Library

Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

Keane

The steps outside my door are loud—purposeful—and then the door swings open with so much force I think it might come off the hinges. “Finally, you’re awake, fucker,” a voice cuts through the silence before I even register who it belongs to.

And then I see him. A man who looks a lot like Dad. Maybe he’s an older version of Rowan or Dad, only younger— it’s disorienting. My brain stutters as I try to piece together the details.

When his eyes meet mine, they narrow, sharp and assessing. “So I guess you don’t remember me, huh?” he says, snapping his fingers in front of my face like that’ll do the trick and bring me back to . . . where? “Speed up that recovery, because we need to get the fuck out of here.”

Rowan. This asshole is definitely Rowan and not Dad. My brother. My annoying, exasperating older brother who has no patience for me.

I blink a few times, trying to force my mind to sort through the haze, to communicate something, anything. I do know who he is. But why does he look so . . . old? Gray hair? He shouldn’t have gray hair. He’s not . . . I can’t remember his exact age, but he’s definitely not gray-hair-old.

“Okay, stop blinking at me like that,” Rowan barks, stepping closer, folding his arms like he’s about to scold me. “You trying to talk to me, buddy?”

I blink once.

“Do you know who I am?”

Another blink.

With all the strength I can muster, I move my arm. Pain shoots through me—sharp, deep, like every muscle and nerve in my body is working against me—but I manage it. My fingers tremble as I raise my hand, slow and deliberate, and touch my head.

Rowan watches the motion, and for a moment, I think he’s going to take it seriously. Then, his mouth quirks into a grin. “Oh, I get it. You’re worried about your hair. You’re such a fucking diva, man. But yeah, it’s short. We had to buzz it for the nurses and doctors to work with you while you were doing your best Sleeping Beauty impression.”

I groan inwardly. No, idiot. That’s not what I was asking. Summoning everything I have left, I shake my head.

“No? That’s not it?” He smirks, running a hand over his own cropped hair. “Is it my hair? You jealous? ’Cause I look good. It’s short enough not to need a comb but long enough not to look like I’m in the military. And very Anderson Cooper, I went silver fox at thirty-five.”

I roll my eyes so hard I might sprain something. He’s clearly not getting it. But it does answer my question of how old he is. He’s thirty-five or older for sure. Maybe more since I’ve been asleep for years. How many? I heard something earlier while the doctors were talking to Ophelia but now . . . well, I can’t remember.

“So, since you’re clearly understanding me just fine,” Rowan continues, leaning against the wall like he’s got all the time in the world, “can you do me a favor and tell Philly we’re not sticking around? Just blink once for yes when she asks you.”

Philly? Who the fuck is Philly? My frustration flares, and I glare at him.

“You don’t know who Philly is?” he asks, and I blink twice to confirm. Then, to my utter disbelief, he starts laughing. “Oh man, you don’t know who she is. And here I thought you were playing her so you could stick around and try to get her away from Prince Charming.”

I want to scream. I want to rip the words from my throat and shove them in his face with a, “What the hell are you talking about?” But all I can do is blink again, hard and deliberate, hoping to convey some semblance of the rage building inside me.

Rowan finally sighs, sitting down next on the edge of the bed. His tone softens, just a little, as he asks, “Do you know what happened to you?”

I blink twice. No. But maybe you’ll actually tell me instead of being an asshole about it.

He studies me for a moment before leaning closer, his voice dropping into a near-whisper. “Listen, there’s a reason why our parents—well, mostly Mom—thought it was better to, uh, pretend you were . . . unalived. Look, you waking up after all these years might not matter to everyone else, but I think it’s best if we leave this place. Too many loose ends. Too many people who might start asking questions we don’t want to answer.”

I blink twice again, trying to process his words. What questions? What loose ends? Where the hell are Mom and Dad? And more importantly, who the fuck is Ophelia again?

He should be giving me those answers.

Rowan rubs the bridge of his nose, like he’s the one dealing with a headache. “Okay, fine. Here’s the plan to get you the fuck out of here. You tell Philly—Ophelia, whatever—that you want her to give guardianship to me. Just one blink when I convey the message, that’s all I need from you. Simple. Done. Then we can go back to . . . I guess Seattle, and we’ll figure this shit out.”

Ophelia. Philly is Ophelia. The name sends a faint ripple of recognition through me, but I can’t grasp it. Why does he think I’m faking my condition? My brain might be scrambled, my body weak, but I’m not an idiot. I know enough to understand that Ophelia is my guardian. And no matter what Rowan says, she’s the one who decides where I go.

Using every ounce of strength I have, I shake my head. No. I’m not leaving. I’m staying with her.

Rowan groans like I’ve just ruined his whole day. “You’re a selfish bastard, you know that? Fine. Stay here. Stick around. Face the consequences of your actions. Good fucking luck with your future endeavors, asshole.”

He storms toward the door. I watch him go, the anger and frustration simmering just below the surface of my useless body.

Good luck? Yeah, I’ll need it. But not for the reasons he thinks.

Comments

0 Comments
Best Newest

Contents
Settings
  • T
  • T
  • T
  • T
Font

Welcome to FullEpub

Create or log into your account to access terrific novels and protect your data

Don’t Have an account?
Click above to create an account.

lf you continue, you are agreeing to the
Terms Of Use and Privacy Policy.