Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Julianna
One moment I’m baring my soul to Keane and the next Rayne’s cries pierce the air. The sound is intense and unrelenting, cutting through the stillness of the night like glass shattering. Her voice sends a jolt through me, and I’m already halfway to her room before I even realize I’ve moved.
My hands tremble as I fumble with the handle, the sobs on the other side tearing me apart. My breath catches when I finally get the door open, and I find her curled in the corner of her bed, clutching her bunny so tightly I’m afraid the seams might burst.
“Rayne,” I whisper, kneeling at the edge of the bed. My voice shakes, no matter how hard I try to keep my composure. This is about her, not me falling apart because I can’t seem to be able to help her. “It’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here.”
She doesn’t respond. Her small chest rises and falls rapidly with each sob, and her tiny frame trembles like a leaf caught in a storm. I reach for her slowly, carefully, but the moment my hand brushes her shoulder, she jerks away, burying her face into her bunny’s matted fur.
The helplessness hits me like a punch in the gut. No matter how much I want to help her, she keeps locking me out, retreating into herself.
“Is she okay?” Keane’s voice comes from behind me, low and concerned.
I glance back at him, his figure framed in the doorway. The sight of him should feel reassuring, but all I feel is frustration and exhaustion.
“That sound,” he continues, stepping closer, “it was . . .”
“Terrifying,” I finish for him, my voice flat. “And it’s not the first time.” I lower my gaze back to Rayne, her tiny sobs still shaking the air around us. “The therapist says it’s night terrors. I just . . . I wish she’d let me help her.”
Keane crosses his arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe. “Maybe it’s time to try a new therapist.”
I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “The problem isn’t the therapist. It’s her. She doesn’t want to talk—to me, to professionals, to anyone. She’s isolated in her own little world, and she won’t let anyone in.”
Keane studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You okay?” he asks, his voice low and rough, as if he’s already bracing for the answer.
I shrug, keeping my eyes on Rayne. “This isn’t about me,” I say quietly. “Does it kill me to see her like this? Sure. But it’s not about me.”
“Can I give it a try?”
I hesitate, the instinct to handle everything on my own clashing with the undeniable need for support. Finally, I nod, stepping aside to let him into the room. “I don’t know if she’ll let you near her,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “But . . . I’m out of options.”
Keane walks past me, his steps deliberate, his presence somehow soft despite his size. He kneels just inside the room, keeping a careful distance from Rayne, who’s still clutching her bunny like it is the only thing left in the world.
“Hey, Ray,” he says, his tone casual, as if he’s chatting about something as mundane as the weather. “Looks like your bunny’s been through a lot.”
Rayne doesn’t look up, but her sobs falter slightly, caught somewhere between curiosity and surprise.
“You know,” Keane continues, inching a little closer, “I had a rabbit like that once. His name was Mr. Hopsalot. Terrible name, I know, but I was five. Cut me some slack.”
A small, hiccupping laugh escapes from Rayne before she can stop it. My heart tightens, hope sparking where there was only frustration moments ago.
Keane smiles, but he doesn’t push. He stays where he is, lowering himself to her level. “Mr. Hopsalot had a tough life. He went everywhere with me—camping trips, baseball games, even concert venues when my dad was playing. That bunny traveled the world.”
Rayne peeks out from behind her bunny, her tear-streaked face half-hidden but her wide eyes locked on Keane.
“But you know what?” Keane leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Even with one chopped ear and getting left behind a couple of times, Mr. Hopsalot was always there for me. He defended me from nightmares and made me feel close to home when I was really far away.”
Rayne’s grip on her bunny loosens slightly, and she tilts her head, her tears slowing as she considers his words. “I miss Mom and home,” she says softly, her voice barely audible.
Keane nods, his expression gentle. “I bet you do. Losing people isn’t easy. I miss people too. Losing my parents . . .” He pauses, his jaw tightening briefly before he continues. “Losing my baby . . . I’m still trying to cope with that. It’s not easy. But you know what makes it less painful?”
Losing a baby? I cover my mouth trying not to make a sound. No wonder this man is so broken, but he’s not what matters right now. I focus on Rayne, who shakes her head, her brow furrowed.
“Family makes it less daunting,” Keane says, glancing at me before turning his focus back to Rayne. His voice is calm but filled with a quiet warmth that feels almost protective. “My brother and my friends—they remind me I’m not alone. That I’m loved. And that’s what your aunt is here for—to love you and make sure you’re happy. I’m here too, if you ever need to talk. At school you could make new friends . . . You’ve got people who care, sweetie. You’re not alone.”
“You think so?” Rayne whispers, her voice trembling, her small hands clutching her bunny like it’s her last anchor.
“I know so,” Keane says with a soft smile. “And I bet Fufu Flops thinks so too.”
Rayne’s lips twitch, and a faint smile breaks through. It leaves her lips just as fast as it appeared, but it’s there. A smidge of light piercing through the darkness.
Her breathing begins to slow, her earlier sobs fading into soft hiccups. The room grows quieter, but the emotional devastation lingers, thick in the air. Keane doesn’t move, doesn’t rush the moment. Instead, he stays kneeling at her level, his gaze steady on her, as though he’s waiting for her to take the next step.
Then, without warning, he begins to hum—a low, gentle tune that fills the silence. The melody is soft, almost hesitant at first, but it carries a tenderness that pulls at something deep inside me. His voice follows, low and rich, weaving words into the melody like a lullaby meant to mend shattered hearts.
The sound washes over the room, calming in a way I can’t explain. Rayne’s eyes flutter closed as her grip on her bunny loosens. Her tiny frame relaxes against the pillows, the tension in her small shoulders melting away as the song cradles her into sleep.
Keane’s voice carries so much, love, pain, hope . . . it feels as if it’s coming from someplace personal. It’s not just a lullaby—it’s a piece of him, something he’s offering to her without expecting anything in return.
The moment he finishes singing, I expect him to leave, but he doesn’t move. He sits there for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on Rayne as if he’s making sure she’s really asleep.
Keane finally rises, careful not to make a sound, and steps back toward the door. I follow him into the hallway, pulling the door closed gently behind me.
“You’re good with her,” I mumble. “And that song . . . it was beautiful.”
He shrugs. “She needed it. I mean, she said it, she missed her mom and home,” he states. “It was easy to know what she needed. Reassurance that she’s not alone. They tell you exactly what they’re feeling, even when they don’t have the words for it. Makes it easier to figure out what they need.”
I nod, wondering about the lullaby. I’ve never heard that before. Who is Keane? All I say is, “There’s a lot about you I don’t know.”
Tonight, I saw a side of him that caught me off guard—a softness, a depth I hadn’t expected from someone who usually keeps his guard so high.
He doesn’t respond, but his gaze meets mine, and for a moment, it feels like the world narrows to just the two of us. The hallway, the house, the night outside—it all fades away.
“Keane,” I say softly, breaking the silence. “Thank you. Really. And . . . I’m sorry about your baby.”
His jaw tightens briefly, the flicker of pain in his eyes unmistakable, but he doesn’t shy away. “Thank you,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Maybe I needed this. I needed a reminder that I’m not alone either.”
He straightens, a faint, almost reluctant smile flickering across his face before he turns and walks down the hall. I stay where I am, watching him disappear, my thoughts tumbling in every direction. This man is nothing like I expected.
Beneath the cracks and the guarded edges, there’s a depth that draws me in, someone worth discovering. The losses he’s endured have shaped him into someone who keeps the world at a distance, just like Ray. He’s built walls so high it feels impossible to reach him. And yet, something within me stirs—a quiet pull to push past those barriers and find the pieces of him he hides. To know the person he doesn’t let anyone see.
But how do you reach someone who’s mastered the art of staying hidden?