I might have made the right choice.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it. That I won’t regret it for the rest of my life, even if we live under the same sky.
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.
