Silence stretches between us. Then, finally, Ledger nods once. “I’ll try,” he mutters, like the words cost him something.

I want to tell him not to bother, but I don’t. Hopper has changed a lot, and if anything, he deserves my silence. If this comes up again and Blythe or Hop aren’t around, I might beat the shit out of Ledger to teach him a lesson. And maybe I need to start therapy, too, because I know I haven’t worked through my resentment either.

Is it worth trying, though?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Henrietta (Blythe)

The drive back is quiet, even tense. The tension isn’t between us but the result of what happened with his brothers.

Atlas keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting over mine, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against my skin. It feels like some kind of reassurance. It’s like he’s convincing himself—or me—that everything is fine. That, or maybe he’s just working through the tension still gripping his body, the fragments of a family dinner that never stood a chance of ending well.

The glow from the dashboard cuts through the dark, tracing the angles of his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw and the crease in his brow that hasn’t eased since we pulled away from his brothers’ house.

Atlas hasn’t said a word. Neither have I.

Dinner was . . . awkward. The conversations never settled. If this had taken place during the old days where I could pretend everything was always fine, I could’ve been the life of the party. Now . . . I don’t think I have changed much from that woman who just did what was expected from her, but I can’t be her, either. If anything, this reunion showed me that I’m pretty lost when it comes to knowing myself. How am I supposed to fix that?

It’s probably a problem for another day.

Malerick arrived right as the other three brothers got out of the office. I’m not sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He seems broodier and angrier than the other brothers. There’s one thing I can say about the Timberbridge men. They have similar features, but all of them carry their own brand of broody—some stormy and intense, others smoldering with an edge that never quite fades.

Surprisingly, Malerick is the one who kept the conversation going for most of the night. He ran through the latest town gossip, Delilah correcting him every time he veered off course because her sources are better than his. By sources, we mean the patrons who visit her coffee shop. A place with great acoustics and where everyone likes to talk about . . . well, everyone.