Page 49 of Midnight Between Us
It’s hollow.
“You’re incapable of love, Keir Timberbridge.”
Her voice doesn’t tremble.It doesn’t crack.It just ends.Like she’s closing the last chapter in a book ,I didn’t know we were still writing.
And, fuck, it wrecks me.
Because she was the only one who believed I wasn’t a monster.That I could care.Maybe even love.And she’s right—I do care.I cared enough to leave.To lie.To make her hate me if it meant saving her.
If I hadn’t cared, I would’ve taken her with me and dragged her through the same hell that destroyed my mother.I wouldn’t have fought Mal on selling everything just to get the family the hell out of here.Though, he didn’t listen.
This town is poison.And someone’s buying up the land like they’re planting a flag before the war.
And I still don’t know who.
I look at her, really look at her.“Are you the heir, Simone?The heir of that syndicate my brother mentioned?”
She snorts.“You think I tracked down my long-lost dad, and he turned out to be the head of a crime syndicate?”She shakes her head.“Sounds like a crappy documentary that would make millions, but no.My father died years ago of old age.He wasn’t a criminal mastermind.Just a regular asshole.The type who should’ve been locked up for seducing teenagers.”
I blink.
She knows who her father is?
That surprises me more than anything else.She used to say she’d hire someone—hell, even pay off Nina—to find out.I always said not knowing was better than knowing he might be worse than her imagination.Obviously, she didn’t listen to me.
“When did you find out?”
“That’s not the point, Timberbridge.”
But maybe that is the point.
I study her.“Are you sure you’re not related to the people trying to destroy the town?”
It’s a shitty thing to say, but the suspicion comes out coated in exhaustion and something raw I haven’t named yet.
She rolls her eyes so hard.I can practically hear it.“I don’t have time for your nonsense, Keir.”Her voice snaps like a rubber band.“Here’s the situation: we’re stuck in this house until you’re strong enough to fake being alive again, or probably until they catch whoever the fuck stuffed you in that trunk.And honestly?Even after that, you may not be able to get your old life back.So maybe—just maybe—we figure out how to survive each other in the meantime.”
There’s a fire behind her words that doesn’t match the calm expression she tries to wear.It’s performative at best.She’s unraveling, too.Just better at hiding it.
My mouth goes dry.I don’t want to ask, but I do anyway.“Why did you agree to take care of me?Moreso when you can barely stand me.”
Her eyes meet mine, and what I see there doesn’t just burn—it incinerates.
The way she looks at me—with that detached loathing, with all that simmering pain she’s trying to choke back—it fucking hurts in a way I didn’t expect.It’s not yelling.It’s worse.It’s absence.It’s what used to be love stripped clean and rotting on the floor between us.
“It’s part of my job,” she says flatly.
“Can’t they bring in another doctor?”I’m pushing now.I know I am.But I need to understand how she can stand being this close to me when every second of it seems to carve her open.
She huffs, then shakes her head.“It’s not that easy.”
Of course, it’s not.
“I made a deal,” she adds, voice lower now, brittle.“And somehow, taking care of you is part of that repayment.It’s ironic, don’t you think?All that history between us and here I am, monitoring your blood pressure and ensuring your heart doesn’t stop.I don’t know if the universe is handing me your head on a silver platter or if this is destiny’s twisted way of giving me closure.Either way, let’s keep our interactions to a minimum.”
There’s a long pause where I can’t bring myself to speak.
Because something about that—keeping our interactions to a minimum—sits in my chest like a loaded gun with the safety off.
