Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Hopper
Having Nysa in my house might have been the worst decision I’ve ever made in my entire life. Sounds like an exaggeration, but it’s probably just like that. It’s not because of the trouble that follows her like a storm cloud or the fact that Maddie is already completely smitten with her.
No, the problem goes deeper than the ocean. It’s all the fucking questions. The look.
It’s her.
She’s pretty, sure. Not just pretty, beautiful. Gorgeous. That much was obvious even back in high school. Not that I ever saw her like that, she was three years way too young. I was too busy with senior girls to give her a glance.
But now? She’s pretty in a way that makes me lose track of what I’m doing, in a way that makes me feel like a damn teenager again, fumbling for words. And then there’s the way she watches me, her head tilted like she’s trying to figure me out, prying without even meaning to.
And I let her.
That’s the worst part.
There’s the fact that I tell her things—things no one has ever heard before. Things I’ve kept to myself all this time. She shouldn’t know them. I should keep them locked away, buried where they belong. But I don’t.
She needs to stop asking. Just stop.
I don’t do questions. I don’t do this. Whatever this is.
And then I almost kissed her.
Almost fucking kissed her.
When she was looking at me like . . . like I needed to be loved. Like she could love me if I just let her. Like she could tend to the wounds on my soul, kiss them better and never let the pain seep through my body again.
That’s not something I need.
She should stay the fuck away from me.
Love doesn’t appeal to me. It’s never happened to me. I’m too old to believe in it.
But she probably deserves it. To be loved, to be missed by someone who notices how perfect she is, how beautiful and magical she is.
Honestly, that’s something I can’t do.
I don’t know where we would end up if I dared to kiss her.
But I know myself, and I don’t mess with good things. And she’s here because she needs protection, because Maddie likes her, and because Maddie’s happiness outweighs my discomfort.
So, instead of making a mistake I can’t take back, I stood up and left her sitting there by the fire.
Now, hours later, I’m in my office, pretending to work, but really just staring at the same report on my computer screen without absorbing a single word.
The house is quiet. Too quiet.
I rub a hand down my face, exhaling loudly. I should go to bed. I should stop thinking about her.
Instead, I find myself standing, pushing away from my desk, and heading toward the hallway.
The guest room door is slightly ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling out into the dimly lit hallway.
I should walk past it.
I should go to bed.
But I don’t.
I stop.
And then, before I can stop myself, I knock lightly against the doorframe.
The movement inside stills. Then, after a beat, “Come in.”
I push the door open just enough to step inside. Nysa is sitting on the bed, legs crossed, wearing a sweatshirt that’s too big for her and a pair of leggings. There’s an open book in her lap, but she’s not reading it.
Her eyes meet mine, and something unreadable flickers in them. “Couldn’t sleep?”
I shake my head. “You?”
She shrugs. “Same. It’s been hard to fall asleep since I came back to Birchwood Springs. It’s probably the . . . well, everything.”
Silence stretches between us. It’s not uncomfortable, not yet, but there’s an edge to it. Like we both know there are things that should be said but neither of us wants to be the first to say them.
I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “About earlier?—”
She shakes her head. “You don’t have to explain.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“It probably has to do something with the way you sprang off of the couch like something was on fire.” She smirks, but there’s no real humor behind it. “If I have to guess, you’re about something along the lines of, ‘It was nothing.’ That it shouldn’t have happened.”
I exhale through my mouth before letting the words out, “It didn’t happen. You and I . . .”
Her lips press together, and she looks away. “Right.”
I rake a hand through my hair, feeling like an asshole. “I didn’t mean?—”
“It’s fine, Hopper.” Her voice is quiet, but it cuts through me. “You don’t owe me anything.”
That’s the thing, though. It doesn’t feel fine.
It feels like something is unraveling between us, something I don’t know how to stop. Something I desire, even crave, but I shouldn’t have.
I step farther into the room. “It’s not that I don’t want—” I stop myself before I can finish that sentence. Before I can make this worse.
She looks up at me then, her eyes dark and tired. “But you won’t.”
I swallow hard. “Nysa . . .”
She exhales, shaking her head. “You don’t have to say it. I get it. You don’t want this, whatever this is. And that’s okay.”
Her words should make it easier. They should give me an out.
But they don’t.
Because the way she says it, the way her voice dips slightly at the end, tells me she doesn’t really believe it’s okay.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, close but not too close. She watches me warily, like she doesn’t know what I’m about to do. Fuck, I don’t know what I’m about to do.
“I told you things tonight I haven’t told anyone,” I say quietly. “Not because I wanted to unload my shit onto you, but because I . . .” I trail off, searching for the right words. “Because you listen. It’s easy to just speak. It feels like you see me. The real me. And I don’t think anyone ever has. But I shouldn’t want it.”
She exhales, the sound uneven, like she wasn’t expecting this—like it caught her off guard. There’s a pause between us. She watches me and then lets out a soft, almost breathless laugh. “That’s not exactly a grand declaration, Hopper.”
I shake my head. “It’s more than you think.”
Her gaze softens. “You’re allowed to want things, you know.”
I exhale sharply. “I don’t know how to want something that doesn’t come with an expiration date.”
She looks at me for a long time. Then, finally, she shifts closer. Just enough that I can feel the warmth of her, even though we’re not touching.
“We’re all temporary,” she murmurs. “You should learn that. Things happen and your life changes. It’s terrifying but all we can do is adapt.”
I close my eyes for half a second. When I open them, she’s still looking at me, and suddenly, it’s not just about what I want.
It’s about her.
What she deserves.
And it’s not this.
It’s definitely not me.
Not me, half in, half out, constantly pulling away.
I reach up, cupping her jaw lightly, my thumb brushing over her cheek. She leans into it, just barely, like she’s testing the weight of the moment.
Like she’s testing me.
I could kiss her.
I could give in to the pull that’s been there since the moment she showed up on my land.
But I don’t.
I drop my hand and stand.
She watches me, something unreadable in her expression. “Hopper.”
I shake my head. “I can’t, Nysa.”
She swallows hard, nodding slowly. “Okay.”
But it’s not.
It’s not okay.
I turn and walk out of the room, shutting the door behind me.
And as I lay awake in my bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I know one thing for certain.
I might have made the right choice.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it. That I won’t regret it for the rest of my life, even if we live under the same sky.