Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Ophelia

Today marks a month since Keane woke up. Progress is slow but steady, each day bringing small victories that feel monumental. During this time, I’ve been away for a couple of jobs. While I’m away, Rowan has visited, but he’s always left by the time I return.

I don’t want to say that he’s avoiding me, but he’s definitely avoiding me. Men . . . It’s hard to understand them at times. I haven’t spoken to him since he left, disgruntled that I refused to let him take Keane. And then there’s Haydn—I haven’t spoken to him either, though he’s made sure I hear from him.

Flowers. Gifts. Notes. Every day, sometimes twice. It’s probably his way of saying he’s not giving up on us. The notes all say something sweet. Thinking of you. Love you more than yesterday. Miss you more than you’ll ever know.

Okay fine, this is his way of saying he’s not letting go. But I know the next move is mine. The puck’s in my rink. Or is it the zone? After three years I’m still getting the analogies wrong, one day I’ll know them well.

After a long session with a client who’s trying to launch a new product, I arrive home, take a long shower, and change into more comfortable clothes. The chef calls me to have dinner. Keane already ate so it’s just me. I would love to tell him to leave it in the fridge, that I’ll eat later. But I can’t. His orders are to stay until I’m done with dinner.

Haydn can play dirty when he wants things done. I get that this is his way to take care of me, but maybe he should be home if he wants things to get done. I miss him so much. Some nights I’m tempted to tell him about my relationship. All of it. Others I write in my journal what I would like to say and then let things be.

Once I’m done eating, I head to check on Keane. When I step into his room, I hear it—one of his songs. The melody drifts softly, filling the space like a whisper from a life neither of us can fully touch anymore. His voice flows through the room, raw and unpolished, carrying the kind of emotion that once felt like it could pull me apart and put me back together all at once. Now, it feels like a door I can’t open, a part of him that remains just out of reach.

“Hey,” I say, my voice gentle as I walk in.

Surprisingly, his response comes—a low, rough, almost gravelly “Hey,” like his vocal cords are remembering how to work.

“Things are finally clicking, huh?” I say with a small smile, nodding toward the speakers.

He shrugs, then gives a nod—not the painstakingly slow movement I’m used to seeing, but something quicker, firmer. Progress. It’s subtle, but it’s there. This makes me so happy. I have faith in him. He’s always tried his best.

“Do you remember this song?” I ask softly, watching him closely.

He’s sitting in the recliner today, not the bed. His nurse has been helping him move around the house when he’s not in session. It’s a way for him to do more exercise while he gets some air. I notice his posture is slumped, his face drawn, his expression distant. He looks tired—or maybe lost in a way I don’t know how to reach.

“Keane?” I try again, my voice softer, coaxing. “Anything?”

A long pause stretches between us before he exhales heavily. “No,” he mutters, and I don’t miss the frustration in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” I say, taking a seat on the exercise bench nearby. The music plays on, filling the silence between us. “I know this must be maddening.”

I close my eyes as the melody surrounds me, sinking into it, letting it take me back. I can see it—us—so clearly. The way his music was more than just sound; it was a thread that bound us together. Each note feels like it’s pulling at a memory I’ve tucked away, weaving its way through me.

The song fades, and the next one begins—Falling Into You. Suddenly, I’m not in the room anymore.

I’m twenty again, my hiking boots crunching against loose gravel as I trail behind Keane on a steep, winding path. The sun beats down, my breaths come hard and fast, but he’s there ahead of me, turning back with that grin of his, reaching out a hand to pull me up. And just like that, I’m falling—into him, into the moment, into everything we were.