Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Julianna
Probably my favorite thing about practicing yoga outdoors is the sound of the water gently lapping against the shore, the soft rustling of leaves as the breeze plays through the trees, and the cheerful songs of birds greeting the day. It feels grounding, like the world finally aligns with itself, even if only for a fleeting moment.
The backyard is serene, bathed in the golden light of the Sunday sun. It’s the kind of light that seems to promise something good, like hope quietly threading itself through the air.
I roll up my yoga mat, my muscles pleasantly warm from the session, my skin glistening faintly from the effort. Practice felt different today, as it has since Keane started joining me.
“You did great today,” I say, glancing his way.
He’s a few feet away, rolling up his mat with a meticulousness that makes me smile. He treats the act like it’s some form of ritual.
This is the second week we’ve practiced together. The fact that he shows up every morning—now with his own mat—feels like a tiny victory, even if he doesn’t realize it. Seeing him like this, present and engaged in something, feels . . . refreshing. I admire his resilience.
Though, so far, I haven’t been brave enough to ask him about his old life. About the man he was before the accident, before the guilt sank its claws into him. He doesn’t talk about it, and I don’t press, even though curiosity tugs at me every time we’re together. I blame Nydia for telling me who he is.
There are questions I want to ask, but they hover at the edge of my thoughts. Maybe I should wait for him to open up more. Will he ever tell me about it all? Who he was?
Maybe that’s why I haven’t pushed. Because I know he’s not his mistakes. Whatever he’s been through, whoever he was before, he’s working to be here now. And maybe that’s enough for today. I see it every day.
“Falling five times while trying to hold a pose isn’t . . . great ,” he says with a mocking tone. “But I’ll take it.”
Rayne’s sitting on the porch swing, her feet kicking lightly against the wooden frame, her bunny tucked securely in her arms. I’m not sure when she came outside. I was too focused on my breathing while watching Keane falling on his face. She’s still very quiet, though it’s safe to say that she’s beginning to warm up to me. She’s still reserved, though, watching more than speaking.
The teachers at her school say she’s starting to make friends. That’s a good step. I’ve been doing everything I can to help her adjust, but it’s been slow going. I offered to take her to a therapist, but she ignored me, her selective hearing working in full force.
I even had Nat, a pediatrician and one of Nydia’s friends, check on her to make sure everything was okay physically. Nat recommended a few new therapists, and Nydia’s husband even offered to fly someone in if it would help. I might take him up on that soon because I’m running out of ideas.
But she’ll talk to Keane. Every day after dinner, she’ll go out and take a walk with him. I watch them from the lounging chair, pretending I’m reading, when in fact I make sure she’s safe.
Once Keane finishes rolling his mat, he glances at Rayne. “Good morning, Ray.”
“Morning,” she responds quietly, her voice muffled as she hugs her bunny tighter.
“Were you enjoying watching me fall?” he asks, his tone light.
Rayne grins and nods, her feet swinging a little faster.
“It’s early. Have you had breakfast yet?” he continues, his tone casual, though I can’t tell if he’s stalling or genuinely curious.
Rayne shakes her head.
“We should invite you to breakfast, Keane,” I say, glancing down at the grass, my voice hesitant. I’m trying not to scare the child or the man. They’re both pretty fidgety and easy to spook. “A consolation prize for trying so many times, even when you kept falling. We’ve got eggs, bacon, and some really good maple syrup for pancakes.”
Rayne’s face lights up, her eyes wide with excitement. Even Keane looks like he’s considering it.
“I could use some breakfast,” he admits, though he shifts his weight like he’s not sure he should stay. “But I can have it at home.”
“Hey, you’ve already survived yoga,” I tease, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Might as well stay for pancakes.”
“Hard to argue with that logic,” he replies, glancing at Rayne. “You’re cooking with us, Ray?”
She presses her lips together for a moment, considering, before nodding.
The three of us head into the kitchen. We wash our hands and start gathering ingredients. Rayne pulls a stool closer to the counter, her bunny now perched on the chair beside her.
“Alright,” I say, tying an apron around my waist. “Do you want to whisk or flip?”
“Whisk,” Keane says without hesitation. “Less chance of me ruining breakfast.”
“Fair enough,” I reply, handing him a bowl and a whisk. “You can start with the pancake batter.”
He rolls up his sleeves and dives into the task, his focus surprising me. There’s something unexpectedly endearing about the way he carefully measures the ingredients, double-checking the instructions I give him as though pancakes are a high-stakes mission.
“You’re taking this seriously,” I comment, cracking eggs into another bowl.
“Cooking isn’t my strong suit,” he says, glancing up briefly. “But I’m good at following directions.”
“Good to know,” I tease, earning a small chuckle from him.
He glances at Rayne, who’s watching him intently, her head tilted as if she’s trying to figure him out. “What’s your favorite breakfast food, Rayne?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“Pancakes,” she says softly, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her bunny’s ear.
“Good choice,” he says with a warm smile. “Can’t go wrong with pancakes. Though I like crepes too. Especially the kind filled with chocolate.”
Rayne’s lips curl into a small smile, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly as she loosens her grip on her bunny.
“Okay, you’re up,” I say to her, sliding a second bowl across the counter. “Want to crack the eggs?”
She hesitates, her gaze darting between me and the bowl, but then she nods. Keane steps closer, gently guiding her with a calmness that makes me pause. “Just like this,” he says, holding an egg and tapping it lightly on the edge of the bowl. His tone is steady, patient, like he’s done this a hundred times. He sets the example, then hands her an egg. “Your turn.”
Rayne taps the egg hesitantly, the shell cracking unevenly. A small piece falls into the bowl, but Keane doesn’t flinch.
“You’ve got this,” he says, his voice warm. “Now, just scoop that piece out with a spoon, and you’re a pro.”
Rayne’s lips part in a soft giggle, light and free, and something inside me shifts. I’ve never seen her laugh like this. The sight makes my throat tighten with emotion I can’t quite name.
By the time the batter is mixed and the griddle is heating up, the kitchen smells like home—warm and inviting, a scent that wraps around you and settles deep in your soul. Keane flips the first pancake, and to my surprise, it lands perfectly, golden-brown.
“Impressive,” I say, sliding strips of bacon onto the sizzling pan.
“Beginner’s luck,” he replies, though there’s a flicker of pride in his expression.
We fall into an easy rhythm, passing plates and utensils. It’s . . . nice. Comfortable in a way I hadn’t expected. Not that I was expecting much from breakfast. It’s just a meal, but right now it feels like a family meal. Something I haven’t experienced in years.
When the pancakes are stacked high, and the bacon is crispy, we set the table. Rayne sits quietly as I pour syrup over her plate, cutting her pancakes into neat little squares. Keane watches us, his expression soft and thoughtful, a quiet intensity in his gaze that makes me feel exposed.
“She’s lucky to have you,” he says finally, his voice low.
“Thanks,” I reply, not sure what to do with the unexpected compliment.
Rayne’s giggle breaks the moment, pulling our attention back to her. She grins, a smudge of syrup streaking her cheek. Keane chuckles, reaching for a napkin.
“Hold still, sweetie,” he says, leaning in to gently wipe her face.
She doesn’t flinch or pull back. Instead, she lets him help her, the small gesture brimming with significance. Watching her let him in—even in such a seemingly insignificant way—makes my breath catch.
“You’re good with her,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
He shrugs, his gaze dropping to his plate. “Am I?” he murmurs, his voice carrying a hint of something unspoken. “I just . . .” His voice trails off, and he doesn’t finish the sentence.
We eat in a comfortable silence after that, the clink of forks against plates and the occasional joke from Keane and small giggle from Rayne filling the space.
When breakfast is over, Keane helps me clear the table while Rayne disappears into her room, her bunny tucked under her arm.
“Thanks for this,” he says, stacking plates in the sink. His voice is softer now, like he’s letting his guard down. “It . . . it was nice.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, leaning my hip against the counter as I watch him rinse the dishes. “You should come by more often. Rayne seems to like having you around.”
He pauses, his hands resting on the edge of the sink, his gaze fixed on the water swirling down the drain. For a second, I wonder if he’s going to say no.
“I’ll think about it,” he says finally, his voice quiet, almost unsure.
As he turns to leave, he glances back at me. His eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, the usual walls I’m so accustomed to seeing in his expression seem to fade completely.
“Thanks again, Julianna,” he says, his tone lighter now, but there’s something else in it too—gratitude, maybe.
“Anytime,” I say, and once he leaves, I realize I added a little too much hope to that offer.
I enjoy his company, but do I really want to have him in my space?