Page 61 of Midnight Between Us
“The grown-up talk?”I scrunch my nose because what is he talking about?Keir and I don’t have anything to discuss.We weren’t even over—because, as he always reminded me, we were just friends.
Just friends.
Friends who kissed a lot.Kissing, which I often confused with love, and ...yeah, I’m not going there.This is exactly why I’m avoiding him and why I’ll avoid him for probably the rest of my life.If there’s something I’ve learned in these three days, it is that we can coexist while I ignore him.
“Your brother and I weren’t a thing and?—”
He cocks his head.“Simone, I know your connection with CQS and the Decker family,” he states in a tone that doesn’t leave any room for me to correct him or to defend myself.“And he should know too.”
I try to muffle the gasp, but he catches it.Atlas doesn’t press.Doesn’t say another word.Just gives me one last look—quiet, knowing, far too close to the truth—and walks past me toward the door.
Halfway out, he pauses, hand on the knob, voice low.
“You think you’ve got time to avoid him.But the truth always shows up, Simone.Usually when you least fucking want it.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
And just like that, the house feels colder.I glance at the library, where I had planned to spend some time, but I guess that’s out of the question.I’ll just grab my tablet and read it in my bedroom.The last thing I need is to deal with Keir.Not now and maybe not ever.
He didn’t give a fuck back then, and I ...I don’t have to do anything.Right?
Unless Lyndon ...I don’t even want to think about it.Not now.This ...if I can get through this period.I’ll handle the rest later.
Not now, I repeat, trying to manifest whatever the fuck I need to manifest.
ChapterTwenty-Two
Keir
Atlas is the youngest Timberbridge—andeasily the most infuriating among the five of us.He’s always had this uncanny ability to make people want to throw him out a window and hug him in the same breath.Hate is a strong word, but, fuck, he drove me crazy from the second he stepped into our lives.
He was six.Tiny.Malnourished.All bones and wide eyes, like he’d been surviving on scraps and secrets.I remember thinking our father was going to snap him in half the first time he lost his temper.They introduced him as our brother—same father, different mother.
All four of us hated that his entire existence hurt Mom.If there was anyone we ever truly loved, it was her—Therese Smith.Yes, she was never a Timberbridge.She made that distinction clear, even when the rest of the world didn’t.
Malerick couldn’t stand that there was another kid to protect when we were already failing to keep two safe from Dad’s fists.Then we discovered those trips to Boston—the ones we thought were for work.They were for his second family—Atlas and his mother.
Of course, once she died, Dad brought the bastard home.That was the end of our fragile peace.No more quiet time.No more breaks between the drunken storms.
It was just more noise, more bruises, and broken bones.Needless to say, we resented Atlas.I began to loathe him with everything I had.
Hopper ...I’m not sure what it was exactly that made him hate Atlas.Maybe it was the way he looked at us—like he expected something from us we couldn’t give.And Ledger?He loathed Atlas from the moment he realized someone had taken his place as the baby of the house.That resentment only got worse when our mother started treating him like he was her son.
Almost like she wished he had been hers all along.
It wasn’t until a few years back, when Mom got sick and I learned that he cared for her more than any of us had in our adulthood that I let the resentment go.
Still, there’s something about him that makes him annoying as fuck.
It’s probably that he got his shit together before any one of us could.Not long ago, when Malerick came to my place for a quick visit he said that it’s probably because he had what we didn’t.A loving mother who didn’t pay more attention to the family business, and a version of our father who didn’t drink through his rage.Atlas had examples.We had warnings.
Mom worked herself raw at the Timber company.And Dad?He was a bottle and a bad decision waiting to happen.I still don’t know why she stayed with our father.Maybe I’d get it if I ever let myself sit on a therapist’s couch long enough to talk it through.
Atlas’s words come back, “I hadn’t worked on myself, I wouldn’t have been able to have this.A life, my family.”That has settled like grit in my chest because I don’t get to have any of it.
I don’t envy him, not at all.I just know it’s not written in my future.
And there’s the self-loathing sneaking out when I don’t need it.No one should be surprised that I believe I don’t deserve anything good.
