More of someone he shouldn’t hate because just like us he was a casualty. Another person out father couldn’t stand, even when we were his sons.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nysa
Things between Hopper and me are . . . strained. That’s the best way to describe it. A polite, practiced distance, like we’re both too afraid to step too close, too aware of the line we’ve been toeing for weeks now. We talk when we have to, exchange pleasantries like two people who barely know each other instead of whatever the fuck we were becoming.
But it’s not real. It’s forced.
And I know I started it.
The moment Atlas reminded me of who Hopper was—is—something inside me recoiled. He’s a Timberbridge. His father’s son.
But then I look at him, and all I see is the man he is now. A father. Someone who holds Maddie’s hand like she’s his whole world. Who works himself to exhaustion. But when he’s home, he has the energy to play with her, to cook, and to be the best father he can be for his child. Hopper is nothing like Timberbridge Senior. Nothing.
And yet, I keep telling myself he might be.
Because it’s easier than admitting what’s happening to me. Because if I hold onto that, then maybe I won’t get attached. And if I don’t get attached, I won’t fall.
And falling for him?
It would be reckless. Dangerous. Stupid.
So I do the only thing I know how to do—I run. The second he pulls into the driveway, I’m already moving. I mutter a see you tomorrow and slip out the door like something is chasing me.
Hopper doesn’t stop me. Maybe that’s the worst part. He just watches, letting the space between us stretch wider and wider, like he’s retreating just as much as I am. Like we both know whatever this was—this push and pull, this flirting, this thing where we keep ending up too close, too breathless—is unraveling.
The almost-kisses.
The way his eyes would drop to my mouth when I spoke, like he was memorizing the way I shaped words. Like he was guessing if I taste like strawberries or sin. The way his fingers would brush my wrist when he passed me something, a second too long, like he wasn’t ready to let go.
The alone time we spent when Maddie was asleep and we weren’t saying anything, but we were existing next to each other.
It’s all slipping away, and neither of us are fighting for it. Maybe because we know it’s already lost, or maybe because I’m afraid of losing it since it’s probably not real. Either way, it’s better this way, isn’t it?
The drive back to my grandmother’s house is quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the faint rustling of trees lining the road. The sky is soft with the last remnants of daylight, streaks of orange and pink stretching across the horizon, casting long shadows over the sleepy town of Birchwood Springs.
It should be peaceful.
It should feel like home.
Instead, there’s a weight pressing against my chest, something uneasy settling deep in my bones. It’s knowing that there’s still danger close by. Knowing that I can’t just run away or this time they’ll follow. Knowing that whatever I feel is an illusion—except the danger.
I try to shake it off, telling myself it’s just the exhaustion from spending the day taking care of Maddie. She had been a ball of energy. I think I got my cardio for an entire year just today—and I don’t do cardio unless someone is chasing me.
I finally pull into my grandmother’s driveway, cutting the engine. The house is dark except for the porch light glowing softly, casting a golden hue over the wooden steps.
I reach for my bag, but something catches my eye—something small, sitting at the edge of the porch.
A stuffed pony.
Lala.
My heart stops.
The soft, well-loved toy is unmistakable. Maddie had been clutching it earlier, dragging it around the house, refusing to go anywhere without it. She had fallen asleep with it tucked beneath her tiny arm. And now it’s here, on my grandmother’s porch.
The air in my lungs turns shallow as a cold wave of dread crashes over me. I force myself to move. I approach the porch, my eyes darting to the door. It’s shut. Locked, just as I left it. Grandma should be at her knitting club, just like she mentioned earlier. She’s safe, I repeat to myself several times.
