The Truth We Found Together (Willowbrook #5)

Chapter 1

LEIGH

The GPS announced our arrival in Willowbrook, and my stomach tightened.

“Almost there,” Mom said quietly. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. She’d been like this for the last hour. Careful. Tentative. Like I might shatter if she said the wrong thing.

I watched the town through the passenger window.

Small and rural, the kind of place where everyone probably knew everyone.

Historic storefronts lined Main Street, a gazebo sat in the town square, and people strolled along sidewalks in the golden early-evening light.

It was charming in a way that was completely different from Blue Point Bay’s coastal energy. Quieter. More insular.

The place where my brothers grew up.

Even though it had been months since I’d learned of their existence it still felt strange to think.

Brothers. Four of them. I wasn’t the first person in the world to learn of another sibling but four was just extreme.

Except, I guess I was the extra sibling.

The one that had been hidden away even if it had been with good intentions instead of the usual guilt and shame.

“It’s nice,” I said, because Mom was waiting for me to say something. “Different from home.”

She relaxed slightly. “Very different.”

The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything we weren’t saying.

I knew what Mom was thinking. What she’d been thinking for months now, since she’d told me the truth about Jasper and my half-brothers.

She was waiting for me to be angry with her.

Waiting for the blame, the accusations, the resentment.

But I wasn’t angry with her. Not really.

Or maybe I was. It was all so complicated.

Tangled up with understanding and hurt and years of wondering why I’d never had a father, only to find out he’d existed all along.

That Mom had made choices she thought were right, choices that had kept me from this whole other family.

I understood her reasoning. That didn’t make any of this easier.

“Leigh,” she started, her voice soft.

“Mom, it’s fine. We’re here. Let’s just focus on that.”

She bit her lip but nodded. The kid gloves treatment was exhausting. I needed her to stop acting like I was fragile.

“It should be left up here,” she said, almost to herself. “Jasper said the house is on the outskirts.”

We left the small downtown behind, driving through residential areas that gave way to larger properties. Tree-lined roads, space between houses, the kind of quiet you didn’t get in a tourist town like Blue Point Bay.

“There,” Mom said softly.

The house sat back from the road, surrounded by mature trees and sprawling lawn. A long driveway led to a wide front porch. It was ostentatious and screamed the kind of wealth I’d never known in my lifetime. The kind of home that spoke of stability and permanence.

I’d seen photos during Jasper’s visits, but seeing it in person made it real.

This was where they’d grown up. My half-brothers. The ones I was meeting tomorrow.

Mom pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. Neither of us moved.

“If this is too much,” she said quietly, “we could stay at a hotel. I checked, there’s a place in town.”

“Mom.” I turned to look at her. She looked tired. Worried. Older than I’d ever seen her. “Stop. I’m okay. I want to be here.”

“I just need you to know that if I could change things, if I could go back…”

“You can’t. None of us can.” I reached over and squeezed her hand. “I need you to stop treating me like I’m about to break. Please.”

She squeezed back, tears in her eyes. “Okay. I’ll try.”

Before we could get out, the front door opened. Jasper came down the porch steps, his face lighting up when he saw us.

“You made it!” He pulled me into a hug that felt natural now, nothing like those first awkward meetings in Blue Point Bay months ago. “How was the drive?”

“Long but fine,” I said. “Mom’s already threatening to make me drive back.”

He laughed, the sound warm, and grabbed our bags. “Come on in. I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

Inside, the house was everything I’d expected from the photos. Hardwood floors, furniture that looked so uncomfortable that it had to be more for show that anything else.

Photographs covered the mantel or a marble fireplace in the pristine room where I stood in the middle of, feeling more out of place than ever before in my life. Four boys at different ages. School pictures, sports teams, professional family shots. Growing up together.

I moved closer, studying their faces. Trying to find myself in them.

“I wasn’t sure if seeing these before tomorrow would help or make it harder,” Jasper said quietly.

“It helps.” I touched the frame of one photo. Four teenagers, arms around each other, genuine smiles. “Helps me feel like I know them a little.”

“They’re good men.” His voice was thick with emotion. “They want to meet you, Leigh. This isn’t obligation. They’re genuinely excited.”

“I know.” And I did. Jasper had told me about their reactions. But knowing didn’t make the nerves go away. “I’m just nervous.”

“That’s completely normal.” He gestured toward the stairs. “Let me show you to your rooms. Caroline, you’re next to Leigh.”

The guest room was painted sage green, with a comfortable bed and a reading chair by the window overlooking the backyard. Elegant in a subdued, welcoming way that still made you want to make sure you didn’t leave a speck of dirt anywhere.

“It’s perfect,” I told him. “Thank you.”

After Jasper left, Mom appeared in my doorway almost immediately.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” I set my bag down. “Just processing.”

“Leigh, I…”

“Mom.” I turned to face her. “You need to stop walking on eggshells around me. I’m not mad at you.”

Her face crumpled. “I just wish…”

“I know. But you can’t change the past. Neither can I. So let’s focus on tomorrow, okay?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it? About what you’ll say to them? How you want to handle…”

The walls suddenly felt too close. The weight of tomorrow pressed down on me. Four strangers who were apparently my blood. A whole family I’d never known existed until a few months ago. Strangers that I was now supposed to figure out some kind of relationship with.

“I need some air,” I said. “Just for a bit. Need to clear my head.”

“Leigh…”

“I’m fine, I promise. I just need space to think.”

She studied my face, and I could see her fighting the urge to argue. “Town’s about ten minutes by car. The main road will take you back to downtown, but it’s a walk. And it’s getting dark.”

“I’ll walk. I need the movement.”

“Take your phone. Text me when you get there.”

“I will.”

I grabbed my phone and wallet, deliberately leaving my camera behind. If I brought it, I’d hide behind the lens, and I needed to feel everything right now. Even if it was uncomfortable.

The walk took longer than I expected. The road wound through quiet neighborhoods, past properties with space between them, so different from the compact streets of Blue Point Bay. By the time I reached Main Street, twilight had settled in and my feet ached, but my head felt clearer.

Sort of.

I’d spent the walk trying to imagine tomorrow. What I’d say. How they’d react. Would they see me as an obligation? A complication in their close-knit family?

And beneath all of that, the fear I didn’t want to admit: What if I met them and still didn’t belong? What if I finally found this family and realized there was no place for me in it?

Downtown Willowbrook was prettier at twilight. Streetlights cast warm pools of light, restaurants had outdoor seating filled with people enjoying the early summer evening, and everything felt peaceful. Settled.

I walked past a gallery, a coffee shop, a bookstore. Everything prosperous in that small-town way.

Then I saw the bar.

Dylan’s Place, the sign said. Warm light spilled from the windows, and I could hear the low hum of conversation inside.

I hesitated for only a moment before going in.

The interior was all dark wood and brass fixtures, cozy and authentic. Not crowded, but comfortably populated. A pool table in the back, booths along the walls, stools at a long bar.

I slid onto a stool and caught the bartender’s eye.

“What can I get you?” He was middle-aged and friendly, with the easy manner of someone who’d been doing this for years.

“Whiskey, neat.” I needed something strong. Something to quiet the noise in my head about tomorrow.

He poured without comment and moved on to other customers.

I took a sip, letting the burn ground me, and tried not to think about meeting my brothers.

About whether they’d actually want me there or if this was just obligation.

About whether I’d ever truly fit anywhere.

“Rough day?”

The voice came from my left, and I turned.

He was a few stools down. Tall even sitting, with broad shoulders and dark auburn hair that caught the light. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with the kind of build that came from actual work, not a gym. He nursed his own whiskey, and there was something in his eyes I recognized.

Something wounded and real.

My photographer’s eye catalogued the details automatically. The way he held himself, the tension in his shoulders, the careful distance he maintained even as he spoke. Someone used to being on the outside. Someone who understood what it felt like to not quite fit.

“You could say that,” I said, taking another sip. “You?”

“Yeah.” He turned his glass slowly. “Rough year, actually.”

The way he said it, quiet and honest, made my chest tight. He meant it. Whatever he was dealing with was real and heavy.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it.

He looked at me then, really looked, and something sparked between us. Recognition, maybe. Of seeing someone else who understood that life was complicated and messy.

“Can I buy you another?” he asked, gesturing to my nearly empty glass.

I should say no. I should go back to Jasper’s house and prepare for tomorrow.

But I didn’t want to. Not yet.