Ledger presses his fingers against his temple. “Who else knows?”
Mal’s expression hardens. “Outside of law enforcement? Just us. That’s how we keep it.”
My stomach knots. “What about Nysa? Can she leave? I’ll pay for her to go somewhere—hell, another country if that’s what it takes.”
Mal shakes his head. “Not how this works. We have to keep things exactly as they are. You need to understand that.”
I grind my teeth. “Kier and Atlas need to know.”
“No.” Mal’s tone leaves no room for argument. “The less people who know, the better. Plus, we don’t want them here. I have enough shit to deal with keeping you two alive—both of you with your significant others and all.”
“I don’t have a significant other,” I snap.
Mal scoffs. “Sure. And Nysa Calloway is just a friend.”
Ledger’s head jerks up. “Nysa?” His stare locks onto me, unreadable at first, then a slow, dangerous smirk. “You’re dating Atlas’s weird friend?”
I barely have time to react before he’s pushing his chair back, standing, his hands bracing on the table like he’s already picturing knocking me out cold. He was the enforcer for his team, so I’ll probably end up bloody, but not without a fight.
“Do you have a problem with her?” I ask. “Because if you do, get the fuck out of my house.”
He levels me with a look, voice quiet. “Tell me you’re not fucking around with her.”
I don’t answer.
“Of course you are.” Ledger’s hands fist at his sides, a tic in his jaw.
“She’s Maddie’s sitter,” I say, but it’s such a weak excuse.
“He has a thing for her,” Mal says, as if it’s that simple. “Not the time to fall in love, but . . . apparently my brothers are stupid. It’s just like you. You were supposed to come to town to take charge of Old Birchwood Timber and focus on the business. Not get fucking married to a stranger.”
“I love my wife,” he says defensively.
“You do, just like this one is falling for Nysa—who you have to stop calling weird,” Mal warns him. “It’s like you two are children and I have to put some order in here.”
“She was Atlas’s friend,” Ledger states. “I doubt she likes you.”
“Did you know Atlas defended you from our father?” I ask, because maybe I can get him to not hate our brother so much.
If there’s something I promised my mother on her death bed, it was to get us together—as brothers. I still think it’s impossible, but if we can be amicable that covers something, right?
“He did what?” Ledger frowns.
“One time apparently Dad broke his arm. It was the day before you had to go to a tournament,” I tell him.
“No, he fell somewhere. I remember Mom telling me that.” Ledger rolls his eyes. “Dad never touched his prodigal son.”
“Dad did,” Mal corrects him. “I know because all of us have a file in the sheriff’s office with all the ‘accidents’ that happened at home.”
“Why did the sheriff never do anything?” I ask, because if they knew, they should’ve done something.
He shrugs. “Does it matter anymore?”
“Why would he take a beating for me?” Ledger asks, his voice quieter now, like things are starting to click into place. “I never asked him for anything.”
“So you wouldn’t miss practices or games, idiot,” I say, watching as the realization creeps over his face. “Maybe you owe him your career. If you had missed anything, you wouldn’t have been able to play hockey.”
He narrows his eyes at me, like my logic is an inconvenience, like I’m chipping away at something he doesn’t want to acknowledge. By telling him this, I’m making Atlas less of an asshole—the ‘enemy’—and more . . . a person.
