Chapter 50

Chapter Fifty

Ophelia

The morning air is crisp, biting against my skin as I stand outside the towering building. The sleek glass facade reflects the pale Seattle sunlight, shards of light scattering on the pavement beneath my boots. I glance up at the rows of windows. The light refracts, casting faint rainbows against the glass—a fleeting beauty I wish I could capture.

It’s such a shame I don’t have my camera with me. My phone is useless. Sure, they’re improving the cameras in this artifacts every year, but they’ll never have the lenses I need to do moments like this justice.

“What are you thinking?” Constantine asks, his voice pulling me back to reality. He stands beside me, arms crossed, his stance radiating his usual overprotective energy.

“That I shouldn’t have left my camera in the hotel,” I say with a small shrug, though my fingers curl tightly around the strap of my purse.

He rolls his eyes. “Maybe you’re thinking about your camera because deep down, you know this is a bad idea.”

“You’re wrong, this is an excellent idea,” I reply firmly. I straighten my shoulders, meeting his gaze. “I need this. For myself. For my future.”

He exhales, the sound heavy with reluctance. “We could leave, you know. Grab coffee, pretend we never made it here. He’s history, part of your past.”

I give him a small smile, the kind I reserve for when I appreciate his concern but can’t let it sway me. “You’ve been saying that since yesterday. We both know I need to do this. I need closure.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he might argue. But then he nods, stepping aside as if conceding to the inevitable. “All right. Let’s get it over with.”

We step through the glass doors into the lobby, where the warm air greets us, chasing away the chill from outside. My boots scuff softly against the polished floor as we make our way to the elevator.

Inside the elevator, the mirrored walls catch my reflection. I barely recognize the woman staring back at me. Jeans, hiking boots, and an old sweatshirt I stole from Haydn when I left his house. Okay I stole more than one. No one would blame me, they’re very comfortable. It’s a shame they don’t smell like him anymore.

Confession time: now I feel too . . . casual. Maybe I should’ve worn something dressier, something that said, Look, I’m a grown-up now. Look how far I’ve come. But then again, maybe this is better—honest, unpolished, just me.

The elevator dings softly, and the doors slide open to a pristine hallway. It’s quiet—too quiet. Constantine follows without saying a word and I appreciate him for that.

The door to Rowan’s apartment looms ahead. I pause, taking a deep breath, and lift my hand to knock. The sound is louder than I expect, sending a ripple of anxiety through me. My heart pounds, each second stretching longer than it should.

The door swings open, and Rowan stands there. His gaze flicks between me and Constantine before finally settling back on me.

“You actually came,” he says, his tone tinged with disbelief as he steps aside.

“I told you I would,” I reply, stepping inside.

The apartment is flooded with natural light, the expansive windows framing the Seattle skyline like a perfect postcard. The view is stunning, almost surreal, but the space feels cold—modern, pristine, and hollow, as if it lacks the essence of those who live here.

Constantine stays close. He doesn’t acknowledge Rowan, just gives him a curt nod.

“Where’s Keane?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.

Rowan glances to his left, and then I see him. Keane is seated by the window, his silhouette outlined against the muted gray of the cityscape. He turns slowly, his eyes meeting mine. For a moment, the air feels thin, the tension pressing against my chest like a hand I can’t push away.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice carrying a flicker of the charm I used to know.

“How are you?” I ask, stepping closer.

He glances down at his body before nodding toward the guitar leaning beside him. “A lot better. I’m still a work in progress, but things are improving.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” I say, trying to sound more certain than I feel.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice steady but thoughtful. “I’m hitting my goals, working on my mental health too. Apparently, there’s a lot in my past I need to unpack before I risk falling back into old cravings.”

“I’m glad you’re finally taking care of yourself,” I say. “Do you still . . . not recognize me?”

He gives me a sad smile, shaking his head. “Sorry. There are pieces locked away, and maybe they’ll never come back. I’ve been told about the accident. It was the other driver’s fault, but if I hadn’t been fucked up . . . sorry for the pain I caused you. All of it.”

I want to say something deep but all that comes out is, “It’s in the past.But even when you don’t remember me, I remember us. Everything that happened. I wanted to talk to you, to find closure, but I don’t want to risk setting you back.”

“Doubtful,” he says, his tone almost casual. “Go ahead, let it out. As a bonus, I can’t argue much since I don’t remember what happened between us.”

And maybe this is for the best. I take a measured breath and meet his gaze.

“Keane, you were my world,” I begin, my voice softer than I expected. “Losing you broke something in me I didn’t think could ever be fixed. For years, I carried this guilt, this belief that I didn’t deserve to move on, to find happiness. And then I met Haydn.”

His jaw tightens slightly at the mention of Haydn, but he doesn’t interrupt. I gather myself, my voice growing stronger.

“Haydn taught me that love isn’t about replacing what was lost. It’s about building something new, something just as real. While I’ll always love the version of us we had, I’ve realized that holding on to you—holding on to the past—isn’t fair. Not to you, not to me, and not to the life I want to build with him.”

“I’m glad you found someone who deserves your love,” Keane says after a pause. “He mentioned it a few times, you know? How special you are. Maybe that’s why I held on to you for as long as I did. Hope, need . . . but I messed it up, didn’t I?”

“We had something special,” I agree gently.

“Even when I fucked up several times?”

“Even then,” I confirm. “I have so many good memories that I’ll keep because they’re a part of who I am. They shaped me.”

“Glad not everything was bad,” he murmurs. “So . . . goodbye and good luck.”

Tears prick my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. “You’ll always be a part of me, Keane. But it’s time for me to live again. To really live.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then he looks at me, his lips curving into a bittersweet smile. “I’m glad you found someone who can love you the way I couldn’t. Who deserves someone as sweet, kind, and thoughtful as you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything. For loving me.”

He squeezes my hand lightly before letting go. “Go be happy, Ophelia. You deserve it.”

As I walk toward the door, I catch Constantine and Rowan whisper-shouting.

“Fuck you,” Rowan says before turning to look at me. “Is it over then?”

I nod. “I’ll never understand why you ghosted me too. I thought . . .”

He glances at Constantine. “Life, choices . . . nothing personal. Though, I’m glad you’re doing a lot better. Are you ever getting back with hockey boy?”

“Haydn,” I correct him.

“Take care of yourself,” he says. “If you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

“Bye Rowan,” I wave at him and stare at my brother who looks at him for way too long.

“Goodbye,” Rowan responds but his eyes don’t leave Constantine’s.

“What was that?” I ask as we head to the elevator.

He shakes his head. “Nothing really. Maybe more than one person needed closure. Let’s head to the arena. The game is in a couple of hours and I want to make sure we have everything ready.”

The elevator ride down is silent, the kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled. I let my thoughts settle, each one finding its place. By the time the doors slide open, the air feels different—brighter, clearer, full of possibility.

As we step outside, the crisp Seattle breeze brushes against my face. The city feels alive around me, the hum of traffic and distant chatter weaving into the moment. I take a deep breath, letting the cool air fill my lungs. This is it. This is the beginning of something new.

Constantine glances at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “You sure you’re ready for the next part of your plan?”

I meet his gaze and smile, the kind that feels like it comes from someplace deep inside. “I’m ready,” I say, and I mean it.

Because I am. Ready to embrace the future, to embrace Haydn, to embrace the life I’ve been too afraid to fully claim. The weight of the past is gone, replaced by a sense of freedom I didn’t think was possible.

In a couple of hours, I’ll cheer for Haydn as he takes the ice. And tomorrow? Tomorrow, I’ll step into the life that’s been waiting for me all along.