Page 38 of The Sound of Forever
“I know,” I say, frustration creeping into my voice. “But it’s been months, and she’s still so . . . closed off. She barely speaks. She’s struggling in school. And most days, it feels like it’s my fault because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
Nydia reaches across the counter, her hand warm and grounding as it covers mine. “You’re doing more than enough,” she says gently. “You’re there for her, Jules. That matters more than you realize.”
I nod, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. “It’s just hard, you know? I’m trying so damn hard, but sometimes it feels like I’m drowning.”
“Parenting always feels like that,” Nydia says with a faint smile. “Even when you’ve had time to prepare for it. You’re doing the best you can, and that’s all anyone can ask.”
I take a sip of the tea, letting its warmth soothe my frayed nerves. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”
Nydia leans back, crossing her arms. “How are things with your neighbor? I saw him take one of your classes a few weeks ago, but he hasn’t been back since.”
The mention of Keane sends a ripple through me, and I quickly lower my gaze to my mug, hoping to hide the blush creeping up my neck. “He’s . . . nice,” I say carefully. “And he’s actually been helpful. Rayne likes him, and he’s good at getting her to open up—just a little, but it’s something. Have you met him?”
She shrugs. “Twice. Once when Mane’s band was playing at Too Far From a Bar, and another time when his brother dragged him to my place for dinner.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “His brother? You know him?”
Nydia smirks. “Not well, but Mane does. He knew Keane and his family from before. When he wasthe Keane Stone.”
My mouth falls open. “Wait. What? You mean . . .” My words trail off as the realization hits me. “That Keane Stone? I thought he was dead. There was a car accident . . . I remember the funeral being televised.”
She shakes her head. “Yes, that Keane Stone, but he’s alive. His parents let the public believe he was gone because they didn’t think he’d ever wake up.”
The room feels still as her words sink in. My thoughts spiral, connecting the pieces. The scars on his hands. The way he holds himself, like he’s fighting invisible battles every second of every day.
“What about the baby?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “There was no mention of a child.”
Nydia’s expression softens. “His fiancée was pregnant,” she says quietly. “The baby didn’t make it.”
I had no idea he was engaged. There’s never been any mention of him dating, just the constant presence of groupies and models orbiting him like a cliché. But I don’t say anything, just nod slowly as the pieces of Keane’s life snap together in my mind. The way he carries himself, the way he drifts through moments like he’s unsure where he fits—it all starts to make sense now.
Liking him the way I do makes even less sense now. I should stay away from him. He has a fiancée, after all. That little fact should be enough to slam the brakes on whatever confusing feelings I’ve been harboring.
Then again, I haven’t seen anyone visiting him. Not once. There’s no sign of her—no calls that I’ve overheard, no little touches of someone else in his life. Knowing this about him should make him seem off-limits, unattainable. And yet, it doesn’t.
It makes him . . . something else. Someone else.
He’s a different man now. A man who spends most of his days avoiding himself, as if the very act of living is some kind of punishment he’s not ready to escape. Don’t I tell him often enough that he should forgive himself? That he should stop looking backward and focus on what’s ahead?
And yet, here I am, the very definition of hypocrisy, standing in the middle of my own mess of feelings, completely unable to take my own advice. Because despite everything—his past, his mistakes, his fiancée—there’s a pull I can’t ignore. A pull I know I should fight, but somehow never do.
ChapterForty-One
Julianna
Probably my favoritething about practicing yoga outdoors is the sound of the water gently lapping against the shore, the soft rustling of leaves as the breeze plays through the trees, and the cheerful songs of birds greeting the day. It feels grounding, like the world finally aligns with itself, even if only for a fleeting moment.
The backyard is serene, bathed in the golden light of the Sunday sun. It’s the kind of light that seems to promise something good, like hope quietly threading itself through the air.
I roll up my yoga mat, my muscles pleasantly warm from the session, my skin glistening faintly from the effort. Practice felt different today, as it has since Keane started joining me.
“You did great today,” I say, glancing his way.
He’s a few feet away, rolling up his mat with a meticulousness that makes me smile. He treats the act like it’s some form of ritual.
This is the second week we’ve practiced together. The fact that he shows up every morning—now with his own mat—feels like a tiny victory, even if he doesn’t realize it. Seeing him like this, present and engaged in something, feels . . . refreshing. I admire his resilience.
Though, so far, I haven’t been brave enough to ask him about his old life. About the man he was before the accident, before the guilt sank its claws into him. He doesn’t talk about it, and I don’t press, even though curiosity tugs at me every time we’re together. I blame Nydia for telling me who he is.
