Even after everything—the slashed tires, the bloody handprint, the uncertainty pressing at the edges of my mind—Hopper’s house feels safe.
It’s not just the security system or the fact that Malerick promised he’d have people monitoring every corner of this property. It’s the way the house holds laughter like it’s part of its foundation.
My thoughts drift next door more than once, unease curling through me, but Maddie has a way of pulling me back. She’s a whirlwind of giggles, bare feet padding against the kitchen tile as she runs circles around the island, clutching a stuffed pony that’s seen better days.
“Lala’s hungry,” she declares, lifting the toy high like it’s a royal decree.
I glance at Hopper. He mouths, The pony.
Okay, that makes a lot of sense. I’m good at imaginary friends, but much better at handling stuffed animals. I stir the bubbling pasta sauce. “Well, Lala’s in luck. Dinner’s almost ready. What does Lala like on her spaghetti?”
Maddie tilts her head, thinking hard. “Cheeze. Lods of cheeze.”
“Cheese it is,” I say, grabbing the block of Parmesan from the counter. I just need to find the grater.
She bounces on her toes, excitement radiating off her in waves. “Daddy. Lala wans cheeze.”
Hopper, standing at the counter chopping vegetables, lets out a chuckle. “Lala has good taste—just like you.” He crouches, meeting her at eye level, and she giggles before flinging her arms around his neck.
The sight makes something shift in my chest.
Hopper—big, capable, rough around the edges—holding this tiny girl like she’s his whole world.
I turn back to the stove, forcing myself to focus on the sauce. It’s easier. Easier than letting myself feel things I shouldn’t.
For the past three years, I’ve been running. It’s fun. It’s safe. No messy feelings, no losing anyone that you love. It’s now something I plan on doing for several more years because staying in one place—rooting myself into the ground—well, we all saw how that worked out last time.
I should’ve left for good after high school. Should’ve been smart enough to stay away.
But no. Once I graduated from post-grad I made a plan to settle. I had to buy a house. I had to dream.
And dreams don’t happen to people like me. We don’t dream of settling, a house, or even a family. Nope. We live and sometimes run. I just hope my grandmother agrees to come with me.
“Need any help?” Hopper asks, his voice closer now.
I glance over my shoulder to find him standing next to me, his hands resting on the counter.
“You can grate the cheese,” I say, handing him the grater.
“Lala wants to help too,” Maddie pipes up, climbing onto one of the kitchen stools.
“Okay, Lala,” Hopper says, his tone playful. “But no eating all the cheese before dinner.”
Maddie giggles again, her whole face lighting up.
We work together like that, the three of us, Maddie occasionally sneaking a piece of cheese when she thinks no one’s looking. And this is . . . nice. Normal. Like I’m not a walking disaster, like I belong here in some small way.
During dinner, Maddie tells me all about her day, even though most of it is spent playing at home with me and her toys.
Of course, dinner ends with Maddie wearing more sauce than she eats, but she insists on helping clear the table anyway. Hopper and I exchange amused glances as he helps her off her chair. Then, she carries her plate to the sink, wobbling slightly.
“Careful, pumpkin,” Hopper says, reaching out to steady her.
“Gat it,” she declares. She does, eventually, though not without some additional sauce ending up on the floor.
Hopper takes her upstairs to help wash her and change her clothes. I begin tidying up the table before washing the dishes. Once they’re back with a freshly bathed Maddie wearing pajamas, they help me finish cleaning up the kitchen.
Afterward, Maddie insists we play a game. It’s some kind of board game with bright colors and cartoon animals, and I have no idea what the rules are, but she doesn’t seem to care either.
