Page 19 of Midnight Between Us (The Timberbridge Brothers #4)

Chapter Sixteen

Keir

I thought the silence in the ambulance was asphyxiating. That was nothing compared to this moment. Everyone’s gone. The paramedics. My brothers. Whoever the hell was fussing around setting up machines like I’m some experiment about to flatline.

Some guy—maybe the same doctor who grilled me earlier—squeezed Simone’s hand before leaving. Whispered something low enough that I couldn’t hear but loud enough to remind me I’m no longer the center of her world. If I ever was.

My head feels like it’s been through a meat grinder. My lungs hitch like they forgot how to be lungs.

And still, somehow, this is worse.

Being alone with her.

Yep, it’s just Simone and me. And the ruins.

It’s not just silence. It’s every word we never said building up in the space between us.

The hate she collected after I left? It’s here, too. Sitting on my chest. Not that she’s ever been cruel, but I can taste the loathing in the way she avoids looking at me. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. I deserve it.

I left without a word.

Because I knew exactly what she’d say: Take me with you, KT. And I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not when I knew I’d destroy her just the way my father did with my mother. She was better off without a Timberbridge in her life. We’re monsters who can’t love.

So I did the only thing I thought might save her.

Somehow though she found me. She fucking found me and over the phone, I told her I didn’t give two fucks about her. Told her to move on. The words were cold. Calculated. Exactly like my old man would’ve done. Only difference? I meant it as a kindness.

Simone Moreau was always too smart, too kind, too everything for a Timberbridge.

I fucking saved her.

You’re welcome, sweetheart.

And now, look at her—she’s a doctor, composed and controlled, the embodiment of someone who rebuilt herself from the ashes.

Every move she makes carries purpose, and she wears her competence like armor, as if nothing could ever crack the surface.

She resembles someone who escaped the wreckage of this place and actually made something of her life.

I don’t know why she’s still stuck in this forsaken town, but maybe that’s not so strange. My brothers were successful, too—grounded, respected, living full lives—and yet they all found a way to circle back here, as if this cursed patch of earth had a leash on each of us.

Me? Once I can move again, I’m leaving. For good. I’ll hunt down whoever did this to me, and they’ll wish I’d stayed dead.

Her voice slices through the air. “The nurse should be here to check your vitals. Therapists start tomorrow. Dr. Russell-Aldridge will be by to run a few tests after?—”

“If I pay for it, could you send me to another country?” The words tumble out, unfiltered. “I’ll cover the cost. Just get me out of here.”

She pauses. “Excuse me?”

“Call whoever is running this circus. Tell them I’ll pay whatever they want. Anywhere but here.”

Her laugh is wild. A burst of hysteria that doesn’t match the polished doctor act. She shakes her head, lets out a breath that sounds more like surrender than amusement.

“This is illegal, you know? I’m here against my will. That’s called?—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Timberbridge.” She jabs her finger in my direction, and it’s like being punched by a memory.

There she is. Not Dr. Moreau. Just Sims.

“I’m not even surprised your selfish brain is already trying to escape. But listen carefully: if anyone finds out you’re alive, people could get hurt. Including your brothers.”

And suddenly, it clicks. The voices I heard while trapped in that room, hazy and warped by pain. The Syndicate. Her name tangled up in it. Someone called her a mole—or maybe the heir.

My body stiffens. “Are you threatening my brothers?”

She exhales through her teeth, exasperated. “Are you listening to yourself, Keir?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Because you sound like a fucking arrogant man who’s out of touch with reality,” she snaps. “I’m trying to give you facts, and you’re acting like you’re in some goddamn spy movie.”

She paces once, then spins on her heel. “You were found in a trunk. Barely alive. When someone gets close to the Timberbridge family, they become a target. Galeana’s house exploded on her wedding day—to your brother Ledger.

Nysa was kidnapped close to Hopper’s property.

Blythe had to be hidden while she was pregnant—that’s Atlas’s fiancée, in case you’re wondering.

You walk out of here? Someone else might die. Let them think you’re dead—for now.”

Her words land like punches. Not just facts. Warnings. Truths I don’t want to accept. So they’ve been targeting our weak spots. Using the people we love like leverage.

Fuck.

Malerick told me the Doherty house fire was due to a gas leak. Just small-town tragedy stuff. But now I know he sanitized it, giving me the PG version of a horror story.

“So, you think my loved ones would be in danger too,” I mutter. Then, without meaning to, I add, “Or maybe you’re just digging for names. Someone I care about. Someone you can use.”

She laughs again. This time it’s not hysterical. It’s worse.

It’s hollow.

“You’re incapable of love, Keir Timberbridge.”

Her voice doesn’t tremble. It doesn’t crack. It just ends. Like she’s closing the last chapter in a book ,I didn’t know we were still writing.

And, fuck, it wrecks me.

Because she was the only one who believed I wasn’t a monster. That I could care. Maybe even love. And she’s right—I do care. I cared enough to leave. To lie. To make her hate me if it meant saving her.

If I hadn’t cared, I would’ve taken her with me and dragged her through the same hell that destroyed my mother. I wouldn’t have fought Mal on selling everything just to get the family the hell out of here. Though, he didn’t listen.

This town is poison. And someone’s buying up the land like they’re planting a flag before the war.

And I still don’t know who.

I look at her, really look at her. “Are you the heir, Simone? The heir of that syndicate my brother mentioned?”

She snorts. “You think I tracked down my long-lost dad, and he turned out to be the head of a crime syndicate?” She shakes her head.

“Sounds like a crappy documentary that would make millions, but no. My father died years ago of old age. He wasn’t a criminal mastermind.

Just a regular asshole. The type who should’ve been locked up for seducing teenagers. ”

I blink.

She knows who her father is?

That surprises me more than anything else. She used to say she’d hire someone—hell, even pay off Nina—to find out. I always said not knowing was better than knowing he might be worse than her imagination. Obviously, she didn’t listen to me.

“When did you find out?”

“That’s not the point, Timberbridge.”

But maybe that is the point.

I study her. “Are you sure you’re not related to the people trying to destroy the town?”

It’s a shitty thing to say, but the suspicion comes out coated in exhaustion and something raw I haven’t named yet.

She rolls her eyes so hard. I can practically hear it.

“I don’t have time for your nonsense, Keir.

” Her voice snaps like a rubber band. “Here’s the situation: we’re stuck in this house until you’re strong enough to fake being alive again, or probably until they catch whoever the fuck stuffed you in that trunk.

And honestly? Even after that, you may not be able to get your old life back.

So maybe—just maybe—we figure out how to survive each other in the meantime. ”

There’s a fire behind her words that doesn’t match the calm expression she tries to wear. It’s performative at best. She’s unraveling, too. Just better at hiding it.

My mouth goes dry. I don’t want to ask, but I do anyway. “Why did you agree to take care of me? Moreso when you can barely stand me.”

Her eyes meet mine, and what I see there doesn’t just burn—it incinerates.

The way she looks at me—with that detached loathing, with all that simmering pain she’s trying to choke back—it fucking hurts in a way I didn’t expect. It’s not yelling. It’s worse. It’s absence. It’s what used to be love stripped clean and rotting on the floor between us.

“It’s part of my job,” she says flatly.

“Can’t they bring in another doctor?” I’m pushing now. I know I am. But I need to understand how she can stand being this close to me when every second of it seems to carve her open.

She huffs, then shakes her head. “It’s not that easy.”

Of course, it’s not.

“I made a deal,” she adds, voice lower now, brittle.

“And somehow, taking care of you is part of that repayment. It’s ironic, don’t you think?

All that history between us and here I am, monitoring your blood pressure and ensuring your heart doesn’t stop.

I don’t know if the universe is handing me your head on a silver platter or if this is destiny’s twisted way of giving me closure.

Either way, let’s keep our interactions to a minimum. ”

There’s a long pause where I can’t bring myself to speak.

Because something about that—keeping our interactions to a minimum—sits in my chest like a loaded gun with the safety off.

I don’t like it.

Not the tone. Not the finality. Not the fact that she can talk about me like I’m just some appointment she wants to cancel but can’t. I used to be something more. I think. I hope. But now I’m just a task to complete.

I don’t like that this woman—this brilliant, impossible woman who once swore she saw something in me when even I couldn’t—won’t even pretend anymore.

I don’t like that I lost her.

And the part that really guts me?

I’m starting to realize I never had her to begin with.