Page 26 of The Sound of Forever
ChapterThirty
Keane
Day. . . whatever. I’m not going back to counting. Deal with it.
This is absolutely fucked up. Next door, there’s a kid with no parents and some wannabe yogi who probably thinks deep breathing and a downward dog can magically fix everything. Spoiler alert: it can’t. No matter if she studied or if she . . . well, it doesn’t matter.
It’s like the universe decided I needed a front-row seat to this disaster. I mean, seriously, who thought it was a good idea to park them here? Right next to me? I didn’t sign up to be a neighbor to a self-help manual and a . . . I don’t even know how to categorize Rayne.
She looks sad, so sad, and there’s a part of me that wants to protect her, to tell her that life will be okay. I mean, if I survived, she’ll thrive, right?
Not sure how long I’ll be able to stick around. It might be a good idea to move to Montana or Wyoming. Those states are empty, right?
ChapterThirty-One
Keane
This might bemy worst nightmare. Walking through town willingly in broad daylight while talking to my sponsor.
The sidewalks are alive, filled with people wandering in and out of small boutiques and cafes that line the streets. Planters overflowing with petunias and lavender line the walkways, and there’s an old-fashioned clock mounted on a pole near the corner store.
A couple of retirees wave at us from a shaded bench, sipping what I assume is coffee. Everything about this place screams small-town charm, right down to the hand-painted “Welcome to Luna Harbor” signs in the shop windows.
It’s picturesque. Quaint.
Did I mention suffocating?
Zeke walks beside me, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his faded denim jacket. His long strides make me feel like I’m always half a step behind, even when we’re walking in sync. I’ve known him a long time—since I first moved to Seattle, chasing the dream of starting my own band. Back then, his band, Sinners of Seattle, was huge. Untouchable, or so it seemed. Until everything fell apart.
We partied hard together—me, him, and his buddy, Rocco, who died of an overdose. May he rest in peace.
That’s why Zeke seemed like the right choice to be my sponsor. He knows the darkness I’m trying to claw my way out of, knows what it’s like to lose someone to it. He’s been my sponsor for six months now, though it’s only been in the last few weeks that I’ve started to trust him. Trust doesn’t come naturally to me. It’s a muscle I’ve torn too many times to think it’ll ever work the way it should.
“You’ve been running a lot,” Zeke says, breaking the silence. His voice is calm but carries a hint of concern, like he’s trying to gauge my mood. “Are you sure your legs can take it? Don’t overdo it, or you’ll mess up your muscles—or worse. You get my drift.”
“It’s not really running,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on the cracked pavement beneath my feet. “More like fast walking. But yeah, I’ve been doing it. Helps clear my head.”
“Does it?” He side-eyes me, his tone skeptical. “Because it sounds like you’re trying to outrun something.”
I don’t answer, and he doesn’t push. That’s the thing about Zeke—he knows when to shut up. Probably the only reason I haven’t ditched him yet.
We pass a storefront where a couple of kids are laughing over ice cream cones, their faces smeared with chocolate. Zeke nods toward them, his tone deliberately casual. “I heard from Nydia that you’ve got new neighbors. Her cousins Julianna and Rayne.”
Of course the town grapevine is in full swing. For fuck’s sake, this place is too small. Maybe getting lost in New York wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.
I tense, my jaw tightening as I shove my hands deeper into my jacket pockets. “Yeah,” I say, the word clipped. “Met them a couple of days ago.”
“What’s the story there?”
I glance at him, annoyed. “Why does there have to be a story?”
Zeke smirks like he’s won an argument I didn’t even know we were having. “You seemed annoyed as soon as I mentioned them.”
I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. “They’re okay. The kid’s quiet,” I say finally. “Doesn’t talk much. The aunt . . . she’s different. Every morning she’s out in the yard doing yoga or some shit. And sometimes she’s out there in the evening too, like she’s trying to stay in motion so she doesn’t have to sit still.”
Zeke’s gaze sharpens, his voice cutting through my defenses. “Sounds familiar.”
I glare at him. “She’s not me.”
