Page 118 of When Love Found Us
The words come quick, automatic—the lie I told myself for years. But the second they leave my mouth, I feel it. The truth.
The real reason I stepped in was because deep down I hoped to win a brother. I was hoping for some kind of respect. Also, tomake sure his dream didn’t die under my father’s twisted hands.
Because no matter how much I hated Ledger, I hated him less than I hated seeing someone else’s dream get destroyed.
And that’s one of the reasons when I was recruited to be a part of the organization I accepted. I wanted to save people like my brothers, like Therese. My current therapist claims I like to fix people and their lives while trying to ignore my own problems, my own traumas. Except, the moment Blythe stepped into my life, that’s all I’ve been wanting to do: deal with my past so that I can have a life. I just didn’t know exactly why—now I know it was so I could offer Blythe something.
So I could learn how to love her.
“We’re cool,” I tell him. “I’m not saying things between us will get fixed immediately, but we can work on it.”
“I . . . thank you for considering it," he says, hesitation thick in his voice. It drags a chuckle out of me.
"Was the mean hockey player afraid I’d tell him to fuck off? Or that I’ll punch him in the face?”
Ledger places his hands on the back of his neck and stretches, his mouth pulling into something almost self-deprecating. “After everything I did? I figured you’d break my nose—maybe worse. Malerick said you’ve got mean skills. Apparently, you can take me down in less than two moves if I piss you off.”
I grin. “And don’t you forget it.”
His smirk fades slightly. “Again, thank you. For being there for Mom. And . . .” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I get it now. Why she left you part of her inheritance. You were hers, too.”
The words hit like a punch to the ribs, pushing all the air out of my lungs.
Therese told me that once—maybe twice while she was in hospice. But hearing it from him . . . from one of her sons . . .
It feels different.
She did love me. In the only way she could. Even when she was too shattered to show it the way a mother should. I swallow hard, my throat tightening, but I don’t look away.
This is the first time Ledger isn’t looking at me like I’m an outsider. And today I do believe I belong that I’m part of the Timberbridge brothers.
ChapterForty-Four
Blythe
It takesa week for Atlas’s lawyer to make it to Birchwood Springs. A week of waiting, knowing what’s coming, knowing I’m about to erase the last piece of the girl I used to be.
Fitzhenry Everhart arrives with the paperwork to change my name, pushing everything through faster than the law should allow—but money bends rules, and Atlas made sure I wouldn’t have to wait. Soon, Blythe Timberbridge will be real, and Henrietta will be nothing more than ink on forgotten documents.
It’ll take a little time, but that’s all I need to access my inheritance.
Oh, yes. I’m a very wealthy woman now.
Winston Reginald Worthington IV was so arrogant, so untouchable in his own mind, that he never considered he’d stop breathing one day. No will. No instructions. No contingency plan for a world without him in it.
Because he believed he was eternal.
And now? Henrietta Worthington is the sole heir to his estate. The thought makes my stomach churn. I don’t want a single cent of his blood money.
But Atlas—stubborn, infuriatingly practical Atlas—convinced me to set up a trust for our future kids. Just enough to cover college, to make sure they never struggle. Not that we won’t work hard to give them everything they need, but it’s good to cover our bases.
The rest?
It’s going where it should have gone a long time ago.
A charity. A nonprofit I’m creating for women like me. For children like the Timberbridge brothers—kids who grew up afraid of the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
I sit at the shop’s counter, flipping through the thick stack of legal papers as Fitzhenry lays everything out in front of me. His suit is crisp, his tie perfect, his voice clipped and efficient. But for all his polished professionalism, he curses like a drunken sailor. According to Atlas, he always does, especially when dealing with legal messes like this.
