She lets out a quiet laugh, the sound soft but real, and it’s enough to make something tighten in my chest—not in a bad way, but in that gut-punching way that reminds me how much she means to me. How much this life we’ve pieced together, one fragile thread at a time, matters to me.
The conversation shifts, light and easy. We talk about her packing list, my laughable attempt at learning Spanish for a trip we haven’t even booked yet. Her eyes light up as she tells me about some ridiculous travel vlog she found, and I can’t stop grinning, caught up in her energy.
For a moment, everything feels perfect. Just us, sharing a quiet meal, catching up on the little things that make up our days. No distractions, no stress, no lingering ghosts from the past.
Just us.
But of course, just us doesn’t last long.
The chime of the doorbell cuts through the moment like a record scratch, jolting me out of our bubble. I pull out my phone,opening the app connected to the security system to see who could possibly be bothering us at this hour.
There’s a man I don’t recognize standing at the door. He looks directly into the camera. Narrowed, determined eyes glaring at whoever is watching or will watch the video.
“Open the fucking door,” he demands, his voice slightly distorted through the speaker but no less biting. “I know you kidnapped my brother, Ophelia Foster. Just hand him over, and I’ll leave peacefully.”
I glance at her. She’s already staring at the screen and begins to laugh.
“What the fuck?” I mutter under my breath, not sure what’s more unsettling, her laughing or this guy causing ruckus.
And just like that, the perfect evening is over.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ophelia
Hayden looksat me like I’ve completely lost my mind. “You’re laughing?” he asks, his voice rising with disbelief. “The guy just threatened you, and you’re laughing?”
“It’s Rowan,” I say, as if that explains everything. To me, it does. But the confusion in Hayden’s expression says otherwise. Of course, he doesn’t know Rowan—not like I do.
Relief floods through me, cutting through the tension like a crack of light through storm clouds. Rowan is here. Finally, I might get some answers—about Keane, about why no one told me he was alive.
And he might be able to explain why I’m Keane’s guardian instead of him. There has to be a good reason, right? Something logical that makes this entire situation make sense.
I don’t waste time trying to explain my behavior to Haydn. Instead, I head downstairs, my steps quick and purposeful, nerves and anticipation tangling inside me like a live wire. When I open the door, Rowan stands there, exactly as I remember—strong, confident, his broad frame filling the doorway with an almost overwhelming presence.
The moment his eyes land on me, his face breaks into a grin, warm and familiar, like sunlight piercing through a cold, gray day. Before I can even get a word out, he pulls me into a hug, lifting me off my feet in that way only Rowan could.
“Ophelia Foster,” he says with a laugh, his voice rich and warm. He spins me once, just like he used to when we were younger and all tangled up in Keane’s world—a little makeshift family, messy but ours.
Rowan. Constantine. Francine. Keane. Me. We had joined our two families and became one. Until we weren’t. Until one day, I woke up learning I had been in an accident and had lost part of my life.
Constantine never spoke about Rowan after the accident, and I never asked. Whatever broke between them stayed broken. Francine always sides with our older brother. And when Keane died, the rest of our found family fell apart with him.
When Rowan sets me back down, his hands linger on my shoulders as he studies me, his smile softening into something almost nostalgic. “You look good,” he says, his voice quieternow, thoughtful. “Better than I expected, honestly. Life with the hockey player has been good to you.”
“You know about Haydn?”
He nods, his expression calm, unreadable. “I’ve kept tabs on you. Somebody had to. Your brother’s too busy trying to keep up with . . .” He trails off with a sigh, shaking his head. “You know what? I’m not here to talk about the past. Even though it seems like the past has decided to wake up.”
My stomach knots. “How long have you known Keane was alive?”
Rowan’s face falters, a flicker of something I can’t quite place—guilt, maybe.
“You’ve known all along?” My voice sharpens, anger creeping into my tone. “And you didn’t think about telling me?”
He exhales, his jaw tightening. “I was against Mom’s idea from the start, but when the doctors said he’d probably never wake up, I went along with it,” he says, his words slow, deliberate. “After what happened, you deserved to live, find a new future.”
“We’ll agree to disagree,” I reply, my voice clipped, because I’m not going to argue with him about what I did or didn’t deserve. It was a long time ago and right now I’m not opening that box which is tucked somewhere in my mind. Plus, knowing his mother, she’d have done everything to keep me away from Keane. It would’ve killed me.
