“Ophelia,” I clarify.
“Ah, interesting. Pia instead of Philly,” he says, as if he finds the nickname endearing.
After a long pause, he exhales, turning to me with a gaze that feels like a challenge. “It might. Or maybe it won’t. It all depends on how things develop. Fuck, I don’t know. But . . .” His voice drops, deliberate, as if he’s testing how much to reveal. “Does Constantine know about all this?”
I frown, caught off guard by the mention of Pia’s brother. “What does Constantine have to do with any of this?”
Rowan shrugs, the smirk fading into something darker. “So, he doesn’t know. Interesting.” He rubs his chin, his tone laced with bitterness. “Maybe you should ask him. I promised my parents I wouldn’t spill their secrets, but Constantine? He might be willing to share.”
A bitter laugh escapes me, unbidden. “Why is she keeping so many secrets from me?” The question is meant for me, but Rowan catches it.
“Wait, you didn’t know about Keane?” he asks, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.
“I knew she dated him,” I admit, trying to keep the frustration out of my tone. “She told me it was serious—not that they were engaged. She tried to push me away more than once because of that relationship, but she never told me the whole story.”
“Hey, at least you got that much,” Rowan says with a bitter edge. “My ex didn’t even let people know we were dating. Secrets—it’s a family thing.”
I want to tell him that I don’t give two fucks about his ex or her family. I don’t, of course. Instead, I opt for a more measured response. “Like it or not, she’s committed to helping Keane. Maybe instead of tearing her down, you could actually support her. Give her a hand when I’m not around.”
Rowan’s laugh is cold, humorless. “No offense, but you’re not family, Wesford. If I were you, I would kick both of them out of here. You’re just the guy she’s leaning on because she can’t let go. You have no idea what kind of mess you’ve walked into.”
His words hit like a low blow, but I refuse to let it show. I step closer, holding his gaze. “If you cared half as much as you pretend to, you’d stop making this harder for her and actually help.”
For a moment, Rowan’s expression flickers—something vulnerable, almost regretful—but it vanishes as quickly as itcame. Without another word, he turns and stalks off, his footsteps fading into the distance.
I close the door behind him, leaning against it for a second as I gather myself.
When I return to the living room, Ophelia is still there, standing with her arms crossed. Her face is unreadable, but there’s a tension in her posture that tells me she’s not as composed as she’s pretending to be.
“You okay?” I ask, stepping closer.
She nods, but it’s half-hearted. “He’ll come around,” she says softly, like she’s trying to will the words into truth. “It’s Keane. Rowan knows I’m the best choice to help him through this.”
“I still don’t get why you’re the guardian and not him,” I say, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
She shrugs, the motion weary. “I’ll ask him when things settle down.”
I watch her for a moment, the tension of everything left unsaid hanging in the air between us. Finally, I settle on the question that feels most urgent. “How did you end up dating Keane Stone? You mentioned Decker Records yesterday but never explained.”
She sighs, her shoulders falling just slightly. “Get some wine. This is going to take a while.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ophelia
Instead of wine,Haydn brings me tea and water for him. He’s in training mode. The pre-season is approaching fast and it’s time to focus on what he eats and drinks. It’s funny how he has all these routines and rules established.
So as I swirl some lavender honey in my tea, I try to remember what I’ve told him so far. “I told you the basicsabout my relationship with Keane,” I start, my voice softer than I intended. “Yesterday I told you how I met him. Well, we got to know each other during my internship. It took me weeks to figure out he wasn’t just some random intern like me, but the musician.” I let out a small laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “And not just any musician—but Kit Stone’s son. He hid his identity for as long as he could, mostly because I treated him like a normal person.”
Haydn leans back in his chair, his arms crossed loosely, his eyes watching me closely. He’s not pushing, not yet, but I can feel him waiting. For more. For the rest of the story. And for some reason, it makes my throat tighten. “Maybe that’s why,” I continue, forcing the words out, “after my first date with you, I wasn’t starstruck when I realized I’d gone out with the starting goalie for the Portland Orcas.”
“Not even a little?” he asks, his lips quirking into a slight smile. “Come on, I’m one of the best goalies in the league.”
That gets a laugh out of me, one that feels lighter than I expected. “Oh, I know. I know everything about hockey now—that’s what happens when you date someone who lives and breathes the sport. But back then?” I shrug. “Not really. Hockey wasn’t part of my world, and I think that’s why I didn’t freak out. It was kind of nice.”
Haydn tilts his head, his smile fading slightly. “So, did your family approve of you dating a rockstar?”
I blink at him, taken aback by the question. “First of all, he wasn’t really a rockstar. Not yet. He was just releasing his third album and starting to get noticed. Most of his fame back then came from being Kit Stone’s son.” I pause, letting the words settle between us. “I liked his music, but I wasn’t a groupie. I wasn’t even that familiar with it, honestly. I knew more about his father . . . and his mother, of course.”
