to his son who sat at the foot of the bed, watching me closely. “Lewis, Eilidh, this is Mac’s daughter Robyn.” He looked at me again. “Robyn, these are my children, Lewis and Eilidh.” He pronounced his daughter’s name A-Lay.

“Nice to meet you,” I said to the kids, unsure how to interact with them, to be honest.

“Mac’s daughter?” Lewis frowned. His attention turned to Mac. “How can you have a daughter the same age as you?”

There was a choked, awkward silence.

Which I broke with a wince. “Well, that hurt.”

Mac, Arrochar, and Thane burst out laughing. Through her chuckles, Arrochar allowed Eilidh back onto the bed beside Mac and said to me, “Oh, pay no attention, Robyn. You know kids have no concept of age. Everyone over the age of eighteen is ancient to them.”

I nodded, but my ego was somewhat bruised. I half laughed, half grimaced at Thane who gave me an amused but apologetic look. “Do I really look his age?”

“Oi, watch it,” Mac threw at me with a twinkle in his eyes before he turned to speak softly with Eilidh.

Something painful pierced my chest at the sight of their heads bent together.

“Of course not,” Thane assured.

But I didn’t care anymore.

I watched Mac with Eilidh and then Lewis who’d clambered up to his other side. They asked quiet questions about his injuries, and Mac made up a story about how he’d annoyed a wee fairy and she’d exacted her revenge. As he wove a whimsical story for them, it reminded me of the stories he’d told me.

How he’d come to see me every Saturday, and we’d spend the whole day together. How he’d spin the most magical fairy tales. How, as we both got older, I was allowed to stay entire weekends with him. How every second of those weekends, I had all his attention.

And for the first time in years, I allowed myself to remember how much I’d loved him, to the depths of my soul.

As much as I’d loved my mom, there was no one in the world like my dad.

Then one day … one day, he just wasn’t there anymore.

He’d broken my heart in two.

Here he was now. As close to the Adairs as if they were family. These kids called him Uncle Mac. They knew him in ways I no longer did. They loved him and were clearly adored by him.

At once, it was like the air had been sucked from the room. My face prickled, and the room swayed. I needed air. I needed gone from here. Moving swiftly, I brushed past Thane and hurried out, vaguely aware of Mac calling my name.

Hurrying out into the hall, I tried to gulp air but couldn’t. The walls seemed to close in on me, the carpet moving as I rushed toward the double doors. Bursting out of them, Lachlan was suddenly there, cursing and jumping back so as not to get hit in the face.

The stairs wavered beyond him.

“Robyn?” His voice was muffled in my ears as I shoved him out of my way.

He wrapped a hand around my wrist. “Robyn, what’s wrong?”

I wrenched out of his hold, hurrying down the staircase.

Air. I just needed air.

“Robyn!”

By the time I made it out of the castle, I was about to pass out.

I tried to gulp oxygen, but it didn’t help. I couldn’t catch my breath. What the fuck was happening? Leaning against the brick exterior, my fingers clawed at the stone as I tried to breathe.

And then Lucy’s voice was in my ear, gentle, reassuring. “It’s just a panic attack, Robyn. Stop. Relax. You’re okay.” I felt her hand on my back. “Breathe in and then breathe out. Nice and slow. You’re okay. Look at me, gorgeous.” I turned my head to find Lucy at my side, eyes locked to mine. She gave me a kind smile. “That’s it. Slowly.” She took a deep breath in and let it out, and I began to mimic her.

Not long later, the world stopped spinning, and the prickling sensation left my face.

But I felt exhausted.

I slumped against the wall. “What the hell?”

“Adrenaline crash.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “It can happen after a panic attack. You might feel exhausted for hours.”

“Panic attack.” I lowered my eyes, another memory returning. Me, fourteen years old, at school. Having a panic attack when the teacher asked me to read out a poem I’d written about Mac leaving. By that time, I’d seen him only once since I was twelve years old.

The initial panic attack was followed by a string of others, and the doctor told my mom it was probably just a mix of stress and teenage hormones. They abruptly stopped not long after, when Mac had shown up for Christmas that year and we’d spent four days together. I’d never thought of them again.