Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hopper
The Timberbridge family has never been good at talking—or at doing anything together. We’re fucking great individually. Ledger was a hockey star until his injury. There’s Mal, a former kick-ass FBI agent—turned small town sheriff. Let’s not forget Kier, whose successful business has done a lot for people and of course made a lot of money. Add Atlas, who is a famous tattoo artist that everyone seeks. I might not be rich or famous, but I’m a good damn veterinarian.
But together . . . well, together we’re nothing.
Fighting among each other is our best trait. We obviously learned that from our father, who made sure we hated each other, which meant sometimes he didn’t have to do the beatings himself. Our fights would end up with bloody noses and purple eyes that our father enjoyed. After that, we excelled at ignoring each other. For years we went no contact, unless our mother forced us. Therese Smith was a force; we loved her even when we resented her.
But sitting in a room, laying everything out on the table, and actually working through a problem? That’s never been our strong suit.
We never tried it, not even when Mom died.
Once she died and we learned about her will, we fought. She had left everything to her children—all five of us. The thing is that Atlas wasn’t one of us. Ledger, Mal, and Kier fought the will because he wasn’t Therese’s child. I honestly didn’t care then or now. By that time I understood that family isn’t blood. You can love a child even when they aren’t yours. Even if you’re hurting. When Maddie came to me, I was physically and emotionally hurting, but I fell in love with my daughter almost instantly.
I do believe Mom had hated Dad for bringing his son, but also that she learned to love Atlas like a mother should.
Once my siblings realized they couldn’t take away the inheritance from Atlas, we tried to agree on what to do with Old Birchwood Timber. But we even failed at that. Kier and Atlas want to sell. I don’t give two fucks, but Mal insists that we keep it.
Ledger is in charge of doing something with it. And what did he do when he came to town? Not what he was ordered. Nope. Instead, he married Galeana Adele Monroe. Granddaughter of Dante Doherty and heiress to his fortune.
Nobody knew her, but he married her anyway. He invited me to the wedding, but I didn’t want to bother. Maddie is too young to last through a ceremony and a reception, more so when I believe that he’ll get divorced before the end of the year.
It sounds like I don’t have faith in my brother, but we Timberbridges suck at relationships. Not any one of us has had luck with that. None. Of. Us.
And even with our story and the little faith I have in becoming a family, here we are.
Ledger, Malerick, and me, sitting around my dining table, bourbon in hand, talking about the Hollow Syndicate like we’re some kind of task force instead of just three brothers trying to make sense of something bigger than us.
Malerick is almost sure that they’re the same people responsible for the bodies buried in the backyard.
“I had no idea Erick Stinson died. Why haven’t we heard of it?” I ask, concerned about the safety of my child. There’s a real organization trying to fuck over us all and we’re treating it like it’s nothing. “Are you sure it’s safe that we stay?”
Ledger leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable, while Mal sits hunched forward, elbows on the table, his brow furrowed like he’s trying to solve an equation that doesn’t add up. I sit between them, arms crossed, my own drink untouched in front of me.
“It is safer than running away,” he states. “If you leave, they’ll think you know something is wrong. You don’t want them to hunt you, do you? Stinson’s family doesn’t want anyone to know what happened to him. And as far as they’re concerned, you’re not aware of anything. The fire being arson, or . . . Nysa’s property.”
“I knew about the fire,” Ledger finally says, his voice even, measured. “Didn’t know about the bodies. If I had known, I wouldn’t have come back, Malerick. I . . . I can’t put my wife in danger.”
“Well, now you do,” Mal mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “And I’ll repeat it again. We’re making sure everyone is safe.”
Ledger lets out a low chuckle, but there’s nothing remotely amused about it. “And here I was thinking coming back to this town would be peaceful after the forced retirement. So far, it’s been . . .”
“Unexpected?” I finish for him, tipping my drink back. “Still don’t get why you had to get married so fast. Is she pregnant?”
His brow lifts, unimpressed. “No, I haven’t knocked up my woman, but we will have kids eventually.” The words are so calm, so even, like he’s discussing the weather. Is he for real? I’m not judging wanting to have children, but this man isn’t him. He’s more . . . he’s different.
I snort. “That sounds so. . . civilized.”
His lips twitch. “Are you judging? I mean, you knocked up someone and ended up bringing the kid. Where’s the mother?”
I lower my drink, my jaw tightening. “None of your fucking business.”
“Probably not,” Ledger allows, voice infuriatingly neutral. “But have you considered sending your daughter to her mother? Might be safer for the time being. No one would suspect you did it because you’re onto them. It’s just a custody agreement.”
And that would be such a great idea, only if her mother—and father—were alive. Unfortunately, she lost them at the same time. I would give anything to have Dan around. He was like my brother. All I have left from that friendship is his kid. My little Maddie.
“Leave it,” Malerick orders.
“Why? It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Ledger presses, pushing because he knows how to dig under my skin like no one else. “Unless, of course, you fucked up royally. What’s the story there, Hop?”
“Ledge, leave it.” Mal’s voice drops, flat and absolute.
And somehow, I get the feeling he knows something about Maddie. Does he know the truth? That she’s not biologically my daughter?
Mal exhales through his nose, impatient now. “Can we focus on what’s happening now? No, he won’t send his daughter away. You will keep your wife safe. Everything will be fine.”
“Sure,” I mock, my frustration boiling over. “We’ve got a goddamn criminal syndicate setting up shop in our backyard, and everything’s just fine.”
Mal gives me a look. The ‘you’re being dramatic’ one.
I grit my teeth. “How the hell did they get here? Why Birchwood Springs? Why us?”
“We’re close to the border and the ocean,” Malerick says. “They can move product easier.”
Ledger leans forward, his jaw flexing. “And when you say product . . .?”
“Anything they can,” Malerick replies. “Guns. Drugs. People.” His voice stays even, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. Disgust. “They want Maple Haven and Old Birchwood Timber to launder money.”
I let out a slow breath. “So that’s why you don’t want us to sell.”
Mal nods.
I rake a hand through my hair. My patience is gone. “Let me get this straight—Marcus Fallon, a guy from Boston, winds up buried on Nysa’s land. Cassandra DeLuca, a kidnapped heiress from New York, also ends up buried on Nysa’s land. Meanwhile, the Syndicate sets a barn on fire two towns over, nearly kills a horse, and somehow all of this is about controlling this town?”
Mal nods. “That about sums it up.”
I let out a low laugh, but it’s hollow. “And we’re supposed to pretend that everything is fine?”
“Yep,” Mal says, shaking his head like this is just another Thursday.
Ledger exhales, long and slow. “Okay, I’m pretending this is paradise. What’s next?”
“We wait,” Malerick says, like he’s suggesting we sit back and catch the Sunday game.
I stare at him. “We wait? That’s the plan?”
“That’s the plan.”
Ledger presses his fingers against his temple. “Who else knows?”
Mal’s expression hardens. “Outside of law enforcement? Just us. That’s how we keep it.”
My stomach knots. “What about Nysa? Can she leave? I’ll pay for her to go somewhere—hell, another country if that’s what it takes.”
Mal shakes his head. “Not how this works. We have to keep things exactly as they are. You need to understand that.”
I grind my teeth. “Kier and Atlas need to know.”
“No.” Mal’s tone leaves no room for argument. “The less people who know, the better. Plus, we don’t want them here. I have enough shit to deal with keeping you two alive—both of you with your significant others and all.”
“I don’t have a significant other,” I snap.
Mal scoffs. “Sure. And Nysa Calloway is just a friend.”
Ledger’s head jerks up. “Nysa?” His stare locks onto me, unreadable at first, then a slow, dangerous smirk. “You’re dating Atlas’s weird friend?”
I barely have time to react before he’s pushing his chair back, standing, his hands bracing on the table like he’s already picturing knocking me out cold. He was the enforcer for his team, so I’ll probably end up bloody, but not without a fight.
“Do you have a problem with her?” I ask. “Because if you do, get the fuck out of my house.”
He levels me with a look, voice quiet. “Tell me you’re not fucking around with her.”
I don’t answer.
“Of course you are.” Ledger’s hands fist at his sides, a tic in his jaw.
“She’s Maddie’s sitter,” I say, but it’s such a weak excuse.
“He has a thing for her,” Mal says, as if it’s that simple. “Not the time to fall in love, but . . . apparently my brothers are stupid. It’s just like you. You were supposed to come to town to take charge of Old Birchwood Timber and focus on the business. Not get fucking married to a stranger.”
“I love my wife,” he says defensively.
“You do, just like this one is falling for Nysa—who you have to stop calling weird,” Mal warns him. “It’s like you two are children and I have to put some order in here.”
“She was Atlas’s friend,” Ledger states. “I doubt she likes you.”
“Did you know Atlas defended you from our father?” I ask, because maybe I can get him to not hate our brother so much.
If there’s something I promised my mother on her death bed, it was to get us together—as brothers. I still think it’s impossible, but if we can be amicable that covers something, right?
“He did what?” Ledger frowns.
“One time apparently Dad broke his arm. It was the day before you had to go to a tournament,” I tell him.
“No, he fell somewhere. I remember Mom telling me that.” Ledger rolls his eyes. “Dad never touched his prodigal son.”
“Dad did,” Mal corrects him. “I know because all of us have a file in the sheriff’s office with all the ‘accidents’ that happened at home.”
“Why did the sheriff never do anything?” I ask, because if they knew, they should’ve done something.
He shrugs. “Does it matter anymore?”
“Why would he take a beating for me?” Ledger asks, his voice quieter now, like things are starting to click into place. “I never asked him for anything.”
“So you wouldn’t miss practices or games, idiot,” I say, watching as the realization creeps over his face. “Maybe you owe him your career. If you had missed anything, you wouldn’t have been able to play hockey.”
He narrows his eyes at me, like my logic is an inconvenience, like I’m chipping away at something he doesn’t want to acknowledge. By telling him this, I’m making Atlas less of an asshole—the ‘enemy’—and more . . . a person.
More of someone he shouldn’t hate because just like us he was a casualty. Another person out father couldn’t stand, even when we were his sons.