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I wipe my hands on my jeans—my palms are already a little sweaty. “Looking back now, it’s clear I was going through some sort of self-destructive streak. As we just discussed, it’s not an excuse, but I missed Maw and Da. More than that, I felt guilty that I stayed home that night. They were killed and Jamie was badly injured, while I was fine. Because I made up an illness so I could be with you.”

Iona continues to fidget with the stone, watching me, waiting for me to go on.

“I didn’t think I deserved to be happy, but you were so good to me. You came back to Bannock to see me as often as you could, and you called and messaged me every day. You tried so hard to help me cope, but I didn’t want to cope. That was the problem. Just thinking was painful, so I tried to do as little of that as possible. I sacrificed my emotional health and went all in on physical health instead. The strain and burn of lifting weights became an obsession for me—the best way to escape my thoughts.

“But every day, you were there, in person or over the phone, so persistent, never giving up on me. You tried to make me see that, as impossible as it seemed, I would get through it. Aye, I’d never not miss Maw and Da, but I would find it in me to be happy again. And . . . maybe I didn’t believe you. Maybe I thought I deserved to suffer. I don’t know, really—I wasn’t myself back then. But in my twisted logic at the time, I came to believe that I had to cut you out of my life. Your unwavering support was like salt in the wound. It made me feel, and I was trying so hard not to do that.”

I take a long breath in and then out. “All right, with that intro out of the way, let’s get on to that day.”

Iona’s steady gaze reveals nothing. When we were younger, I thought I was pretty good at reading her face, but now I’ve got no idea what she’s thinking.

“There was this . . . lass.” I close my eyes for a moment. God, this hurts, but I have to tell her everything. “Well, a woman—probably about the age we are now. Northern Irish, although I think she said she lived in Scotland—Ayrshire, maybe. In any case, she was doing a driving tour of the Highlands and was only staying in Bannock for a night. She thought the town was a bit boring . . . apart from me. She took a shine to me and was pretty flirty. She had no idea I was seeing someone, of course, and I . . .” I rub the back of my neck. “. . . didn’t mention it.”

Iona’s brows knit together, her lips pressing into a thin line, but she still doesn’t speak.

“By this point I’d been trying to push you away for weeks, but you wouldn’t let me—you were too good a friend. You just wouldn’t give up on me, and I knew you never would, unless . . . I hurt you. I had to do something so bad that even you, with your seemingly limitless empathy and patience, wouldn’t be able to forgive me. So, aye, I messaged you saying we were through, put my phone on silent, and then . . . pursued this woman.”

This really isn’t easy, but I force myself to press on. “I knew, when I checked my phone again later, I’d have missed calls and messages from you. And I knew they’d all be telling me that I was being stupid, that I shouldn’t end things. My plan was to call you back, or maybe message you, and explain that I’d slept with someone else. That would be the final nail in the coffin. It never occurred to me that you might skip uni and drive straight up to Bannock.”

“But I did,” Iona says coolly. “Lewis, this is more or less what I thought happened. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve told me a few details I didn’t know—like she was Northern Irish, for example. But I didn’t need to know that! None of this changes my view of what you did.”

I scratch my arm. “Aye, I get that. And like I’ve said a few times now, I don’t expect you to forgive me. But . . . there are a few more things I should probably say.”

Eyes narrowed, she tilts her head—a silent signal for me to continue.

“So, I invited her to my room intending to have sex with her. And that’s terrible, obviously. I’ve been beating myself up over that these last six years. But . . . I didn’t actually do anything with her.”

Iona raises a brow. “What?”

I shrug. “I couldn’t. She was hoping for some fun, and instead she got a moody, grieving guy who, when it came down to it, didn’t want to be touched by her—or to touch her. We lay in bed, clothed, and she kept on trying to kick things off, but I wasn’t interested. Eventually, after a fair bit of pestering, I let her take my T-shirt off so she could see my muscles. I shouldn’t have done that, but just so we’re clear about what happened, she reached out and felt my pecs, and I flinched away. That’s the extent of what took place between us.”

Iona’s body stiffens, the colour draining from her face. She swallows hard.

“Anyway, before I could get her out of my room, there was a knock at the door and . . . it was you. I opened up knowing exactly what you’d think. I was such an arsehole, but at the time I thought everything was working out for the best. I was able to push you away without actually having to sleep with someone else. Of course, after you burst into tears and ran off, the poor woman I messed around left too. And . . . that’s all there is to tell.”

I let out a long breath. That wasn’t easy, but it does feel good to finally get it off my chest.

Unfortunately, not only did I make Iona cry back then, but in telling the story now, I’ve done it again. Her eyes well up, and a single tear trickles down her cheek. Then, in a sudden flash of anger, she lashes out and slaps my arm. “You bastard!”

Whoa! I deserve that—nah, I deserve far worse—but I’m not used to violence from her. It takes me by surprise.

“For the last six years, you’ve led me to believe you ended our relationship via text message then fucked another woman a few hours later. Now you’re telling me that didn’t happen?”

“Well . . . I did end our relationship by text. And I did invite a woman back to my room. Sure, I didn’t sleep with her, but—”

“You’re acting like that’s some minor technicality. It’s not! It’s a bloody big deal. It completely changes how I view what happened. You can see that, right?”

“I shouldn’t have invited her back to my room full stop. It was a really, really shit thing to do.”

“It was,” she agrees. “Really shit. And I’d have been fucking furious with you at the time even if I’d known you’d only let her touch your chest. But the pain and hurt I’ve carried these last six years . . .” She covers her heart with her hand. “Six years, Lewis. Six fucking years!”

“I’m . . . sorry,” I offer, fully aware of how pathetic this sounds given the torment I’ve put her through.

She presses her fingers to her temples, takes a few deep breaths, then yells out, “Fuck!”

The scream shatters the tranquil calm of the loch. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Iona drop the f-bomb so many times in such quick succession. I suppose the situation calls for it, though.

“You . . .” Apparently, she can’t think what to call me. Instead of a word, she lets out a strangled cry then clenches her hands into fists.