Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Nysa
In the end, they convince me to leave.
Not just to get out of the house for a night—to move into Hopper’s place. Temporarily, they say. For safety. Something about state-of-the-art security, quick sheriff response times, and how my broken locks and shattered nerves aren’t enough to keep me safe.
I don’t argue.
I don’t have it in me.
Hopper’s house is different from mine in every way. The walls are sage green, warm and inviting under the soft glow of golden sconces. The furniture is lived-in but cared for, every cushion fluffed, every wooden surface wiped clean. The air smells like fresh coffee and something faintly sweet.
It’s a home. A place built for love, laughter, and memories that don’t haunt the hallways.
It reminds me of the house I grew up in—the one filled with warmth and soft music, the one where my parents were alive, and the world still made sense.
When we arrive, Hopper leads me to the guest room. I take a shower, let the hot water scald away the last twenty-four hours, and collapse into bed. When I wake, my phone says I’ve been asleep for nearly a day.
I don’t feel rested. I have lunch with Hopper and Maddie. Since he fed me, I offer to do the dishes and tidy up the kitchen.
Now, I sit cross-legged on the floor of the living room, facing Maddie. She stacks colorful blocks into a tower, her little fingers working with careful precision. She hums under her breath, completely absorbed in her task, and every so often, she glances up at me with a wide, purely happy smile.
Her curls bounce when she moves, and I feel my lips tug into something soft—something that almost feels like a real smile.
“You’re really good at this,” I say, picking up a block and carefully adding it to her wobbly tower.
She claps her hands, eyes shining. “Daddy, dook.”
Across the room, Hopper leans against the doorframe. His arms are crossed, his gaze shifting between us, unreadable. He’s been quiet since I woke up, since I finally stopped falling apart long enough to sit here and pretend things are normal.
I can’t tell if he’s giving me space or waiting for me to break again.
Honestly, it could go either way.
The last twenty-four hours have felt like walking blindfolded along the edge of a rooftop, the wind pressing in on all sides. One wrong move, and I’d be freefalling. When I cracked in front of them—Hopper, Maddie, Malerick—it wasn’t graceful.
But they didn’t leave.
Instead, they decided I should stay. For now. Until Malerick’s security system is installed at my place. Until the sheriff figures out who’s leaving messages in blood on my porch. Until I stop looking over my shoulder every five seconds.
I didn’t fight it.
But sitting here now, watching Maddie play without a care in the world, I know this is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be putting them in danger.
“Done,” Maddie declares, her hands clapping together as the tower reaches an impressive height.
“It’s amazing,” I say, matching her excitement.
She giggles, then carefully places one last block on top. The tower wobbles, and she freezes, holding her breath, eyes wide with concentration.
“You’ve got this,” I encourage softly.
For a moment, it holds.
Then the blocks crash down in a messy pile.
Maddie’s hands fly to her cheeks. “Oh no.”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, picking up a block and handing it to her. “We can build it again. That’s the fun part.”
She considers this, then nods solemnly. “Otay.”
As she starts stacking the blocks again, I glance up at Hopper. His posture is more relaxed now, his expression softer, but he’s still watching me.
“Can we talk?” I ask quietly, keeping my voice low enough that Maddie won’t hear.
His brows lift slightly, but he nods. “Let me grab her some juice first.”
A few minutes later, Maddie is curled up on the couch, sippy cup in hand, eyes glued to the Little Einstein episode playing on the TV. Hopper motions for me to follow him into the kitchen.
He leans against the counter, arms crossed, blue eyes locked on mine. “You okay?”
I laugh, the sound brittle. “Not even close.”
He doesn’t push. He just waits. And for some reason, that makes it easier to talk.
“I need to tell you something,” I say, my grip tightening on the counter.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “I’m listening.”
I inhale deeply, forcing myself to say it. “Three years ago, I witnessed a murder. Or maybe not a murder—maybe just the part where they buried the body. That made me their target.”
His expression darkens, his jaw tightening.
I tell him everything. About the storm, how I used to love rain, how that night changed everything. How I ran—barely made it out alive.
“I didn’t even pack,” I admit. “I just left. Thought about going to my grandmother’s, but I couldn’t bring trouble to her doorstep. So, I ran.”
Hopper’s voice is low when he asks, “Where did you go?”
“Small towns,” I say. “Montana, Washington, Oregon, California. I met people. Made friends. But it was always temporary.”
His brow furrows. “So why come back now?”
“My grandmother,” I say. “She said she was sick. And she reminded me how your mother died without her family.”
Hopper flinches.
“At least she didn’t say we killed her,” he mutters. “But for the record, we were here with her.”
I blink. “You didn’t give her cancer, Hopper.”
His lips press together, but he doesn’t look at me.
“Who said you killed her?”
“Everyone in town. They swear my brothers and I did it,” he says flatly. “Maddie and I had already moved out here. I saw Mom changing, knew something was wrong, tried to get her to go to the doctor. She insisted she was fine until she couldn’t fake it anymore. But by then . . . it was too late.” He exhales, rubbing his hand over his face. “My brothers came, but?—”
I step closer, instinctively reaching out. “It wasn’t your fault, Hopper.”
His jaw clenches. “Doesn’t matter. Town blames us anyway. We’re Timberbridge boys. Sinners, like our father.” Then he sighs. “So your grandmother used my mother’s death to guilt you into coming back?”
“She’s sick,” I say.
Hopper tilts his head. “You’re Lucy Harper’s granddaughter, right?” he asks. “The high school librarian.”
I nod. “Yeah, but she retired years ago. Bought Cozy Corner Books.”
“We know the place pretty well,” he says. “She always has a book ready for Maddie when we visit.”
Something in my chest loosens. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”
“But she’s not sick,” he adds casually.
I freeze.
“What?”
“She’s fine,” he says simply. “Healthy as ever.”
I gape at him, my mind scrambling. “She wouldn’t?—”
But she would.
She totally would.
My head spins, frustration and affection tangling inside me like a frayed wire ready to spark. I better not find out he’s right, because I swear . . .
Hopper laughs under his breath, the sound low, almost indulgent. “She probably just misses you.”
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling hard. “Great. So, I came back, risked my life for a lie.”
His amusement fades. His eyes darken. “You think one of them is still here, don’t you?”
My throat tightens. “I know it.” My voice barely makes it past the knot forming in my chest. “Everything that’s happening—it’s not random.”
Hopper watches me, expression unreadable. Then he says, “And then there’s the note.”
My stomach drops. My pulse stumbles.
I whip my gaze to him. “How did you?—”
“Malerick mentioned it last night when he came to check on you.”
I swallow against the dryness in my throat. “How’s the investigation going?”
His gaze stays locked on mine. “Not sure. I saw a lot of plows arriving. They’re digging today.”
A shiver skates down my spine.
“There’s a lot happening on your property, Nysa,” he says, voice even but edged with something else—something softer, like pity.
I know that look.
He probably doesn’t remember me well from high school, but I do.
Back then, he was my tutor—one of the only people who spoke to me like I wasn’t breakable. But even then, he had that look. The one people wore when they found out why I was living with my grandparents.
The ‘oh, poor girl’ look. The girl who lost her parents and brother in a car accident.
The girl who should have been in the car too—should have died with them—but survived because she happened to be visiting her grandparents that weekend.
I drop my gaze, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to do.” The words scrape against my throat. “I don’t even know why I’m here. I just . . .” My breath shudders. “I should probably wait for my truck to be repaired and leave again.”
Hopper steps closer, slowly, like he’s giving me time to stop him. He doesn’t reach for me—not really. Just a hand resting lightly on my arm, the warmth seeping through my sleeve, grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed.
“It’ll be okay,” he says quietly. “My brother is looking into it. He might just be the sheriff, but he used to be an FBI agent. He’ll make sure you’re safe.”
Safe.
The word scrapes against something raw inside me.
“I don’t want to put you and Maddie in danger,” I whisper. “Or her mother, for that matter. Where is she? I should thank her for letting me stay. It’s not easy to open your home to a stranger.”
Hopper’s expression shifts, something unreadable flickering across his face. “We’re fine. Malerick is sorting this out.”
I nod, but the question still lingers. And Maddie’s mother? I push forward. “And your wife?”
His jaw tightens. “I’m single.”
“Oh. Divorced?”
He shakes his head.
Oh no, he’s a widower, isn’t he? My heart squeezes. “Where’s Maddie’s mom?” I ask, softer this time.
He hesitates, and for a moment, I think he’s going to answer. Then?—
“Daddy.”
Maddie’s voice breaks the silence, high and insistent from the other room.
Hopper exhales, running a hand through his hair before turning toward the sound. “I gotta?—”
“Yeah,” I murmur, stepping back, giving him space. “Go.”
He nods, but there’s something unfinished hanging between us as he strides toward the living room.