Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Keane
You know what I need to learn? How to stay in my lane. But how can I when my neighbors are close to my property looking like they’re losing their best friend?
Of course I had to see what the problem is, give them a hand.
There’s no real problem. We have a kite that has seen better days. The string is a tangled mess of string and fabric that should be in the trash can. I’m not even sure it’s fixable, but Rayne’s wide, hopeful eyes make it impossible to say no. She’s perched on a patch of grass by the lake, her stuffed rabbit by her side, and her small hands fidgeting with a stray piece of string.
Julianna stands close enough. It’s like she’s afraid of the kid, or afraid of what she could do to her. I don’t understand their relationship.
“We could buy you a new one,” I offer.
Rayne’s eyes open wide, her hands tightening around the rabbit. “Mommy always fixed it.”
Oh, so the mom is involved in some way or another. I glance at Julianna. She doesn’t say anything, but her posture is tense. She’s probably afraid the child will bolt any minute now. I let out a slow breath and crouch down, spreading the kite out on the grass. That’s when I realize that the frame is bent, the fabric slightly torn, and the string . . . well, the string is a disaster.
“Alright,” I say, more to myself than to her. “Let’s see what we can do.”
Rayne leans forward, her eyes locked on the kite as I start untangling the string. My fingers work slowly, the fine movements harder than they should be. The old injuries in my hands make tasks like this a challenge, but I’m too stubborn to admit it. I’ve dealt with worse.
“You don’t have to do this,” Julianna says, her voice soft but firm. She steps closer, crouching beside me. “I can figure it out.”
“It’s fine,” I mutter, keeping my focus on the knots in front of me. The string digs into my fingers, and I can feel the familiar ache starting to build, but I ignore it.
“You’re struggling,” she says quietly, her eyes narrowing as she watches my hands. Her voice isn’t accusing, just observant, maybe even concerned. But it still makes me bristle.
“I’ve got it,” I say, a little louder than I intended. “Almost there,” I tell her, though it’s a lie. The knot isn’t budging, and my hands are starting to tremble from the effort. “Have we thought about the tear in the fabric though?”
Julianna doesn’t acknowledge me. Instead, she shifts her focus to Rayne, her tone softening. “Why don’t you show me how it flies when it’s fixed?” she asks, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Rayne’s face.
Rayne nods, her expression brightening slightly. “It goes really high,” she says. “Like up to the clouds.”
Julianna smiles, but her eyes drift back to me, and I can feel her watching. I’m not used to being under this kind of scrutiny, and it makes my skin itch. Still, I keep working, even as my fingers fumble and the ache turns into a dull throb.
“Let me help,” Julianna says finally, reaching for the string.
I hesitate, then hand it over, flexing my fingers as she takes it. The relief is immediate, but it’s quickly replaced by a mix of frustration and embarrassment. I’ve spent months trying to rebuild my strength, trying to feel like myself again, and moments like this make it painfully clear how far I still have to go.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Julianna says, her voice low and firm. She doesn’t look at me, her attention focused on the tangled string in her hands. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep this up.”
“I’m fine,” I reply automatically, but the words sound hollow, even to me.
Her gaze flicks to me then, searching and unrelenting. “Are you?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I turn to Rayne, who’s watching us with quiet curiosity, her hands resting on her lap. “We’ll get this fixed,” I tell her, putting a forced certainty into my voice. “It might take longer than I thought, but we’ll get there.”
She nods, and for a moment, a flicker of a smile crosses her face. It’s small, barely there, but it’s enough to take the edge off my frustration.
“What happened to your hands?” Rayne asks suddenly, her gaze dropping to the scars that line my knuckles and trace the backs of my fingers.
The question lands hard, freezing me in place. Julianna’s head snaps up, her expression shifting, caught between concern and caution.
“Rayne,” she starts, her voice careful.
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, holding up a hand to stop her. I meet Rayne’s wide, curious eyes and force my voice to remain calm. “I was in an accident a while back. It left some scars, that’s all.”
“Does it hurt?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.
“Sometimes,” I admit, my voice softening. “But it’s getting better.”
She nods, seemingly satisfied, and turns her attention back to the kite. Julianna doesn’t look away, though. Her gaze stays on me, studying me, as if she’s trying to understand more than I’m willing to share.
“Here,” she says finally, holding out the untangled string. “You can work on the frame. I’ll handle this.”
Grateful for the shift, I take the frame from her. The wood is splintered, but the damage isn’t beyond repair. I grab the roll of tape beside Rayne and start patching it up, focusing on each small fix.
“You’re good with your hands,” Julianna says casually.
“Used to be,” I say without looking up. “Not so much anymore.”
“You’re better than you think,” she replies. The comment catches me off guard, but when I glance at her, her attention is back on tying the string. Her movements are sure, methodical.
“What if we buy new string?” she suggests. “We could probably order it online.”
“That’s not what Mom would do,” Rayne interjects, her voice firm.
Julianna sighs but doesn’t argue, letting it drop. The three of us work in silence, the soft rustle of the breeze and the occasional cry of a bird filling the space. When the kite is finally pieced back together, Rayne’s face lights up, her grin wide and unguarded.
“You want to try it out?” I ask, holding the kite out to her.
She nods eagerly, taking it and running toward the open grass near the lake. Julianna and I watch as she tosses it into the air, her laughter ringing out as the kite dips, wobbles, and then catches the wind, climbing higher with each gust.
“Not bad,” Julianna says, a small smile playing on her lips. Satisfied with our handiwork and maybe with the small moment she spent with her niece.
“Not bad at all,” I reply, watching Rayne’s joy ripple through the moment. For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a faint sense of possibility—fragile, but there. “Maybe we should buy her a new one. Tell her a story she’ll love, something that’ll make her want to replace it.”
“Good luck convincing her.”
“Maybe I’ll try,” I say, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth, my eyes lingering on hers just a moment longer than necessary. “After I buy it.”
Her lips curve slightly, a playful glint in her eyes. “You don’t have to, you know,” she says.
“Oh, but I definitely want to,” I reply, leaning just a little into the moment, testing the spark of connection between us.
Her gaze holds mine, and for a moment, the air between us seems to shift, thick with something I can’t quite define. She looks away first, her smile softening.
“I’ll see you around, Julianna,” I say, the words feeling less casual than they should.
“See you around, Keane.”