Chapter 51

Chapter Fifty-One

Keane

“Are you okay?” Rowan’s voice is careful, his eyes scanning me like he’s bracing for impact, half-expecting me to crack right here in front of him.

I’ve had my fair share of breakdowns since moving to Seattle to live with him. Learning my parents were gone—gone without so much as a goodbye—was like the world tipped on its axis, and I was left trying to hold on to something, anything, as it spun out of control. My reaction wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t strong. It was raw, messy, and unfiltered, a collision of grief and regret I didn’t even know how to process.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I lie, my voice flat as I stare at the guitar resting across my lap. This would be a good moment to compose something, right? Pull all these feelings into something useful, something tangible. But the truth is, I lost her. I fucking lost the girl.

I swallow hard, trying to bury the ache that’s been gnawing at me since the day she walked out of my life for good. “I’m in recovery—physically, mentally,” I say, forcing a smirk I don’t feel. “This is good, you know? Her coming to search for closure. Maybe I won’t have to do the fucking twelve steps with her because she left.” My tone is clipped, an attempt at indifference that lands nowhere close.

But that’s the thing about me—well, past me. I didn’t care. About anyone or anything. Years of abuse and neglect do that to you. They hollow you out, leave you detached from your body, your feelings, your life. Philly was the only one who bridged that gap. She connected my heart to my brain, made me feel like I could be something close to normal.

And now? Now it feels like trying to build a house with no foundation. Like I’m rebuilding a life with tools I don’t know how to use and a missing piece that I can’t replace.

“It’s going to be a hell of a ride doing it without her,” I mutter, my fingers brushing the guitar strings, the faint vibrations humming against my fingertips. “But what’s the alternative?” My voice drops lower, almost to myself. “Quit? Let it all go to shit again?”

Rowan leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me carefully. “No,” he says finally. “The alternative is you figure it out. You get better. For you. Not for her, not for anyone else—just you.”

I glance up at him, the words hitting harder than I want to admit. He’s not wrong.

But then I take the chance to ask something that’s been bothering me since the first time I saw Constantine. “What about him? Are you two . . . when did it end?”

I don’t even know what to call their relationship. Constantine seemed to have some awakening or simply just fell in love with my brother. He wasn’t ready to come out to anyone but Rowe claimed it was real. Now . . .

“We both made choices. It’s been over for years. I don’t give a shit.”

“Of course you do,” I claim.

“I did, not anymore. So, are you good?”

I nod. Philly may have been my savior back then but now . . . now this is all me. This fight is mine. And it’s time I figure out how to do it without relying on someone else to light the way.