I lead her to the edge of the terrace, where the view of the lake stretches wide, infinite. The lights wrap around us, their glow catching in her eyes as she turns to look at me. And just like that, I’m sure. More sure than I’ve ever been about anything in my life.
“Pia,” I begin, my hands finding hers, holding them gently but firmly. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About what we’ve been through, what we’ve built, and what’s still ahead of us. And I keep coming back to one thing.”
Her brows knit slightly, and she tilts her head, her lips curving in that small, curious smile I love so much. “What’s that?” she asks.
“You,” I say simply. “It’s always been you, Pia. From the moment you walked into my life, you’ve been the constant. Even when we were apart, you were the piece of my world I couldn’t let go of.”
Her lips part, but no words come. Her eyes glisten, reflecting the light, and I take that as my sign to keep going.
“I’ve spent my life chasing dreams,” I continue, my voice thick with emotion. “Hockey, success, the next big goal. But none of it ever felt complete until you. You make everything brighter, everything better. And I know I don’t need to chase anymore. I’ve already found what matters most.”
I release one of her hands and reach into my pocket, pulling out the small velvet box. Her breath catches, her eyes widening as I lower myself onto one knee. The world around us fades, and it’s just her, me, and this moment.
“Ophelia Foster,” I say, my voice trembling but steady with purpose. “You are my heart, my home, my forever. I promiseto love you through every moment—good, bad, messy, and beautiful. Will you marry me?”
Her gaze locks on mine, and for a heartbeat, I can’t breathe. Then she nods, tears streaming down her cheeks, her laugh breaking through the quiet like the sweetest music.
“Yes,” she whispers, her voice cracking with emotion. “Yes, Haydn. A thousand times, yes.”
I slip the ring onto her finger, a perfect fit, and rise to my feet, pulling her into my arms. Her hands cup my face as she kisses me, slow and deep, like she’s sealing the promise we just made.
As we stand there, wrapped in each other under the glow of the lights, the lake shimmering behind us, I know this is it.
This is everything.
She is everything.
My forever and my all.
Keane’s Epilogue
It’s been a year since I woke up.
A year since I realized my life had crumbled, leaving me standing in the ruins, unsure how to rebuild. The guitar rests across my lap, a piece of my past I’m trying to reclaim, as my fingers hover over the strings. The notes don’t flow as effortlessly as they once did, but they’re there, finding their way back to me.
Progress.
I strum a few chords, rough but recognizable, the melody of something new taking shape. Music has been my connection to everything that makes sense, even now when it feels more like a fragile thread than the solid foundation it once was. My hands still tremble sometimes, my body still resists the smallest movements, but I’m here. I’m trying.
A stack of mail sits on the edge of the coffee table, mostly ignored until now. Bills, advertisements, and one envelope with Rowan’s name in fancy handwriting. Curiosity gets the better of me. I set the guitar aside carefully and tear it open. Inside is a photo, glossy and vibrant, one I wasn’t expecting to see.
Philly.
My Philly.
Except she isn’t mine anymore. She’s standing next tohim. Haydn. The guy who figured out how to make her smile in ways I never could. They’re on a beach, her hair caught in the breeze, her hand resting lightly on his chest. And there it is. The ring. The announcement I didn’t know I’d been dreading but expected all the same. They’re getting married.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my hair. My chest feels tight—not the physical kind, but the kind that makes breathing a little harder, like the air in the room isn’t enough.
“Something wrong?” Rowan’s voice cuts through my thoughts, casual but curious as he leans against the doorway.
I hold up the photo, not bothering to hide it. He steps closer, his sharp eyes scanning the image. His jaw tightens briefly, then relaxes. “I don’t understand why you let her go,” he says, his tone somewhere between disbelief and disappointment. “Why pretend you didn’t recognize her?”
Only Rowe and I know the truth. I did remember her. It happened when Constantine came into Haydn’s house that all the memories of her flashed through. It was like watching amovie. A very fucked-up movie that suddenly hit me too hard. A girl who loved too much and a man who loved but couldn’t do it the way she deserved.
I snort. “You think I didn’t want to hold on to her? That I didn’t want to say something when she came for closure?”
“Then why didn’t you?” Rowan counters, crossing his arms. He’s staring at me now, waiting for an answer, like he always does.
