I hesitate. Not because I’m afraid of the horse, but because I don’t want to mess this up.
“Don’t hesitate, just be calm,” he warns me.
“It’s going to be okay, buddy,” I say, following Hopper’s instructions. I move to the front of the stall, my hands gentle as I press against the horse’s muzzle. He shudders slightly but doesn’t pull away.
“Good,” Hopper murmurs. “Keep him steady.”
I nod, my grip firm but calm as he works.
We don’t speak for a while, the only sounds in the barn the soft rustling of straw and the occasional exhale from the horse.
We work, and I don’t know what it is—this feeling—but it’s good. Like we’re meant to do this together. Hopper is focused, methodical, his movements precise as he applies the ointment to the burns. I keep my hands where they are, whispering quiet reassurances, feeling the significance of the moment sink into my bones.
When he finally steps back, exhaling a deep breath, I realize that for the first time in days, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Which is wrong, because I don’t plan to settle anywhere. I shouldn’t feel okay doing this.
An hour later, we step out into the night air, both of us exhausted but too wired to sleep.
The sky is still dark, but the edges of the horizon are starting to lighten, hinting at the approaching dawn.
Hopper runs a hand down his face, sighing. “That was a hell of a night.”
I nod, rubbing my arms against the chill. “Yeah.”
We stand there for a while, neither of us in a rush to leave. Neither of us move. The quiet between us shifts, charged, as if something lingers unsaid. Maybe it’s my craving of his arms, the wanting to kiss him, the . . . things that I can’t let happen.
“Water?” Hopper asks, tilting his head toward the house.
I nod, following him inside. The kitchen is dimly lit. He grabs two glasses, filling them at the sink, and hands one to me. Our fingers brush—just a momentary touch—but it sends something unexpected through me, a quiet ripple that lingers longer than it should.
He leans against the counter, his eyes searching mine. “You were good in there.”
I let out a soft snort, shaking my head. “I didn’t do much.”
“You helped,” he corrects, his voice quiet but firm. “That matters. Thank you for staying with me.”
I lift my glass, watching the way the first hints of sunlight catch in his hair, softening the hard lines of his face, turning the strands gold. And for a second, I let myself imagine it.
What it would be like to stay.
To wake up to mornings like this. To be part of this—of him. Of them.
The thought presses into me, warm and unwanted.
I shouldn’t feel this way.
I can’t.
So I push it down, setting my glass on the counter with a dull clink. Instead of saying anything, I just nod, letting the silence stretch between us, knowing damn well that I just got a glimpse of something I’ll never let myself have.
Chapter Fourteen
Nysa
Today is my third day living in Hopper’s house.
A part of me wants to stay here forever, wrapped in the warmth of this place, where the coffee is always fresh, where Maddie’s little giggles fill the kitchen, where Hopper moves through the world like he was built for it—strong, capable, steady.
The other part of me wants to run.
