Page 62 of Midnight Between Us (The Timberbridge Brothers #4)

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Keir

Hopper invites me to dinner, and Malerick offers to drive me to Simone’s so Atlas can go home to his wife and baby. During dinner, I learned that Atlas is Maddy’s favorite uncle, but if I work hard enough, I might be able to become her fourth favorite.

Everyone laughed, but the blow landed a little off-center. Like I’ve just now realized the distance I’ve created hasn’t just cost me time—it’s cost me a place. I’m not in the center of anyone’s world anymore. Not even on the outskirts. I made myself disposable.

They just learned to live without me, and I don’t blame them. I did it first. Now, it’s on me to undo the damage. If I still can.

It’s around midnight when Mal finally drops me at Sim’s place.

“If you need to crash at my place, let me know,” he says. “We’ll figure out your trip tomorrow. Wherever they might send you so you’re safe until . . .” He shrugs because we don’t know if there will ever be an end to this.

I salute him and walk away. What’s the point of me admitting that I will stay up all night to convince her to let me stay? Or at least spending one last night in the same space as her before the final goodbye.

When I enter, the house is quiet. Porch light off, the curtains drawn. The stillness somehow tastes like finality—or I’m just feeling like this might be an end to something we couldn’t begin.

I stop at the edge of the yard, just where the trees begin to thin out. Moonlight spills across the grass in long silver streaks. I don’t move, not yet. Not until I see her.

Simone sits alone on the back steps. She’s barefoot, knees hugged to her chest, a sweater slipping off one shoulder like she doesn’t even notice.

Her hair’s pulled up in something loose and careless, like she forgot to finish the thought.

She’s staring out at nothing—like she’s trying to see beyond the dark. Or maybe she’s listening for it.

I don’t say her name. I don’t call out.

I just walk, slow and quiet, like I’m trying hard not to disturb her. Until I’m close enough that she can feel me.

She doesn’t look surprised. Doesn’t flinch.

“You made it,” she murmurs, voice barely brushing the air.

I drop to sit beside her. I don’t touch her, not yet. But fuck if I don’t want to . . . if I don’t want to kiss her.

But I don’t. There’s history stretched tight between us. So much. It’s taut with what we didn’t say. What we never dared admit. Actually, with what I didn’t want to say for so long. So many missed ‘I love yous,’ you’re my everything . . . I can’t live without you.

I say none of that because it’s meaningless now. It was important then, now . . . I need to earn it all again.

Silence opens up. There’s no tension. It’s as if the universe itself is holding its breath.

“How was it?” she asks. “Meeting him. Lyndon.”

“You knew?”

She bobs her head, still not looking at me. “Yeah. He called earlier. I didn’t think you’d go all the way to London to meet him.”

“I was in London?” I’m confused because I knew we were traveling, but . . . I mean, was it even legal? I didn’t have my passport with me.

She huffs out a laugh—genuine, surprised by herself. It cracks something in me.

“You’re just fucking with me,” I mutter, but I’m already grinning.

“Yeah. I heard a couple of those flights were just simulators.” She can’t stop laughing.

“I was blindfolded.” I complain.

She shrugs. “They needed to make sure you didn’t know where he’s at,” she explains. “They have to keep him safe.”

I nod, jaw tight. “Fuckers,” I mutter. But I get it. I’d do the same if I were them. My name alone is a risk. My existence, a liability.

“He’s very mature for his age,” I say out loud.

She bobs her head. “Lyn is an old soul. I’m glad he finally got to meet you.”

I glance sideways. “You waiting for me?”

She shrugs, still looking ahead. “Maybe. Maybe I was just waiting for the quiet to settle.”

I let that sit between us. The wind shifts, carrying the faintest scent of her shampoo. Flowery . . . I can’t really say, but it smells like her.

“Lyndon’s strong,” I continue. “Smart. Has your mouth, your expression when he’s mad. Told me he wasn’t broken. And he’s not.”

Her lips twitch like she’s trying not to cry or smile. Maybe both.

“I told him I wasn’t here to take anything. Just to be here, if he wanted me.”

“Did he agree?”

“He said maybe. Eventually. He wants space and for me to be safe.”

She nods again. “That sounds like him.”

I study her profile. The slope of her cheek. The way she holds herself like someone who’s lived too many lives in a single lifetime.

“What’s next for you?” she suddenly asks. Not sure if she’s waiting for a goodbye or what, but this is the best time to tell her that I still need to be in hiding.

If possible, I would love to stay with her, but I understand if she prefers I leave.

My father is involved with the Hollow Syndicate, and I wouldn’t doubt if she uses her as leverage to get to me.

Knowing that dear Dad is involved makes this more personal—to him, to my brothers, and, obviously, to me.

It’s probably about being the last man standing.

“I don’t expect you to say anything,” I add. “I just . . . needed to be near you. Even if it’s only for tonight.”

“I don’t have answers,” she says.

“I don’t need them right now.”

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” she continues, and I’m not sure if she means sharing the same house or falling in love with me.

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

Her arms wrap tighter around her knees. “But you’re here.”

“I am.”

And I am. Not to fix anything. Not to rewrite the past. I might only be here to sit here beside her while the cold wind moves through the trees and the ache inside both of us breathes a little easier.

Minutes pass. Or maybe hours.

Finally, she tilts her head. “The guest room is still yours. If you want it.”

“I don’t.”

Her eyes snap to mine. There’s a pause. Electricity. Regret. Something sharp and alive.

“I want you.” My voice is low—raw. “But I’ll take the guest room if that’s all you’re offering.”

She looks at me like she’s seconds away from shattering—or kissing me.

Thank fuck she chooses the second. Simone leans in first. Her lips press against mine—uncertain, unsteady, but devastating.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a collapse.

Of years. Of pain. Of everything I pretended didn’t matter.

And fuck, I fall with it.

The second her mouth touches mine; I swear something inside me comes undone with a snap. A soundless rupture I feel in my ribs, behind my eyes, in that place right beneath the skin that never stopped aching for her.

I don’t just kiss her back—I fucking breathe her in.

Her lips are warm and trembling. Her hands reach up, fingers fisting the fabric of my shirt like she doesn’t know if she’s pulling me closer or holding herself together. My palm cups her jaw, and I swear I can feel her pulse racing beneath my thumb.

She tastes like heartbreak and hope and something floral I can’t name—but it’s her. It’s always been her. And I’m kissing her like I need her to know that.

As I need her to feel it in her bones—that I never stopped wanting her, never stopped carrying her name in my heart and my soul. Her memory was the only thing keeping me sane—breathing—maybe even human.

My heart is beating out a war drum rhythm in my chest. Fast. Desperate. Familiar. Because this isn’t new. This is muscle memory. This is my body remembering what it means to be home.

But it’s different, too. There’s grief in this kiss. Forgiveness lingers—it’s too cowardly to speak aloud. There’s punishment. Desperation. Worship.

I tilt my head, brushing my nose against hers as our mouths realign, and she gasps when I nip her lower lip. She always liked that. I remember that. I remember everything.

I remember us.

Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging with the same softness she used when she was trying to wake me from nightmares. When I still believed I could protect her from mine.

And I kiss her like I’m sorry.

But also like I’m not sorry at all for taking all the air out of her lungs with this kiss.

Because I need this.

I need her.

I need her lips on mine like I need oxygen, like I need absolution. Like I need someone to reach in and pull me out of the wreckage I’ve been surviving in since the day I walked away from her.

She makes a small sound—somewhere between a sigh and a sob—and it rips through me.

Fuck, I missed that sound.

Missed this softness, this friction, this fire between us that somehow still burns even after everything we did to snuff it out.

I want to tell her I never kissed anyone else like this. That every mouth since hers felt like a placeholder. A mistake. A comparison no one ever came close to winning.

But I don’t speak. I can’t.

Because right now, her lips are poetry and punishment. Death and fucking resurrection—and I’m not risking a single second of it with words.

Her body curls into mine, like maybe she’s remembering it too. Like maybe the years we lost haven’t made us strangers after all.

Like maybe she still loves me—even if she’ll never say it again.

Not tonight.

But this kiss?

This kiss says it all.

And I kiss her back like I’m making a vow with my mouth, even if I don’t deserve her.

Even if this is all I get.

She pulls back. Breath ragged.

“I still hate you a little,” she whispers.

“That makes two of us,” I murmur against her mouth. “We’ll keep working—therapy, anything you need—it’s yours.”

And then I kiss her again.

This time slower.

This time, with all the things we’re still too afraid to say.

With every ache. Every memory. Every fucking heartbeat that survived the distance.

This kiss isn’t forgiveness.

It’s not a promise.

It’s a beginning.

Because even if we fall apart tomorrow, tonight—we’re choosing each other.