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

There’s a burst of laughter from somewhere behind us, a kid’s shriek slicing through the summer air. At first, it sounds playful—tag or hide-and-seek—but my body tenses anyway. There’s always a moment, right before the fun turns into tears. Right before everything tilts.

It takes me back.

I was eight the first time he defended me. Keir Timberbridge. I hated how much I relied on him after that—hated that I kept looking over my shoulder for him like some sort of human security blanket.

The Montgomery boys had cornered me near the swings.

I didn’t understand their words at the time—just that they were smirking, mimicking things they’d overheard at home.

Things about my mom. About how they wanted to play the way their dad did with her.

I had no idea they were friends or that adults played but I was scared.

Then Keir showed up. No warning, no hesitation. He threw a rock, then his fist, and told them to back off. Said I was under Timberbridge protection.

He was only ten and Malerick was twelve, but people feared them.

The Timberbridge name had power—ugly power inherited from their violent father.

I didn’t believe it at the time because their mother was kind.

She went to church every Sunday and brought the five boys with her.

Back then, my grandparents said that those people were good people, so I believed them.

After that, I followed him everywhere. Because I thought being close to Keir meant nothing bad could touch me.

I was wrong.

So wrong.

Being close to Keir Timberbridge destroyed me.

I open my mouth to say something—anything—but the sound around us suddenly shifts. It’s subtle at first, like a low rumble buried beneath the music. Then, the ground stutters under my feet—just enough to make my heart miss a beat.

The explosion hits before my brain catches up. It’s not just noise—it’s a blast that rips through the air, knocks into my chest like a fist, and keeps going. The tent trembles. Metal groans. Something collapses behind me with a crash that makes my ears ring.

And then come the screams.

Not the kind that floats through a summer festival, all cotton candy and carnival rides. These are guttural. Raw. People calling out names, crying out for someone to answer.

I bolt toward the tent’s entrance, my heart hammering. My breath is already shallow, as if I’ve sprinted a mile and haven’t even moved more than a few feet.

I spin toward The Honey Drop just in time to see it—smoke billowing up from behind the building, thick and rolling as if it has somewhere to be.

Heat blasts through the street like someone opened an oven door straight into my face.

My lungs seize as the smell hits: charred wood, burnt syrup, and something chemical that stings all the way up my nose.

Delilah is frozen right next to me. We were just talking. One minute ago, she was trying to figure out why I left town, and now . . . Now, she’s staring at her coffee shop like the world’s playing a cruel joke.

“My coffee shop,” she whispers, voice too thin to hold itself up. Then louder. “My coffee shop—oh my God.”

And then she’s running.

“Del,” I sprint after her, grabbing for her arm, but she jerks away. She’s not even looking at me.

My shoes slap against the pavement, each step jarring. It feels as though the sidewalk’s bouncing beneath me. Like the ground itself doesn’t know how to stay still.

I round the corner—and everything changes.

This isn’t someone’s backyard firepit gone rogue.

This is destruction—hot and greedy.

The Honey Drop’s windows glow orange, and flames leap out, curling around the wood trim trying to consume it whole. Someone’s yelling for water. Another person shoves a fire extinguisher into a stranger’s hands and immediately pulls them back—too dangerous, too late.

Del’s in front of the building, screaming. I can’t hear the words with all the noise around us, but her lips are moving fast, eyes wild. She keeps trying to run forward, toward the entrance.

People are shouting. Trying to hold her back.

And before I can grab her?—

“Stop her,” Cassian’s voice barrels through the chaos, cutting across the noise like a blade. He’s already moving, shoving through the crowd, sweat streaking down his temples. “Delilah Mora—no. You can’t go in there.”

He reaches her before she gets too close, wrapping his arms around her from behind, pulling her back against his chest.

Del fights him, breath uneven, hands trembling as she tries to push forward—but she doesn’t make it far.

Cassian holds her tighter, voice low and breaking. “Del, please—let them do their job.”

Malerick arrives next, cutting through the crowd in full uniform, his hat askew and streaks of ash on his collar. He slows when he sees her—sees the way she’s shaking in Cassian’s arms.

He reaches out, resting a hand on the back of her neck. Just a touch. Not to stop her—just to remind her he’s there.

“You gotta let the fire crew work,” he says softly. “We can’t lose you too.”

“My coffee shop,” Del says, and it sounds like grief ripped straight from her ribs.

She’s devastated, but there’s no theatrical sobbing—just that flat, hollow tone people use when their brains short-circuit and their body hasn’t caught up yet.

Cass still has his arms around her, one hand rubbing slow circles into her back like it’s the only thing he knows how to do right now.

Mal leans in close, murmuring something.

Del finally nods. Or maybe it’s just her body giving up, folding into Cass like her bones forgot how to hold her up. Cassian draws her in, his big frame curling around her as if he can shield her from the reality behind them.

Mal kisses her temple before turning toward the first responders, his jaw tight, eyes scanning the wreckage.

And I just stand there.

Fucking useless.

Cassian sinks to the sidewalk, taking Del with him, still holding her like maybe if he’s strong enough, she won’t completely unravel.

I turn away, press the palm of my hand to my mouth. My throat burns, not just from the smoke but from everything—this helplessness, this ache that won’t go away. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to feel any of this.

But something inside me snaps.

I decide to help instead of watching, giving a hand to the paramedics. By the time the flames are out, The Honey Drop is nothing but a scorched skeleton, steaming and blackened, barely recognizable. Her sign is half-melted, the lettering warped like it was trying to hold on but couldn’t.

People stand around with their phones out, filming the aftermath as if it were a true-crime episode, not someone’s entire life turned to ash.

I want to scream at them, knock the phones out of their hands.

But I don’t. I’m too tired, too covered in smoke and heartbreak to pick a fight with strangers.

I’ve got burn cream smeared up my arms from helping a volunteer whose fingers blistered open trying to haul buckets of water before the firefighters arrived. My clothes reek of singed cotton and sugar. My throat tastes like grief.

“You okay, Doc?” someone asks behind me.

I don’t turn to look. Just nod. A motion that feels disconnected, like a puppet on its last thread.

Then I hear Malerick’s voice crackle through the walkie clipped to someone’s shoulder. “We’ve got something off Route Seven. Wreck. Might need medical—send Simone.”

My head lifts slowly. I blink once. “Now?”

Footsteps scuff behind me. Mal appears a second later, weaving through the haze, sweat, and noise. His uniform’s streaked with soot, his brow furrowed, and there’s a tension in his jaw I don’t usually see—like something about this call already feels wrong.

He nods. “Yeah. Car looks like it got twisted into the trees—like it was dropped from the sky. It’s bad. Just one person inside. They’re trying to get him out, but they’ll need someone to stabilize him.”

“The driver?” I ask.

Mal shakes his head. “There’s no driver. But they found someone locked in the trunk.”

I go still.

My stomach flips.

“In the trunk?” I repeat, my voice catching.

“Yeah.” Mal’s mouth tightens. “Alive, but barely. They’re figuring out how to get him out because it’s an old car with twisted metal. Go in the ambulance.”

I glance back at where Del used to be huddled into Cassian’s chest, face buried, hands shaking like she doesn’t know how to stop. However, the spot is empty now.

“Where is she?” I ask. “I can’t just leave her.”

It feels wrong to leave. Like I’m abandoning her.

“Don’t worry, Cass took her home. We got her,” Mal says, reading the hesitation all over my face. “Go.”

I nod once and walk toward the ambulance, even though every step feels as if I’m walking through concrete. My heart’s still back there, curled beside Del on the sidewalk, wishing this was all some horrible dream that we could wake up from.

But it’s not. And something tells me it’s only going to get worse.