Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Nysa
I find it peculiar that no one in town mentioned Atlas’s presence. Did no one recognize him? Was he a figment of my imagination? I don’t really know what happened. Hopper mentioned he came, had a chat with Mal and left. He’s going to be living with Galeana and Ledger. Good luck to them. I mean he’s nice, but he can be an asshole like his brothers.
I should probably offer Galeana a room in my grandmother’s house. I learned earlier today that she’s rebuilding the old Doherty Mansion—without the faulty gas lines, of course. I’m impressed that Delilah doesn’t know what really happened. Then again, most of the town is living in ignorant bliss.
Grandma is doing well, but she’s going to go on a cruise this upcoming Monday. Atlas convinced her and a few of her friends. I know he’s doing it to keep her safe, and I appreciate him. When I ask where he’s getting the money, he said his brothers are paying. I don’t know how that’s happening, but I won’t ask any questions.
I spent last night with Hopper. We haven’t defined what we are, but I assume we’re together. Lately, I’ve been spending more time with him and Maddie—so much that I might even stay for the weekend. His house has started to feel like home, which should be unsettling, but it isn’t. Not after everything.
The scent of fresh coffee drifts through the kitchen as I move toward the counter, Maddie’s soft giggles filling the space. She swings her tiny feet, more interested in playing with her cereal than eating it. Across from her, Hopper leans back in his chair, watching us with a look I can’t quite name yet—something between contentment and quiet intensity. His eyes follow me as I pour coffee into a mug. My body is aware of him in a way that feels too natural now.
Like this is our life, as if we’ve always done this together.
Maddie’s spoon clatters against the bowl, and she pouts dramatically.
“Lala don’t wan cereal,” she declares, pointing at the new pony Hopper had gotten her.
I smirk, leaning over the counter. “Oh, no. Lala doesn’t like oats? I thought they were her favorites.”
Maddie shakes her head, her brown curls bouncing, and gives me the most serious look a two-year-old can muster. “Nope.”
Hopper exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yesterday she didn’t like eggs. Maybe she shouldn’t be eating breakfast with us, Maddie.”
Maddie gasps, placing a tiny hand over Lala’s ears. “Don say that.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I slide into the seat next to her, pretending to whisper to the stuffed pony. “What would you like instead, Lala?”
Maddie leans in, listening intently as if the toy actually spoke, then gasps and turns to Hopper. “Lala wans pankes.”
Hopper groans. “Of course she does.”
I grin, nudging him with my elbow. “Come on, pancakes aren’t a bad idea.”
He sighs dramatically, standing up and heading toward the stove. “Fine. But only because you’re encouraging this madness and you’ll help us clean.”
Maddie claps excitedly, hugging Lala. I watch them—the man I shouldn’t be falling for, the little girl I shouldn’t love this much already—and my chest tightens.
Because this feels too good to be real. Hopper moves easily in the kitchen, his broad shoulders shifting beneath his shirt as he pours batter onto the hot griddle, the scent of vanilla and butter filling the air. Maddie wiggles in her seat, kicking her legs, humming to herself.
I sip my coffee, watching them, watching him, my thoughts wandering back to Atlas. We haven’t spoken much about him.
I exhale softly, setting my mug down. “So . . . with Atlas back . . . have you talked to Ledger about it?”
Hopper’s movements still for a second, just enough for me to notice, before he flips a pancake onto a plate.
“Yeah,” he says gruffly. “I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole. They’re old enough to solve their own problems. He has a right to stay at our childhood home. Ledger can’t do much about it.”
I tilt my head. “You’re not concerned that they might . . . hurt each other?”
He shrugs. “Atlas seems strong enough to take Ledger. For Ledge’s sake, I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid. As Mal said, we have plenty of issues without having to worry about those two.”
Maddie hums to herself, blissfully unaware of the conversation or her uncle Atlas. Who I think would adore her if he was willing to get close to his family. I want to believe that’s just a matter of pulling them together. I should talk to Gale about it. She can convince her husband to give Atlas a chance, while I work on Atlas.
I glance toward her, then back at him. “Do we know how we’re going to get to the bottom of this? I’m mostly concerned about Maddie.”
Hopper finally turns, setting the plate on the counter before sitting back down. His eyes lock onto mine, unreadable, measuring. “Malerick assures me that this time things will be different. They’re going to give the agents a break on Sunday, but after that we’ll at least get your stalker. The rest will have to go slowly.”
The rest. I guess it refers to the syndicate he didn’t want to tell me about, but finally came up last night after a couple of very fun orgasms. This guy really likes my mouth and my pussy.
“So . . .” He clears his throat. “I know you and Atlas are close.”
It’s not a question, but there’s something unspoken beneath his words. Something he isn’t asking out loud.
I nod. “Yeah. I told you that already. He’s one of my closest friends.”
His jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t press.
I watch him, taking in the way his fingers flex against the counter, the way his shoulders tense just enough for me to notice. And that’s when I realize—he doesn’t like it.
“Hopper,” I murmur, tilting my head. “Are you jealous?” I can’t help but grin because this is really funny.
“No.” His gaze snaps to mine. “I don’t get jealous.”
I smirk, leaning in slightly. “You sure?”
His jaw tics, his fingers drumming once against the counter before he exhales, shaking his head.
“I just don’t trust him around you,” he mutters.
I lift a brow. “Atlas isn’t the enemy.”
“He’s not an ally, either,” Hopper counters. “Not yet.”
I study him, the way he tries to mask his frustration, the way his fingers are still clenched, and I sigh softly.
“Hopper,” I say gently. “Atlas cares about me, as a friend . Maybe even a little sister. He also cares about Maddie too. You need to trust me.”
That makes him pause. His shoulders relax just slightly, but his eyes stay guarded.
After a beat, he exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. “I don’t know if I can trust him . . . I want to, but it’s hard.”
I reach across the counter, my fingers brushing over his hand, squeezing gently.
“You don’t have to yet,” I say softly. “But I do.”
His eyes flick to mine, searching. And finally—after a long moment of silence—he nods.
Maddie claps her hands. “Pancakes.”
The moment shifts, tension melting as Hopper gets up, ruffling her curls before setting the plate in front of her.
“Here you go, pumpkin. Extra syrup, just how you like it.”
Maddie gasps, delighted, grabbing her fork with both hands. “Thank you, Daddy.”
Hopper’s chest expands, his entire body softening.
He presses a kiss to the top of her head before sitting back down, his eyes catching mine over the rim of his coffee mug.
And for a moment, everything feels normal. No stalkers. No threats. No danger looming over our heads.
Just Hopper, Maddie . . . just us.