Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Hopper
Mal stayed all night.
Neither one of us went to bed, but I stopped drinking around midnight, needing my head clear. Not that it helped. Nothing feels clear right now. By the time he left and I finally dragged myself upstairs, I stopped by Maddie’s room.
I wasn’t expecting to see Nysa there. She was still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, curled up in the recliner next to Maddie’s bed, one arm draped over the side like she had fallen asleep reaching for her. Like she couldn’t leave. Like she didn’t trust the world enough to close her eyes anywhere else. My chest tightened at the sight.
I should have woken her. Should have brought her to bed, told her it was safe, that she could sleep somewhere more comfortable. But I didn’t. Instead, I grabbed a blanket, carefully draped it over her, and left the room without a word.
Because if I had stayed . . .
If I had let myself touch her, even just to brush the hair from her face, I wouldn’t have been able to stop. Not then, or ever. And I can’t afford to break right now. After my shower, I head back downstairs. I make coffee, the rich, bitter scent filling the kitchen, the only thing that might keep me sane.
Steam curls from the mug as I press my palms around it, letting the heat seep into my skin. For a second, just a brief second, I let myself breathe. Then I step outside. It’s still dark, but early enough for me to start working.
But then, something doesn’t feel right. Instantly, I know that something is very wrong. It’s not the usual morning stillness of the ranch, not the way the sky is still a deep, inky blue waiting to be streaked with the earliest light of dawn. Nope. It’s something else—a feeling I can’t quite shake, like something has already gone wrong before the day has even started.
I move toward my truck, still groggy from sleep, rubbing a hand over my face. The barn lights are still on. Everything looks normal. But then I see it.
A paper Polaroid, taped to the driver’s side door. It’s actually a Polaroid. The breath in my chest turns cold. My feet come to an abrupt stop. For a moment, I don’t move. I just stare at it. The tiny white frame, the slightly curled edges, the image in the center frozen in time.
It’s Nysa. She’s standing on the porch of her grandmother’s house, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold something together—is that the little stuffed pony? The light from the house glows behind her, illuminating the tense lines of her face.
Whoever took this . . . they were there, watching her, her reaction. They knew.
I rip the Polaroid from the door, gripping it so tightly the edges bend. My pulse is a drum in my ears, a hard, rhythmic pounding that drowns out everything else.
This is a message. Is it a warning?
They are sure telling us they’re close. Even with all the security they can still get to us. They’re watching closely.
By the time I make it back inside, I’ve shoved the Polaroid into my pocket, but it doesn’t stop the anger simmering beneath my skin. It’s a slow burn, an aching kind of rage that settles deep in my bones. I should call Malerick, he needs to know.
But I find Nysa is in the kitchen, already awake, moving around like she’s trying to stay busy. Her hair is wet and she’s now wearing one of my flannels over her shirt. She looks up when I enter, and I know instantly that she can tell something’s wrong.
“What is it?” she asks, setting down the spoon she was stirring with.
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I reach into my pocket, pulling out the Polaroid and setting it down on the counter between us.
She doesn’t touch it. Doesn’t even move at first.
Then, slowly, her hand hovers over it before finally picking it up.
The second her eyes focus on the image, she freezes.
“This is from last night,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I nod, watching her carefully.
She swallows hard, her fingers tightening around the edges. “Where did you find this?”
I flex my jaw. “Taped to my truck.”
Her head snaps up, her eyes wide, dark with something I don’t like seeing in them. Fear.
“They were here?” she breathes. “Just now?”
“At some point, yeah,” I say. “Could’ve been last night, could’ve been a few minutes ago . . . where the fuck is security?”
“We should call Malerick,” she states. “Like now, shouldn’t we?”
We should, but what is he going to do? Nothing. He’ll tell us to wait, to ignore it, but he’ll take the picture to keep it as . . . what is this? Other than a warning, I don’t see what else this can give them. The kitchen feels smaller somehow. Pressing. Suffocating. I don’t know what to do, how to protect her from whatever is happening.
“Nys, I . . .”
“They’re not going to stop,” she whispers, gripping the counter like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
I step closer, instinctively reaching for her. “We’re going to figure this out. I believe in Malerick.”
She lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “How? They’ve been inside my grandmother’s house. They recorded us. Now they’re leaving pictures like some kind of sick game?”
She shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut.
“They’re after me,” she whispers, “but also . . .”
I rub a hand down my face. “Nysa?—”
“They’re after Maddie,” she says, finally looking at me. “I need to do something to get them away from her. Leave, even if they chase me. Even if they catch me. I have to leave now.”
And God help me, the thought of it nearly knocks the air from my lungs. I don’t think. I move. One second, we’re standing there, a few feet apart. The next, I’m pulling her in, my hands cupping her face, my thumb brushing over her cheek.
I don’t wait for permission.
I don’t second-guess it.
It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s a collision of fear and desperation, a clash of everything we’ve been holding back. The air between us hums with something volatile, something neither of us knows how to contain. My fingers dig in, gripping her like she might slip away, like this moment could vanish before I’ve had the chance to memorize it. Because maybe it will. Maybe that’s why this kiss feels like a battle, like I’m trying to claim something before it’s lost.
She stiffens for a fraction of a second, but then she melts into me, her hands clutching at the front of my shirt like she’s afraid to let go.
I tilt my head, deepening the kiss, pouring everything I don’t know how to say into it.
I will protect you.
I will protect Maddie.
I won’t let them take anything else from you.
But just as quickly as she leaned in, she pulls away.
She shoves against my chest, her breath ragged, her eyes wide with something that isn’t fear of the stalker anymore.
It’s fear of me.
“No,” she says, shaking her head like she can physically push the moment away.
I don’t move. I don’t reach for her again.
I just watch as she backs away like I’ve crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed.
“Nysa—”
“No,” she repeats, her voice raw. “We can’t.”
Something sharp twists in my chest. “Why not?”
She swallows hard. “Because I can’t—I can’t lose anyone else.”
Her voice breaks on the last word, her arms wrapping around herself.
It’s not about me. It’s about all the people she’s already lost. I take a slow breath, forcing my voice to stay even. “You’re not going to lose me. You have me, Nys. I’m yours.”
Her lips tremble. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t—” She exhales sharply, her hands in her hair. “I can’t do this. I can’t let myself?—”
“But I already love you,” I cut her before she tries to find another excuse as to why we can’t or shouldn’t. “No matter what, my heart already belongs to you, Nys.”
Her breath catches. Her eyes—wild, searching, desperate—flick between mine, looking for a way out, an escape, an excuse. But there isn’t one.
Not anymore.
Not after this.
The truth is out in the open.
I see the exact moment she breaks. The second her walls crumble, her fear losing to something bigger, something stronger. Me. Us. And then, she steps forward.
And I crush my mouth against hers.
This kiss isn’t gentle.
This kiss isn’t hesitant or uncertain.
This kiss is desperate, consuming, like we’re making up for every second we spent pretending this wasn’t inevitable. She whimpers, her hands fisting my shirt, pulling me closer, as if she needs me as badly as I need her.
I groan against her lips, my hands sliding into her hair, tilting her head back, claiming her, devouring her. She moans, her body melting into mine, no space, no hesitation, just heat and want and everything we’ve been denying ourselves.
I walk her back, pressing her against the nearest surface, pinning her there, not just with my body, but with every fucking promise in this kiss.
She’s mine.
But most importantly, I’m hers.
No more running.
No more denying this.
Us, under the same sky.
And I’ll be damned if I ever let her go.