Page 48 of The Sound of Forever
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For everything. I don’t even know how to repay you.”
“You don’t have to,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Rowan has connections. If not, I would’ve paid whatever you needed to bring her here.”
I raise an eyebrow, finally looking at him. “I’m pretty sure most people don’t have a brother with a helicopter on standby.”
He chuckles, a low, rich sound that momentarily distracts me from the gnawing anxiety in my chest. “Fair point, but it’s not his. Actually, you could’ve reached out to Nydia and asked for the helicopter. Her husband is the one who has it in case he needs it.”
I frown. “How was I supposed to know? Sure, he’s part of a famous band and . . .” Then I glance at him, because he used to be famous. “Is your brother in a band too?”
He glances at me, narrowing his gaze. “Why would Rowe be in a band?”
“I mean, you were famous, why wouldn’t he be?” I respond and then realize that I’ve told him what I know.
“You know who I am?”
I open my mouth and close it. “Nydia told me a couple of weeks ago,” I respond. “If not, I would’ve never known. It’s not like I was going to tell anyone—or ask you for an autograph.”
“They’re pretty valuable, now that I’m dead,” he says, and I notice the smirk.
“Oh, you’re joking.” I roll my eyes. “Since you didn’t seem like you want anyone to . . . I’m not sure, recognize you, I just never mentioned it.”
“I appreciate it. Back in the day, most people didn’t give me that choice,” Keane says quietly, his voice low, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “It was always about the music, the fame. They wanted something.”
“I don’t,” I say quickly. “Right now, I just want my niece to be okay. But with you . . . it’s fun to have you around, even when most of the time you’re brooding.”
His lips twitch into the faintest smile. “I know. That’s why I wanted to help. You weren’t looking for anything—you were just trying to keep her safe. And for the record, I don’t brood as much as I used to.”
“Thank you for bringing us here so fast,” I say again, instead of arguing about his broodiness.
Keane’s gaze flickers toward the hallway where Rayne disappeared, his expression thoughtful, almost distant. “You remind me of my mom—on her good days,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now. “She was like that—fierce, protective. She would’ve done anything for me.”
I blink, surprised by the openness in his tone. He rarely lets people see any side about his past. “What happened to her?” I ask gently, not wanting to push but needing to know.
He hesitates, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee, the movement almost absent-minded. “She passed away when I was in a coma,” he says finally, his words clipped, as if saying them aloud still hurts. His shoulders sag.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “That must’ve been?—”
“Devastating,” he cuts in, the pain in his voice cutting me deep. “But not as devastating as waking up and realizing I’d lost five years of my life and . . .” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “My memory, among other things. It took months for pieces of it to come back.”
I reach for his hand without thinking, my fingers brushing against his. “I’m sorry for your losses,” I say softly, and I mean it. There’s so much he’s been through, and yet here he is, standing next to me, showing up when it matters.
Before he can respond, the door to the waiting room creaks open, and a nurse steps inside. “Ms. Valencia?”
I’m on my feet in an instant, my heart racing. “Yes?”
“Rayne’s stable,” the nurse says, offering a warm, reassuring smile. “The fluids are helping, and her fever is starting to come down. We’re running some tests, and the doctor will update you soon.”
Relief crashes over me, my knees buckling as I sag against the nearest chair. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Keane is beside me. His hand brushes against my arm, his touch light, but enough to remind me he’s here with me. “See?” he says softly, his voice carrying a quiet certainty. “She’s going to be fine.”
I look down at him, my eyes locking onto his, and the intensity in his gaze roots me to the spot. The world around us fades, the relief and exhaustion tangling together as he crouches so close I can sense the faint warmth of his breath. His hand rests near mine on the edge of the chair, our fingers just barely brushing, and for a moment, nothing else exists.
I can’t look away. His eyes search mine. The intensity in his gaze is hypnotic. The air between us thickens. His hand shifts slightly, the faintest brush of his fingers against mine sending a shiver up my arm.
“Jules,” he murmurs, his voice low, intimate, as if it’s meant just for me.
The way he says my name feels like a secret, like a thread pulling me closer. My breath catches as he leans in, his eyes dropping to my lips for the briefest of moments before flicking back to mine. He’s close enough now that I can see every detail—the faint freckles on his nose, the way his throat moves as he swallows, the barely restrained tension in his frame.
