Gift-Wrapped in a Kilt (Hot Scots #4)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Gavin got his answer four days later when a letter arrived in the mail, delivered to Iain's house and addressed to Gavin. The letter came from the Home Office, a department of the UK government. Gavin didn't quite understand everything the Home Office did, but he knew they had domain over immigration matters.

He read the letter three times, growing more numb with each pass.

After the third time, he stumbled into the living room and fell onto the sofa. The paper crinkled, and he glanced down to find he was crooking his fingers into the letter. He barely registered the fact Iain had walked into the room, even when the other man sat down beside him.

"What is it?" Iain asked. "You look ill."

Gavin held the letter out to Iain. "Administrative removal."

Iain frowned, etching lines across his forehead. He took the letter and read it. "You're being deported? That can't be. There's a process, you get a chance to defend yourself, but this says you have no recourse except to leave voluntarily or wait to be deported."

"Yeah," Gavin said, his voice barely a whisper. "I violated the immigration laws by engaging in work while claiming to be on vacation in the UK. I misrepresented my reasons for being in the country."

"Talk to Rory. This is a mistake."

"You can't fight the government, in any country."

"So you'll sit here slipping into a coma instead of trying to fight?" Iain smacked the letter down on Gavin's lap. "Bloody hell, you're giving up without even making sure this is legitimate. What happened to the man who overcame his fears and committed to a life with the woman he loves? Don't slide backward down the hill ye just climbed."

"I'm guilty. I did what they said, I worked for Aidan after telling the government I was here on vacation, visiting Jamie." Gavin stared at the wall without seeing it, without seeing anything. "I didn't know it mattered. That's no excuse, though. I screwed this up."

"No, you didn't." Iain hissed out a breath. "Someone reported you. Nothing else explains this."

"Doesn't matter."

Iain watched Gavin for a moment, then jumped up and retrieved a glass of whisky from the liquor cabinet against the wall. He sat down again and thrust the drink at Gavin.

"Drink," he said. "Gain a bit of liquid clarity."

"Getting drunk won't make things clearer." Though he spoke those words, Gavin accepted the glass and downed the contents in one gulp. The whisky burned in his throat, scouring away the shock second by second. Would he lie here in a lump and accept his fate without fighting?

Hell no.

Someone reported him. Iain had to be right about that. Who?

The shit hit the fan three days after he won acceptance from Rory and became a MacTaggart. Three days after he proved to himself he was no wuss anymore. Three days after he bested Trevor Langley in a round of hurl-the-haggis.

Of course.

Gavin sat forward and slapped the whisky glass down on the coffee table. "It was Trevor. He did this. The bastard likes to brag about his family's connections, and he was super pissed when I beat him at haggis hurling. He wanted to punish Jamie by shaming me and getting Rory to denounce me. It didn't work, so he found another way to wreck everything for her — and for me."

"Talk to Rory." Iain got up and waved for Gavin to do the same. "Don't sit there stewing about it. Get off your erse and go see your solicitor."

Gavin heaved himself up off his ass and heeded Iain's advice.

An hour later, he sat across the massive desk from Rory in the library office of Dùndubhan.

Rory held the letter in one hand while rubbing his chin with the thumb and forefinger of his other hand. He contemplated the words on the page for several minutes before speaking.

"You don't want to allow them to deport you," he said at last, placing the letter on the desktop. "If they do, you'll be banned from the UK for ten years."

"How do I avoid that?"

"There is a process, but whoever wrote this letter has made a mockery of the rules." Rory tapped a finger on the letter. "You've been given a deadline to provide evidence of why you shouldn't be subject to administrative removal, but the deadline was yesterday. The letter is dated the day before, but naturally, you didn't receive it until today. And the letter states no appeal will be allowed."

"I noticed. Is that legal?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Rory tapped the letter again. "The only recourse you have at this time is to leave the country voluntarily. Doing so will prevent deportation and the ten-year ban on returning. You'll be allowed to come back in one year."

"A year?" Gavin gripped the arms of his chair as his head started to wobble. No, it wasn't actually wobbling. Only felt like it was. "I can't come back for a year. That's… Could Jamie visit me in America?"

"Yes." With one finger, Rory spun the letter on the desktop. "It won't come to that, though. I will find out who orchestrated this and how."

"It was Trevor, had to be."

Rory sighed, his focus on the paper. "I agree, but we need proof. I suspect he circumvented the system, possibly by illegal means, but proving it could be difficult."

"You're saying I'm screwed every which way."

"No, I'm saying it will take time. I have an investigator I trust, one who works out of London. We will uncover the truth of this and get you reinstated in the UK with a family visa." Rory slanted forward, elbows on the desktop, his expression sternly determined. "You have my word on that."

"I appreciate it." Gavin took a long, slow breath and let it out bit by bit. "How long will I have to stay in America?"

"Hard to say. I'll do whatever it takes to ensure this matter is resolved as swiftly as possible." Rory pushed away from the desk, his chair wheeling backward. "In the meantime, you need to return to America."

That was how, the next day, Gavin wound up standing on the tarmac at the Inverness airport with Rory's Gulfstream jet behind him and Jamie in front of him. Saying goodbye to her made his gut twist and his eyes burn, but he had to believe he'd come back soon. One English asshole couldn't derail their life together. What kind of happy ending would that be?

Jamie sniffled, dabbing her eyes with a balled-up tissue. "This isn't fair."

"Life isn't sometimes." He pulled her into his arms, her head tucked against the hollow of his shoulder. "This is temporary. Rory's working on getting things straightened out."

"I should be going with you." She pushed away from him, her lips quivering even while she tried to scowl. "Can't believe I was so stupid, letting my passport expire."

"You thought I was staying for good, we both did." He took hold of her hand, kneading her palm with his thumb. "Besides, you were distracted by other things. If this is anybody's fault, it's mine. I'm the reason you had so much on your mind you forgot about your passport."

It had expired ten days ago. Fixing the passport situation would take time.

"You'll come visit me soon," he said. "And Rory will get the other stuff sorted out, you'll see."

"We were supposed to have Christmas together."

He hauled in a breath, but his eyes watered anyway. Must've been grit or smog or something irritating them. Yeah, sure, his eyes were watering due to irritants. In the privacy of his thoughts, at least, he could admit he teetered on the verge of crying. Him. The tough guy.

Losing Jamie would tear him up from the inside out.

Not losing her , he reminded himself. He could never lose her.

"If Rory can't fix this," she said, those beautiful, bleary eyes locked on him, "I'm emigrating to America."

"Won't come to that." He rested his forehead against hers. "But thanks for the offer, babe."

"Not an offer, a promise. I'm with you, wherever we have to go to be together."

"Ditto."

"It's only fifteen days until Christmas."

"We'll celebrate it together." He tried to believe that, had to believe it, but he didn't know. Trevor had money and a serious jones for revenge.

"Gavin —"

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, deeply, passionately, infusing the act with all the emotions roiling inside him. "See you soon."

Then he walked up the air stairs and into the jet.

Back to America. Back to a lifeless existence.

Alone.