Page 71 of The Last Call Home (The Timberbridge Brothers #5)

From Cassian Harlan’s journal, torn from the back and folded twice. Found years later between Amaris’s baby photos, Timberbridge memories, and a stained recipe card:

Lilah, my love,

You’re asleep right now. Curled on your side with one hand on your stomach as though you're guarding the whole damn world. Mal’s behind you, arm draped over both of you like he couldn’t bear even sleep to separate him from the life we’ve built.

You made this life.

You are this life.

And I don’t know why I’m writing this in my journal. I’ll probably never send it. Never give it to you. But I needed to get it out, just once—what it feels like to watch you breathe in the dark and realize I’m not lost anymore.

I used to think I didn’t have a place. That I was made to move, not to stay. That permanence belonged to other people. That love was something for the edges of someone else’s story.

But you proved me wrong.

You, with your wicked mouth and too-big heart. With the way you see through my silences and kiss the ghosts on my shoulders like they’re old friends. With the way you never flinched—even when you should have. Even when you knew how fucked up I really was.

You didn’t run.

And neither did Mal.

Thank fuck he not only stayed, but let me come back to him.

You both looked at me like I was more than the sum of my bruises and secrets. You didn’t try to fix me. Instead, you simply made room for me.

That’s what home is, isn’t it? Not walls or land or coordinates. It’s being made room for.

And now we’ve got this bar. This town. This bakery that smells like brown sugar and paint. This baby—our little girl, Amaris—who hasn’t even arrived yet and already owns all three of our hearts.

I never thought I’d want forever.

But with you?

With both of you?

I want everything.

So when a storm comes—and it will—when one of us forgets how to say the things that matter, when the past comes knocking with old regrets or new reasons to run, I want this on paper. I want to remember:

We built this.

We earned this.

We are already home.

And I’m not going anywhere.

Not ever.

– Cass