It could be one of us.
Not Mal. Definitely not me. But Keir? Hopper? Fuck.
“Do you think fucking Atlas is helping them?” I ask, my voice hard enough to snap through the phone.
I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s an asshole who hates us and the bastard isn’t even attached to Mom’s heritage. It has to be him. That’s why he insists on selling the company. He needs the money.
“We’re looking intoeveryone,” Mal replies, his words cold and cutting.
“Even Keir?” I press, the thought twisting something deep inside me. Mal trusts Keir more than anyone. If even he’s under suspicion, it means the walls are closing in faster than I thought.
“Everyone,” he repeats, his tone like steel. “But I don’t think Stinson knew what he was getting into. He was greedy, not stupid. Whoever they have now—it’s someone who’s been promised so much money they’d sell their soul, and maybe us along with it.”
“Well, I can promise you it’s not me,” I mutter, gripping the phone so tightly it feels like it might crack. “But look into Atlas.”
“I know it’s not you,” Mal says without hesitation.
“How?” I ask and don’t wait for an answer. “Did you fucking look into me? You believed I could’ve been the one?”
He sighs, the sound crackling through the line. “Listen, Ledge, this isn’t about your feelings. I’m doing everything I can to keep my family alive. As sheriff, my hands are tied, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you all safe.”
“Umm, thanks? Nothing like having a brother who thinks you’ll sell his soul,” I mutter, my words dripping with sarcasm, though my chest burns at the implication.
“The point,” he continues, the edge in his tone unmistakable, “is that we need to show them we’re not scared. That we’re ready for whatever they throw at us.”
“I’ll come back and show them I’m not afraid,” Galeana says suddenly, her voice clear and unwavering.
Her words hit me like a freight train. “Wait, baby, you can’t do that. Maybe we’ll go back when things settle, when those assholes are rotting in jail,” I argue, panic threading through my voice despite my best efforts.
She turns to me, her eyes meeting mine with an intensity that roots me in place. “Didn’t you hear your brother? They’re patient. This could take years. I’m not going to stop living, Ledger. Not when I’m just starting to feel alive again. Not when I’m finally . . . findingus.”
Her words cut through the noise in my head, leaving me raw and exposed. She’s right. She’s so fucking right it terrifies me.
“They won’t win,” I say finally, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat, making them a promise.
“They better not,” Mal replies, his voice quiet but full of conviction. “Because if they do, it won’t just be Maple Haven they take. It’ll be everything we care about. I’ll message you when I have more information on how we’ll do things.”
I end the call, my grip still firm on the phone as I stare at Gale.
Her courage ignites something in me, something fierce and unrelenting. We’ll do what she wants, but make sure there’s always someone protecting her. Me and a few bodyguards to ensure nothing happens to her. The Hollow Syndicate can try, but they’ll never take what’s ours. Not her. Not Maple Haven. Not this life we’re starting to build.
They’ll have to go through me first.
ChapterThirty-One
Ledger
Birchwood Springs feels different now,like a place suspended in limbo—caught between what it was and what it’s supposed to become. The morning air is cool and crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine as I step out of the truck.
My gaze drags over the sprawling land that once belonged to my mother. It’s not the mansion Gale lost, but it holds its own kind of quiet dignity, as if it’s waiting to be something more. For now, it’s home. Or at least, it will be for the foreseeable future.
It’s been three weeks since that first call with Malerick, and everything feels unsettled, like we’re navigating a world that refuses to let us find solid footing. The ground shifts beneath us, unstable but forcing us forward. Knowing Malerick’s reach as sheriff wasn’t enough, I brought in Crait Quantum Shield—a team of professionals who don’t just guard, they ensure nothing gets close.
The property is surrounded, guards positioned at every possible entry, blending into the landscape. They move with us everywhere.
The life Gale and I are trying to build feels fragile, like glass stretched too thin. But even with the cracks, we keep pushing forward. We have to. I’m making sure no one takes this from her. From us.
The plans to build a new house—our house—on the old Doherty property are finally moving forward. The architect met us in Seattle last week, spread blueprints across a table, and talked about possibilities like they were promises. Gale’s vision for the new house is clear—nothing like the cold, suffocating walls of her family’s legacy. She wants something warm, something that feels like her. Like us. It’s ambitious, but it’s hers. For the first time, she’s claiming something entirely her own.
