“Malerick mentioned it last night when he came to check on you.”
I swallow against the dryness in my throat. “How’s the investigation going?”
His gaze stays locked on mine. “Not sure. I saw a lot of plows arriving. They’re digging today.”
A shiver skates down my spine.
“There’s a lot happening on your property, Nysa,” he says, voice even but edged with something else—something softer, like pity.
I know that look.
He probably doesn’t remember me well from high school, but I do.
Back then, he was my tutor—one of the only people who spoke to me like I wasn’t breakable. But even then, he had that look. The one people wore when they found out why I was living with my grandparents.
The ‘oh, poor girl’ look. The girl who lost her parents and brother in a car accident.
The girl who should have been in the car too—should have died with them—but survived because she happened to be visiting her grandparents that weekend.
I drop my gaze, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to do.” The words scrape against my throat. “I don’t even know why I’m here. I just . . .” My breath shudders. “I should probably wait for my truck to be repaired and leave again.”
Hopper steps closer, slowly, like he’s giving me time to stop him. He doesn’t reach for me—not really. Just a hand resting lightly on my arm, the warmth seeping through my sleeve, grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed.
“It’ll be okay,” he says quietly. “My brother is looking into it. He might just be the sheriff, but he used to be an FBI agent. He’ll make sure you’re safe.”
Safe.
The word scrapes against something raw inside me.
“I don’t want to put you and Maddie in danger,” I whisper. “Or her mother, for that matter. Where is she? I should thank her for letting me stay. It’s not easy to open your home to a stranger.”
Hopper’s expression shifts, something unreadable flickering across his face. “We’re fine. Malerick is sorting this out.”
I nod, but the question still lingers. And Maddie’s mother? I push forward. “And your wife?”
His jaw tightens. “I’m single.”
“Oh. Divorced?”
He shakes his head.
Oh no, he’s a widower, isn’t he? My heart squeezes. “Where’s Maddie’s mom?” I ask, softer this time.
He hesitates, and for a moment, I think he’s going to answer. Then?—
“Daddy.”
Maddie’s voice breaks the silence, high and insistent from the other room.
Hopper exhales, running a hand through his hair before turning toward the sound. “I gotta?—”
“Yeah,” I murmur, stepping back, giving him space. “Go.”
He nods, but there’s something unfinished hanging between us as he strides toward the living room.
Chapter Seven
Nysa
