Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Ledger
Birchwood Springs feels different now, like a place suspended in limbo—caught between what it was and what it’s supposed to become. The morning air is cool and crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine as I step out of the truck.
My gaze drags over the sprawling land that once belonged to my mother. It’s not the mansion Gale lost, but it holds its own kind of quiet dignity, as if it’s waiting to be something more. For now, it’s home. Or at least, it will be for the foreseeable future.
It’s been three weeks since that first call with Malerick, and everything feels unsettled, like we’re navigating a world that refuses to let us find solid footing. The ground shifts beneath us, unstable but forcing us forward. Knowing Malerick’s reach as sheriff wasn’t enough, I brought in Crait Quantum Shield—a team of professionals who don’t just guard, they ensure nothing gets close.
The property is surrounded, guards positioned at every possible entry, blending into the landscape. They move with us everywhere.
The life Gale and I are trying to build feels fragile, like glass stretched too thin. But even with the cracks, we keep pushing forward. We have to. I’m making sure no one takes this from her. From us.
The plans to build a new house—our house—on the old Doherty property are finally moving forward. The architect met us in Seattle last week, spread blueprints across a table, and talked about possibilities like they were promises. Gale’s vision for the new house is clear—nothing like the cold, suffocating walls of her family’s legacy. She wants something warm, something that feels like her. Like us. It’s ambitious, but it’s hers. For the first time, she’s claiming something entirely her own.
We also received good news. The mansion’s basement was the one thing that survived the explosion, and when they were able to reach it, they found Gale’s boxes untouched. Seeing her face light up as she heard the news felt like we might actually be okay.
“Might” being the key word.
I glance over at Gale as she steps out of the truck, wrapped in a light coat and scarf against the crisp breeze. Her cheeks are rosy, more from the walk to the truck than the weather, and loose strands of her hair dance around her face in the wind. Despite everything, there’s an ease in her steps, a subtle lightness that wasn’t there before. Finding her boxes—those last remnants of her mother’s life—seems to have lifted something invisible but heavy from her shoulders.
“Nice place,” she says, taking in the house with a small smile. “I can’t imagine living in a house this big while growing up.”
I shove my hands into my pockets, watching her reaction. “It’s got good bones,” I say, though it feels like an understatement. My mom’s house is a masterpiece—timeless, warm, and elegant without being over the top. She’d have liked Gale. Hell, she’d have probably tried to adopt her on the spot.
Gale walks up to the front door. “So, what’s the verdict? Is it as intimidating on the inside as it looks out here?”
I can’t help but grin. “Guess you’ll have to see for yourself.”
I unlock the door and push it open. Gale steps inside, her eyes widening as she takes in the vaulted ceilings and grand staircase.
“It’s . . . beautiful,” she says, her voice soft, almost reverent.
“It was my mom’s favorite place,” I tell her, my chest tightening at the memory. “She used to say this house was her one indulgence, the one thing she’d never give up no matter what.”
Gale turns to me, her expression thoughtful. “And now it’s ours—for a little while, anyway.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah. For now.”
The security team moves through the house like clockwork, clearing every corner and checking every lock. Gale picks one of the guest rooms for herself, though we both know it’s just for show. She won’t stay there long—not with the rhythm we’ve fallen into over the past few weeks.
Shared spaces. Shared nights. Moments that feel like they’re walking the tightrope between necessity, pretending. Pretending we’re us. Pretending this could be real. There’s just so much more, a deeper feeling I don’t dare to name.
Naming it makes it real.
And if it’s real, it’s vulnerable. It’s hers to accept or reject.
Still, the thought won’t let go. Maybe I should say it. Maybe I should tell her this isn’t just a convenient arrangement. Not anymore.
But for now I’ll wait.
After settling in, we head to the kitchen. Gale strides in, her steps confident despite the exhaustion written on her face, and heads straight for the pantry. She swings the door open, her brows shooting up. “Oh, great,” she says, pulling out a lone box of saltines and a jar of peanut butter. “We’ve got the essentials.”
I try not to laugh. “What’s in the fridge?”
Her answer comes in the form of a dry, incredulous laugh as she opens the door. “Well, we won’t starve. We’ve got water and . . . ketchup.”
She turns to me, her lips twitching with a mix of disbelief and amusement. Her and that crooked little smile that makes me want to hand her everything I’ve got and then some. “Well, I’m sure I can pull a five-course meal with that, darling.”
She snorts, rolling her eyes. “You’re such a romantic.”
“You have no idea,” I shoot back. “You’ll be begging for my cock after the second course.”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, she leans against the counter, crossing her arms as she raises a brow. “Oh, is this your idea of seduction, Mr. Timberbridge? A ketchup picnic?”
I step closer, letting the jar hit the counter with a soft thud. “Gale,” I murmur, leaning down just enough so my words are meant only for her, “I could seduce you in a cardboard box with a can of tuna. It’s not the setting—it’s the execution.”
She rolls her eyes again, but her lips betray her, curling into a reluctant smile. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you like me that way.” I grab the truck keys, the grin still lingering on my face. “Come on, let’s go make sure we don’t actually die of scurvy.”
Half an hour later, we step through the door of Birch it’s everything. The way she trusts me, the way she gives herself to me, the way I’m completely hers in this moment.
“Baby,” I groan, my hands tightening on her hips, trying to hold on, but she’s relentless. Her movements are fierce, demanding, as if she’s determined to take all of me, every last piece, and I give it to her willingly. Her hips slam down on me, over and over, pulling us both closer to the edge, and I can feel it—the way her body clings to me, drawing me in, demanding more.
The thought floods me, consuming everything else: I’m filling her. Not just her body, but her soul. She’s letting me into every part of her, and it’s overwhelming, beautiful, a kind of intimacy I’ve never felt before. I’m not just inside her; I’m with her, in every possible way, and the trust she’s giving me in this moment is everything I didn’t know I ever wanted and more than I thought I deserved.
When she finally falls, her body tightening around me, her cry ripping through the air, it takes me with her. I let go completely, giving her all of me, every ounce of love, need, and devotion poured into this moment. Our voices mix, raw and desperate, as we shatter together, completely entwined.
I hold her tightly as the waves crash over us, her body trembling against mine, her head collapsing onto my shoulder, her breath hot and uneven against my neck. My arms wrap around her instinctively, as if letting go would undo everything we’ve just shared. She’s here, with me, mine, in every way that matters, and yet, it doesn’t feel like enough to just hold her. It feels like the moment demands more—she deserves more.
Her hand moves to my chest, resting over my pounding heart, her fingers curling slightly as if anchoring herself to me. And it hits me, all at once, the weight of everything we’ve been through—the pain, the loss, the moments we thought we’d never get here. But we did. Against every obstacle, every scar that should’ve broken us, we found this.
“I love you,” I whisper at first, the words breaking free like they’ve been clawing their way out of me for weeks, maybe years. My voice is raw, trembling with everything I’ve held back. “I love you so fucking much, Gale. I don’t even know how to breathe without you anymore.”
She freezes for a second, her breath catching, and I feel her tears before I see them, warm droplets falling onto my skin. She lifts her head, her eyes glistening, her lips trembling as she looks at me. “You do?” she asks, her voice soft, vulnerable, as if she’s afraid this is a dream.
I cup her face, my thumbs brushing away the tears that keep falling, even as my own vision blurs. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life. You’re it for me. You always have been. I love you, and I’ll never stop loving you. No matter what.”
A sob escapes her, and she leans into me, her forehead resting against mine as her hands clutch at my arms like she’s holding on for dear life. “Good, because I’ve fallen in love with you too,” she whispers, the words cracking with emotion.
Tears spill freely now. I press my lips to hers, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude and devotion into the kiss. It’s not about the urgency we had before—it’s slow, tender, a promise that this is only the beginning.
It’s pure joy, unfiltered and radiant, the kind that fills every corner of a broken heart and makes it whole again. We stay like that, wrapped in each other, no barriers, no walls, just us.
And for the first time, I’ve realized I found it. Home.
Home is her.