Page 112 of Midnight Between Us
Keir
After the meetingwith Lyndon where we agreed to talk again when I was no longer hiding from the world—I had no idea he was aware of my situation—Atlas and I flew back to Birchwood Springs.
For the foreseeable future—translation: until we’re done with the Syndicate—I’m supposed to stay hidden.Aka: Reclusive bastard mode.My options are: convince Simone to let me crash at her place or hole up in Heartwood Lake, a remote mountain town in Colorado with decent Wi-Fi and no emotional connections or people who might recognize me.
I picked door number one.Obviously.
Will Simone let me stay?Fuck if I know.She’s my next stop after I have a long discussion with my brothers.
No matter where I end up, starting tomorrow I’m taking over Old Birchwood Timber.I’ll be working remotely.No one can know I’m the one calling the shots.Which means I have to pull my head out of my ass and deal with Ledger.Finally meet Galeana and Blythe—the ones trying to keep the business from collapsing while juggling, you know, actual lives and jobs.
Ledger will then focus on Maple Haven, Galeana’s company.He wants her to rest.Turns out they’re expecting their first baby.
Which I’m happy about but it makes me feel like a failure.This is another sibling living a life, building something while I ...what?Not sure, but I’ll build something soon.
Though I find it funny that the three youngest ones have created something for themselves.They’ve learned to love and be loved.Mal and I ...we’re definitely clueless when it comes to family.Does it have something to do with the fact that we tried to be parents to our younger brothers?And yes, we did a poor job at that.We clung so tightly to the idea of survival like it was all that mattered.Turns out, surviving isn’t the same as living.
Who knew?
I stare out the window as Atlas drives, the winding road flanked by dense trees flashing their October colors—gold, russet, fire-red.Leaves skitter across the cracked asphalt in bursts, caught in the breeze like they’re trying to outrun the season.The silence between us stretches thin.Not angry.Just tired.That bone-deep exhaustion that makes even breathing feel like effort.We’ve both been running on fumes for weeks and now there’s nothing left but the quiet.
When the truck finally rolls to a stop in front of Hopper’s, the tires crunch over gravel, loud in the quiet.I climb out slowly, the fall air greeting me with a cold slap—cool, damp, thick with the scent of turned earth, pine, and a hint of rain hiding in the clouds.There’s the faint tang of woodsmoke in the distance.
“I still don’t think we should be here,” I mutter, tugging the brim of my baseball cap lower over the blonde wig itching beneath it.
Atlas rounds the truck with a grunt.“Stay in your lane.”
“People might recognize me.”
He gives me a look that says, Stop being fucking dramatic.“We’re not going to town.”
My disguise—if you can call it that—is half-assed at best.Oversized flannel.The world’s scratchiest wig and a very ugly cap.I probably look like a background actor in a survivalist documentary.
“Could’ve just gone with a hoodie,” I grumble.
Atlas smirks but doesn’t answer.Somehow I think the asshole did this on purpose.You know what would make me feel a lot more comfortable?A suit.Not this weird lumberjack ensemble.
The ranch stretches out in front of us.Horses graze lazily in the distance, their tails flicking at the occasional gnat.The barn rises beyond them, weathered but solid, holding steady like it’s absorbed every secret and never let a single one slip.
A gust of wind kicks up the scent of pine, earth, and the promise of rain.Atlas moves forward without a word.Then I see them.
Ledger, Malerick, and Hopper.
Ledger stands near the fence line, sleeves rolled up, phone wedged between his shoulder and ear as he gestures toward something in the pasture.Mal leans against the barn wall, arms crossed, face unreadable—except for that twitch at the corner of his mouth like he’s caught between laughing and throwing a punch.And Hopper is there, gesturing as he talks, probably to Mal.
Ledger is the first one to spot me.“Nice disguise, Grizzly Adams.”
Malerick doesn’t even look away from whatever internal war he’s fighting.“He looks like a tourist who got lost on the way to a lumberjack competition.”
“Lumber-Con,” Hopper adds, snorting at his own joke.
I shake my head, dragging a palm down my face, scraping over the beard I’ve been too tired to shave.“Good to see you too, assholes.”
Ledger pats my shoulder like he means it.“Glad you made it back.”
“Barely.”I rub my face again, slower this time.Maybe soon, I’ll find the energy to remember what normal looks like.
“You made it through our father,” Malerick says quietly.“Back then, I used to tell myself that meant you could survive anything.Fuck, I used to say the same thing when I joined the Bureau.If we could survive him, we could survive anything.”
