Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Hopper
This is our second day together, trying to live in the same place. Today, though, it was different—I tried to keep my distance from Nysa the best I could. The nightly routine starts like it always does, with Maddie fighting sleep like it’s a dragon she’s destined to slay. She’s not ‘sweepy’—her words.
She’s sitting cross-legged on the bathroom counter now, her tiny feet kicking happily as Nysa stands in front of her with a hairbrush in hand.
“You’re really good at this,” I say, leaning against the doorframe, my arms crossed.
Nysa looks up at me, one eyebrow arched. “Brushing hair? I practice it every day. Some might say I’m a professional.”
“Keeping her still,” I clarify. “She usually squirms like a worm on a hook.”
Maddie giggles at that, tilting her head back so her curls cascade over Nysa’s hand. “She brush good, Daddy.”
I’m trying not to take this personally, but is she saying I suck at it? Maybe I should take some lessons from Nysa or . . . “Well, I guess I’m out of a job,” I say, trying to sound light, though something tugs deep inside me at the sight of them together.
“She’s got good hair,” Nysa says, her voice soft. “Thick, curly. Like it’s alive.”
Maddie wrinkles her nose. “That’s siwy.”
Nysa laughs, the sound warm and easy. “You’re right. It’s silly for me to say it’s alive. But it’s beautiful.”
Maddie beams, soaking up the compliment like sunshine.
Once her hair is brushed and her teeth are clean—after an impressive amount of coaxing on Nysa’s part—we head to Maddie’s room. She’s already halfway to the bed before I realize I forgot to grab her favorite blanket from the couch.
“I’ll get it,” Nysa says, slipping past me.
She’s back in less than a minute, tucking the soft pink blanket around Maddie like she’s done it a hundred times before. Maddie snuggles into it with a contented sigh, her eyes already drooping.
“Can you read her a story?” I ask, holding out the book Maddie picked earlier.
Nysa hesitates for a split second, but then she takes it, settling into the chair by the bed. Her voice is soft but animated as she reads, and Maddie’s eyelids flutter shut halfway through.
When she finishes, Nysa closes the book quietly and looks over at me. “She’s out.”
“Thanks,” I say, and I mean it.
We step out of the room together, closing the door behind us. For a moment, we just stand there in the hallway, the silence stretching between us.
“She’s a good kid,” Nysa says, her voice barely above a whisper.
“She is,” I agree.
She glances at me, her expression unreadable. “Goodnight, Hopper.”
“Goodnight.”
She heads to the guest room, and I watch her go, wishing I could offer her wine and talk to her like last night. This time, though, I won’t make the same mistake. It’s better this way.
Hours later, I’m in my office downstairs, the glow of the computer screen casting long shadows across the room. Paperwork is scattered across my desk—patient records, invoices, inventory lists. Running a veterinary clinic isn’t just about patching up animals. It’s a business, and a messy one at that. I have a couple of doctors who tend to the patients. I prefer to be at home tending to Maddie and the animals who need rehabilitation. That’s what my focus is on right now.
I rub a hand over my face, my eyes gritty from staring at the screen for too long. The house is quiet, the kind of stillness that usually helps me focus. Tonight, though, it feels . . . off. I check the cameras on the other monitor. Everything looks quiet. The guys Malerick hired are in place, making sure no one will trespass.
The sound of my phone buzzing on the desk startles me, and I grab it, frowning when I see Malerick’s name on the screen.
“Mal,” I answer, leaning back in my chair. “Is everything okay?”
“You at home?” he asks, his voice tight.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Someone broke into the clinic.”
I sit up straighter, my heart thudding against my ribs. “What? When?”
“About an hour ago,” he says. “Alarm went off. I had a deputy swing by to check it out.”
“And?”
“And nothing’s missing,” he says, his tone sharp. “Except patient records.”
“What?” My voice comes out louder than I intended, and I lower it automatically, glancing toward the door as if Maddie or Nysa might hear. “Why the hell would anyone take patient records?”
“Not all of them,” he clarifies. “Just the ones connected to the ranch. People who’ve been there, brought their animals in for treatment. Whoever it was knew exactly what they were looking for.”
I push out of my chair, pacing the small space. “Do you have any leads?”
“Not yet,” he admits. “But I’m working on it.”
I stop pacing, my free hand gripping the back of the chair. “Mal, what the fuck is going on? First Nysa, now this. It doesn’t feel random.”
“It’s not,” he says bluntly. “And you know it.”
I do know it. I’ve known it since the night she showed up, her eyes darting around like she was waiting for someone to jump out of the shadows.
“Do you think this has to do with her?” I ask, my voice low.
“I’d bet money on it,” he says. “But until I know more, keep her and Maddie close. Don’t let your guard down.”
“I won’t,” I say, my grip tightening on the phone. “Let me know if you find anything.”
“I will. And, Hopper?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
The line goes dead, and I stand there for a moment, the phone still pressed to my ear.
Someone broke into my clinic. Someone took patient records. Someone is digging.
And the worst part? I have no idea what they’re looking for—or why.
I glance toward the door, my thoughts racing. Nysa’s here because she’s scared, because she thinks someone is after her. Maddie is here because this is her home, her safe place.
And me?
I’m here because I don’t know how to be anywhere else. But tonight, I’m wondering if this house—this life—is as safe as I thought. This is why I moved to Birchwood Springs, to give my daughter a safe life. I . . . I need to keep my promise to her and her parents. Nothing will ever touch her. Nothing.
And maybe this is why I don’t let myself feel much, because I fear that I might become . . . how did my mother describe my father? A man with too much passion and too many feelings he couldn’t control. She asked me to forgive him on her deathbed. I don’t plan on doing so, but at least I know what to avoid so I don’t become him.