Page 59 of Midnight Between Us (The Timberbridge Brothers #4)

Chapter Fifty-Four

Simone

I’m in the middle of a consultation when my phone rings.

I check my watch just to make sure it’s not something important.

My body freezes. It’s Lyndon. Lyndon never calls on a weekday, only on Sundays, unless there’s an emergency.

The last time this happened was something like: My cousin Seth fucked up, and now we’ve got an entire cartel hunting the Deckers—I’ll be off the grid for a while.

Yeah. That was one of the most terrifying calls I’ve ever received in my life, and I’m not being dramatic. Okay, maybe a little. But still. My heart is already sprinting before I answer.

“If you’ll excuse me, this is an emergency. I’ll be right back,” I tell Mr. Lambert with a quick smile.

“Go ahead, dear. I’ll keep scrolling through the photo album. We’ve only made it to my second grandchild’s first tooth,” he says, completely unfazed.

I nod and escape into the hallway, pressing the phone to my ear as I push the door closed behind me.

“Hey,” I answer once I’m in the hallway. “Is everyone okay?”

“What am I supposed to tell him?” Lyndon blurts out, no hello, no preamble—just full-speed panic.

“I need a little more context, sweetheart.” I lean against the wall, bracing myself. He’s pacing—I can hear it in his breathing. There’s a scrape of a chair, maybe his hand slapping a tabletop.

“He wants to meet and I said yes because . . . well, I’m curious.” Lyndon is not making sense at first but somehow after a couple of breaths, I get it.

“Keir?”

“Yep.”

My stomach drops and tightens all at once. “Are you sure you want to meet him?” I ask, a little concerned.

Lyndon may be thoughtful and mature, but he’s also impulsive like every Timberbridge I’ve ever known. Sure, he was raised by the Deckers, but . . . he’s Keir’s kid and chaos runs deep.

“You sound like Mom and Dad.”

Translation: he already talked to Pria and Jacob. Good. At least he didn’t dive in headfirst without backup.

“What’d they say?”

“That it’s okay to cancel if I’m not ready.”

“And what do you say?”

There’s a pause on the line. A breath. “It’s important to know where I come from,” he says, voice quieter now. “Indie always said she wished she’d met her biological parents. I’m lucky. Both of mine are alive . . .”

His older sister, Indigo, has a similar background as him, except both her parents died tragically. I’m glad that Lyndon doesn’t have to deal with that. Another reason why I’m grateful that Keir left even when I had to deal with the aftermath on my own.

Still, I ask, “Even if we didn’t raise you?” I already know the answer. The guilt still itches under my skin sometimes. A dull ache that flares in quiet moments.

“No. I wasn’t going to say that.” His voice is gentler now. “You know I don’t feel that way. I love my family, Sim. I love my life.”

And that? That makes my chest pinch in the best and worst way.

“You know that makes me happy, right?” I manage.

“Then why aren’t you married? Why don’t you have kids?” he asks, like only he can—genuinely curious and absolutely exasperating. “You’re thirty-six, Sim. It kind of baffles me that you’re always alone.”

I close my eyes, pressing my head back against the wall. “Why are we talking about me now? This is about you and Keir.”

“Don’t deflect, Sim.”

“It’s rude to bring up my age.”

“Sim, stop dodging the subject.”

God, he’s too smart for his own good.

“Alone, but not lonely,” I say, because that distinction matters. “And honestly? I haven’t found the person I want to grow old with. I don’t want a warm body or a placeholder. I want . . . a partner. The kind you build a life with, not just fill a silence.”

There’s a pause. Then, softly: “Are you still in love with him?”

I swallow around the lump that rises immediately. “A part of me will always love him,” I answer honestly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m in love with him. That part of me—the part that once imagined forever—it’s quieter now.”

“So maybe I should tell him to get his head out of his ass and fix things with you,” he mutters.

I laugh, a real one this time. “No. What you should do is get to know him. No pressure, no expectations. Just . . . see who he is now. He’s a good man who grew up in a terrible situation.”

“How terrible?”

“That’s his story to tell,” I say gently. “But maybe something to talk about once you’ve had a few conversations. Give it time.”

“Got it.”

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s going to be okay.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the entire time. “Can I call you after it’s over?”

“Of course. You know I’m always here for you—not just on Sundays.”

“I know.” There’s a pause, then, “Love you, Sim.”

I press my fingers to my heart. “Love you too, Lyn.”