Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Nysa
Even after everything—the slashed tires, the bloody handprint, the uncertainty pressing at the edges of my mind—Hopper’s house feels safe.
It’s not just the security system or the fact that Malerick promised he’d have people monitoring every corner of this property. It’s the way the house holds laughter like it’s part of its foundation.
My thoughts drift next door more than once, unease curling through me, but Maddie has a way of pulling me back. She’s a whirlwind of giggles, bare feet padding against the kitchen tile as she runs circles around the island, clutching a stuffed pony that’s seen better days.
“Lala’s hungry,” she declares, lifting the toy high like it’s a royal decree.
I glance at Hopper. He mouths, The pony.
Okay, that makes a lot of sense. I’m good at imaginary friends, but much better at handling stuffed animals. I stir the bubbling pasta sauce. “Well, Lala’s in luck. Dinner’s almost ready. What does Lala like on her spaghetti?”
Maddie tilts her head, thinking hard. “Cheeze. Lods of cheeze.”
“Cheese it is,” I say, grabbing the block of Parmesan from the counter. I just need to find the grater.
She bounces on her toes, excitement radiating off her in waves. “Daddy. Lala wans cheeze.”
Hopper, standing at the counter chopping vegetables, lets out a chuckle. “Lala has good taste—just like you.” He crouches, meeting her at eye level, and she giggles before flinging her arms around his neck.
The sight makes something shift in my chest.
Hopper—big, capable, rough around the edges—holding this tiny girl like she’s his whole world.
I turn back to the stove, forcing myself to focus on the sauce. It’s easier. Easier than letting myself feel things I shouldn’t.
For the past three years, I’ve been running. It’s fun. It’s safe. No messy feelings, no losing anyone that you love. It’s now something I plan on doing for several more years because staying in one place—rooting myself into the ground—well, we all saw how that worked out last time.
I should’ve left for good after high school. Should’ve been smart enough to stay away.
But no. Once I graduated from post-grad I made a plan to settle. I had to buy a house. I had to dream.
And dreams don’t happen to people like me. We don’t dream of settling, a house, or even a family. Nope. We live and sometimes run. I just hope my grandmother agrees to come with me.
“Need any help?” Hopper asks, his voice closer now.
I glance over my shoulder to find him standing next to me, his hands resting on the counter.
“You can grate the cheese,” I say, handing him the grater.
“Lala wants to help too,” Maddie pipes up, climbing onto one of the kitchen stools.
“Okay, Lala,” Hopper says, his tone playful. “But no eating all the cheese before dinner.”
Maddie giggles again, her whole face lighting up.
We work together like that, the three of us, Maddie occasionally sneaking a piece of cheese when she thinks no one’s looking. And this is . . . nice. Normal. Like I’m not a walking disaster, like I belong here in some small way.
During dinner, Maddie tells me all about her day, even though most of it is spent playing at home with me and her toys.
Of course, dinner ends with Maddie wearing more sauce than she eats, but she insists on helping clear the table anyway. Hopper and I exchange amused glances as he helps her off her chair. Then, she carries her plate to the sink, wobbling slightly.
“Careful, pumpkin,” Hopper says, reaching out to steady her.
“Gat it,” she declares. She does, eventually, though not without some additional sauce ending up on the floor.
Hopper takes her upstairs to help wash her and change her clothes. I begin tidying up the table before washing the dishes. Once they’re back with a freshly bathed Maddie wearing pajamas, they help me finish cleaning up the kitchen.
Afterward, Maddie insists we play a game. It’s some kind of board game with bright colors and cartoon animals, and I have no idea what the rules are, but she doesn’t seem to care either.
“You spin,” she tells me, holding up a little plastic spinner.
I spin, landing on a red space. Maddie claps her hands. “It’s wed. You get the twiger.”
“I get the tiger?” I ask, picking up the tiny plastic piece.
“Uh-huh,” she says, nodding decisively. “It’s my favodite.”
“Well, then I’m honored,” I say, placing the tiger on my corner of the board.
Hopper joins us. Apparently this game doesn’t have rules because all the others do. It’s the only one Hopper lets her do whatever she wants. It’s old, from when he and his brothers were young. His mother gave it to him, for her only grandchild.
By the time bedtime rolls around, Maddie is starting to wind down. She clings to my hand as I walk her to her room, her little voice sleepy as she chats about everything and nothing.
“You stay?” she asks as I tuck her in.
I glance at Hopper, who’s leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “I’m not going anywhere, Maddie,” I say softly.
She smiles, her eyes already drooping. “Night, Nysa.”
“Goodnight, Maddie.”
Hopper steps forward, brushing her curls back from her face. “Night, pumpkin.”
“Night, Daddy.”
We leave her room together, the door clicking softly shut behind us. The hallway is quiet, the house settling around us like a sigh.
“Thanks,” Hopper says, his voice low.
“For what?”
“For being good with her,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “She likes you.”
I smile, feeling something warm bloom in my chest. “She’s pretty great.”
“She is,” he says, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before he steps back. “Would you like to go out to the deck, have some wine?”
I freeze for a moment because even though it sounds like something I would enjoy, going out feels unsafe.
“Or we could stay here—the living room has a fireplace. I can get the fire going,” he suggests.
“I would like that. Let me go and change first,” I say because wearing red sauce in my hair and my clothes isn’t my idea of a good time.
“Take your time,” he says, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “I’ll be downstairs.”
I nod, slipping away toward the guest room, but my heart isn’t moving at the same pace as my feet. It’s stalling, snagging on the moment in the hallway—the way his gaze lingered, the quiet in his voice that felt heavier than words.
I close the door behind me, exhaling as I lean against it. I press my fingers to my chest, as if that might settle the strange, aching tightness there. I shouldn’t be getting attached.
I should keep my distance.
And yet, there I was, sitting cross-legged on the floor, letting a two-year-old make up rules to a game that had probably seen better days. There I was, tucking her in, letting her slip under my skin with every sleepy word.
And now—now I’m about to sit by a fire with a man who keeps looking at me like I’m something fragile and untamed all at once.
I shake myself out of it, pulling off my sauce-stained sweater and grabbing a fresh one. My reflection in the mirror stops me. I look . . . soft. Like I belong here. The thought is unsettling, but before I can examine it too closely, I force myself out of the room.
Hopper is already in the living room when I return, crouched by the fireplace, coaxing a flame to life. The flickering light cuts across his face, catching on the rough edges of his jaw, the tired line of his mouth. He looks up when he hears me, his eyes warming in a way that makes something dip low in my stomach.
“That was fast,” he says, straightening.
“I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”
He watches me for a beat longer, like he’s weighing something, then nods toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll grab the wine.”
I sink into the cushions, the fire crackling as it grows, stretching shadows across the walls. The warmth seeps into my skin, unraveling something tight in my shoulders. A moment later, Hopper returns, two glasses in hand.
He hands me one before settling beside me. Not too close, not too far. Just enough space for the air between us to feel charged with something I don’t want to name.
We sit in silence for a while, watching the flames dance.
And then—softly, like he’s testing the weight of the words—Hopper says, “It’s okay to feel uneasy.”
I glance at him, startled. “What?”
His fingers tighten around his glass. “You seem concerned, but not scared. As if you’re trying to fight something. My mother told me a couple of times before . . . before she died that it’s okay to not be okay, to not be brave all the time.”
“She said that?” I ask, because that’s weird thing for a mother to say, isn’t it?
“Yeah, she knew I was afraid of not being a good father. That I would fuck it up at some point the way our father did,” he confesses.
Slowly, carefully, Hopper leans back, taking a sip of his drink, like he just said too much to a stranger. And I wish he would say more, so I ask, “What happened to Maddie’s mom?”