Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Atlas
The second we step through the front door, the house goes quiet.
Not completely. Not in a way anyone else might pick up on.
The low murmur of conversation doesn’t stop, but there’s a shift.
An awareness. Like the air thickens, like the energy tilts just slightly off balance.
Like they’re all waiting.
For what? I don’t fucking know.
Honestly, why invite me if they can’t stand the sight of me?
Galeana is the first to react, smoothing over the moment with a warm smile.
She moves toward us with the same easy grace she’s always had since I met her, greeting me with a polite nod before turning to Blythe.
“Blythe, it’s so nice to see you again,” she says, pulling her into a hug.
I don’t miss the way Blythe stiffens—barely, but I notice.
She pushes the feeling away and keeps herself composed, but her arms don’t quite wrap around Galeana in return.
No one else seems to see it.
“It’s good seeing you,” Blythe murmurs, her voice even.
Controlled. Then waves at Simone and Delilah, who are sitting in the living room, wine in hand.
“I’m glad you decided to join us, Atlas,” Galeana adds, turning back to me.
I nod. “Thank you for the invitation.”
Because what the fuck else am I supposed to say?
Oh, I’m just here to figure out my next move and convince the town we’re a fucking happy family.
Ledger leans back against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, watching me like he’s waiting for something—some tell, some crack in my expression that’ll give him what he wants.
Then he smirks. “Didn’t think I’d ever see the day you’d settle down,” he muses.
“Atlas, the married man. And here I thought you’d die alone, scowling at the world from the corner of a bar—like our father.”
I should let it roll off me.
I should.
But the way he says it, the way his words sink their claws into old wounds—I could remind him that he’s more like our father than I’ll ever be.
That if he ever watched clips from his old hockey games, he’d see himself throwing punches, losing control, just like him.
How the fuck is that any different?
He wasn’t drunk and was paid to do it?
Before I can say anything, Galeana’s voice cuts through.
“Be nice, Ledge.”
Ledger lifts his drink in mock surrender.
“Please, I’m being too fucking nice.” He pushes off the counter and heads toward the bar cart.
“Would you like something to drink? Whiskey? Tequila? Pick your poison.”
Blythe shifts closer to me—just slightly.
It’s subtle, instinctive, like she isn’t sure about Ledger, maybe even wary of him.
I drop my arm around her shoulders, pulling her in.
Just enough so she knows she’s not alone.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I murmur low, just for her.
Ledger notices. His gaze flicks between us like he’s studying us.
I hold his stare.
Then the front door swings open again, and the tense energy in the room cracks, relief slipping through the fractures as Maddy’s voice rings out.
“Uncle Atlas.”
She sprints through the doorway, her little legs moving way too fast as she barrels toward me.
I crouch just in time, catching her mid-run and lifting her into my arms. “There’s my favorite Timberbridge,” I say, squeezing her tight before leaning back to study her face.
“How are you, kiddo?”
She pouts dramatically.
“Daddy said you were in town and didn’t come visit me.”
I glance at Hopper over her shoulder.
He’s standing by the door with Nysa and shrugs.
Nysa, on the other hand, looks amused as fuck.
“Yeah, Atlas,” she drawls.
“That’s rude.”
I sigh, shifting Maddy on my hip.
“I know. I got busy.”
She narrows her eyes.
“You’re always busy.”
“Tell you what,” I say, bumping my forehead lightly against hers, “next week, when the shop is closed, you get to pick what we do. Anything you want.”
Her eyes go wide.
“Even ice cream for dinner?”
I smirk.
“Even ice cream for dinner.”
Hopper scoffs.
“Maybe ice cream after dinner.”
Maddy considers this, then nods solemnly.
“Deal.”
Then, as if just noticing Blythe, she turns to her with wide, curious eyes.
“Are you my new aunt?”
Blythe blinks, clearly caught off-guard.
“Oh. Uh?—”
I shift Maddy in my arms, nodding toward Blythe.
“Mads, this is Blythe. Blythe, this is my favorite niece, Maddy.”
Maddy studies her for a long moment, then grins.
“Hi, Blythe. You seem nice and very pretty.”
Blythe exhales a soft, surprised laugh.
“Thank you.”
Maddy tilts her head.
“Do you like Uncle Atlas?”
Blythe’s lips part slightly, eyes darting to me like she’s begging for an out.
Before she can come up with an answer, Nysa smirks, swirling her wine.
“That’s the real question, isn’t it?”
I shoot her a look.
“Don’t start.”
She shrugs all mock innocence.
“What? I just think it’s funny that you got married and didn’t tell any of us. Especially me, your best friend.”
Blythe exhales quietly.
I feel it—the smallest shift—her moving just a fraction closer.
Subtle. But I notice.
And so do they.
Hopper finally steps forward, clapping a hand on my shoulder before turning to Blythe.
His gaze isn’t unkind, just assessing.
“Welcome to the family, Blythe. We’re a weird bunch, but if you can stand this asshole, you can stand us,” he states.
“Daddy said a bad word,” Maddy states.
“You owe a dollar to the jar.”
“Just throw a hundred in the jar and give yourself a free week,” Ledger says, then turns to Blythe.
“Are you hungry?”
She hesitates, her fingers twitching slightly before she nods.
“Good,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen.
“Dinner’s ready.”
And just like that, things aren’t as tense as they were when we arrived.
Dinner looks normal.
Too fucking normal. Too fucking happy-small-town-family, if that’s a thing.
Lasagna, salad, and even fresh bread—Delilah’s doing, I’m sure.
The whole spread is too put together, too much like some family tradition.
Which it isn’t.
The only traditions we had growing up involved waiting to see who would get knocked around first. And if it wasn’t by our father, it was by each other.
This place has never been home.
At least not to me. Even when Therese tried her damn hardest, it never happened.
Blythe sits beside me, her posture poised but at ease.
Playing her part too well.
She’s good at this—at slipping into whatever role she needs to survive.
I see it all. The way her fingers brush the edge of her napkin like she’s braising herself.
The way her shoulders drop just enough to look relaxed but not vulnerable.
Ledger watches her like he’s picking her apart.
Like he’s waiting for us to make a mistake of some sorts.
“So,” he starts, cutting into his steak with practiced ease.
His tone is casual, but his eyes aren’t.
“How long were you planning on keeping this marriage a secret?”
I open my mouth, about to say forever, when Blythe beats me to it.
“It’s been an unexpected . . . adjustment,” she says smoothly, reaching for her water.
“We’ve been settling in, figuring out life here, and honestly, we didn’t think about the outside until now.”
Ledger’s brow lifts, his amusement barely masked.
“Oh, yeah?” He leans forward, elbows on the table.
He looks even more animated about this conversation.
“And when did this whirlwind romance start?”
Okay, so he’s just being an asshole.
My grip tightens around my fork, the dull edge pressing into my palm.
A slow burn spreads through my chest. Ledger’s waiting for a reaction.
He wants a fight.
“What’s with the interrogation?” My voice stays level, but every nerve in my body coils, ready to snap.
“I thought we were here to have a somehow normal family dinner.”
“I’m wondering if you’re just pretending to play family, so we’ll give you your share of the Old Birchwood Timber Company,” Ledger says almost casually.
There it is.
“Fuck you,” I growl, my voice low, the words slicing through the space between us.
Hopper’s voice cuts in, clipped and sharp.
“Stop,” he says, probably to Ledger, or maybe it’s to me.
Who the fuck knows?
Ledger pushes back from the table, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor.
His stance shifts, muscles tensing, hands flexing at his sides.
He’s deciding whether to throw a punch.
Blythe flinches.
It’s quick, barely there, but I notice.
My gut twists. My protective instincts rise to the surface almost immediately.
My hand finds her thigh beneath the table, pressing just enough to ground her.
To remind her I’m here to protect her.
She doesn’t move, but her breathing is almost normal.
Almost.
“It’s okay. Nothing is going to happen to you.” My voice is low, meant only for her, but something in her eyes flickers—uncertainty, maybe disbelief.
Before she can respond, I shove to my feet, moving between her and Ledger.
I don’t touch him. Not yet.
The last thing I want is for Blythe to see me as something else to be afraid of.
I’ve been working very hard to show her I’m different from Winston, and the last thing I want is to lose everything I built because Ledger is an asshole.
“I don’t know what your problem is, but you better calm the fuck down. I didn’t marry her to get your goddamn inheritance—which, may I remind you, is mine too.”
Ledger’s lips curl.
“Mom shouldn’t have left you anything. You weren’t hers. You were just a fucking bastard from a woman?—”
“Say something about my mother, and I swear I’ll kill you,” I snap.
A cold silence grips the room.
“Enough,” Hopper bites out.
A light touch skims my arm.
Blythe. She’s barely touching me, just enough to bring me back, but I can’t—won’t—let this go.
Ledger takes a step closer, his voice mocking.
“Me? This asshole is the one acting like our father.”
My jaw tightens, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
I glance at Galeana.
“If I were you, I’d leave.”
“Don’t fucking tell my wife what to do,” Ledger snaps, eyes dark.
“I would never treat her the way our father treated us.”
“Then don’t start acting like him,” I warn, voice cold.
“But if you do, stay the fuck away from my wife.”
Ledger exhales, nostrils flaring, muscles tight.
Hopper steps between us.
“That’s enough. Both of you, with me. Office. Now.”
Nobody argues.
Ledger rolls his shoulders back, sending me one last glare before stalking off toward the back of the house.
I exhale, the tension in my chest refusing to ease.
My gaze flicks to Blythe.
She’s sitting still, her lips pressed together, watching.
“I’ll be back,” I murmur, brushing my fingers lightly over hers before following Hopper and Ledger down the hall.
The office door clicks shut behind us, and the air inside feels dense, charged.
Hopper is the first to break the silence.
“I don’t know what your problem is, Ledger, but you need to stop acting like that,” he says, his voice is firm.
Like he’s taking his role of the oldest brother.
Even when Keir and Malerick are older than him.
Ledger doesn’t hesitate.
“He’s my fucking problem.” His glare is locked onto me, burning with something unresolved, something deeper than just hate.
“Why don’t you stay the fuck away? We don’t need you.”
“I needed him,” Hopper counters, his voice quieter now but no less certain.
“He was here when Nysa was in danger. He helped me get her back—put his life on the line for her. If you can’t see that he’s not your enemy, I can’t help you. But you need to stop this bullshit.”
Uncertainty flashes across Ledger’s face.
It’s barely there before he schools his features.
“I . . . I didn’t?—”
“Of course, you didn’t,” Hopper cuts him off.
“Because you only care about how much you hate him.”
“I didn’t ask to be here,” I say simply.
Hopper straightens. “He was a victim of our father, just like us. He lost his mother at six and was dumped here to be treated like trash.”
Ledger’s jaw clenches.
“Because of him, our father started beating me too—just like he did all of you.” His voice is tight, filled with something raw, something he doesn’t know how to release without swinging fists.
That part is news to me.
I blink, processing.
“I had no idea he started doing that after I arrived,” I admit.
“But I didn’t ask to be brought here either. You think my life was easy?” My voice drops, my fists tightening at my sides.
“This town saw me as his bastard. The outcast. Poor Therese—everyone pitied her for taking me in. You four were brutal. And our father? He couldn’t even look at me because I reminded him of my mother.”
Hopper exhales, rubbing a hand over his face.
“It couldn’t have been easy for you.” His gaze meets mine.
“And yet, sometimes you tried to divert his attention so he wouldn’t come after us at night.”
I shrug.
It doesn’t matter now.
Ledger stays quiet. That anger simmering just beneath his skin hasn’t gone away, but something shifts.
“Listen,” Hopper continues, turning to Ledger, “I get it. You’ve got shit you haven’t worked through. Maybe you should bring it up to your therapist because this grudge you have against him is not healthy. If you choose to just keep it and be bitter, that’s your problem. However, I need you to understand something—Atlas is important to Nysa, to Maddy, to me. We want to have a relationship with him, and with his wife.” His voice grows firmer, there’s some kind of warning or .
. . I’m not sure what it is, but he says, “Our parents fucked us up. That’s not a secret. But we don’t have to keep being like them. I don’t want to have to split holidays because we can’t grow the fuck up.”
Ledger exhales through his nose, his fingers flexing at his sides.
His gaze flicks to me, then back to Hopper.
“I don’t know how to stop hating him.”
Hopper levels him with a look.
“Then start by trying.”
Silence stretches between us.
Then, finally, Ledger nods once.
“I’ll try,” he mutters, like the words cost him something.
I want to tell him not to bother, but I don’t.
Hopper has changed a lot, and if anything, he deserves my silence.
If this comes up again and Blythe or Hop aren’t around, I might beat the shit out of Ledger to teach him a lesson.
And maybe I need to start therapy, too, because I know I haven’t worked through my resentment either.
Is it worth trying, though?