Chapter 54
Chapter Fifty-Four
Keane
Rayne’s soft giggles float down the hall, breaking the quiet. The faint clatter of bowls and the unmistakable sound of the refrigerator opening and closing follows right behind. Her energy is back in full force, as if the hospital stay never happened. Watching her bounce around the house again, full of life, feels like a gift for both of us—especially Julianna.
She’d been a bundle of worry, unable to relax for even a second. But now, there’s an ease in her movements, a lightness in her eyes that wasn’t there before, no matter how hard she’d tried to fake it.
I glance down at her, her body still tangled with mine, her hair a tousled mess from the passion we’ve only just shared. The sheets barely cover us, slipping down to reveal the soft curve of her shoulder and the warm, flushed glow of her skin. Her breathing is unsteady, her chest rising and falling against mine as if she’s still trying to catch her breath.
She looks up at me, her guard completely down, her lips curling into a lazy, satisfied smile that sends a warm ache through me. Her fingers trail lightly across my back, her touch soothing and intimate. I can still feel her, soft and warm, wrapped around me, and it’s almost impossible to think about letting go.
“You okay?” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her face, my voice low and thick with the weight of what we just shared.
She nods, her smile widening as she shifts slightly, her body tightening around me. “Better than okay,” she whispers, her voice soft but laced with a contentment that makes me want to stay right here, just like this, forever.
“What?” she murmurs, her voice husky and soft.
“Nothing,” I reply, leaning back against the pillows, letting the quiet of the morning settle over us. “Not sure if I have the energy to move. I just want to stay inside you forever.”
She laughs. The room is so her—cozy in a way that feels unplanned but intentional all at once. Mismatched furniture fills the space, but it works. There’s a small stack of books on the nightstand, one left open and face-down like she fell asleep mid-sentence. A cardigan is draped over the armchair in the corner, and the faint scent of lavender lingers in the air, probably from whatever lotion she used the night before.
It feels . . . domestic. Intimate in a way I haven’t experienced in years.
“So, Rayne’s up,” I say, nodding toward the door. “Pretty sure she’s taking over the kitchen.”
Julianna groans, her forehead dropping to my shoulder. “That kid is a menace with cereal. I swear, I’ll find milk on the ceiling later.”
Her words pull a laugh from me, the sound vibrating between us. My hands settle on her hips, still keeping her close, her warmth surrounding me in ways I don’t want to let go of just yet.
“I could check on her,” I offer, though I don’t move an inch. “Before she destroys the kitchen or builds a fort.”
Julianna pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, her lips quirking into a half-smile. “You’d probably join her, don’t lie.”
I grin, shameless. “Depends—are there chocolates and marshmallows in there?”
Her laugh is soft, but then her expression shifts as reality creeps back in. She gently presses her palms to my chest and slowly, reluctantly, I let her slide off me. The loss of her is immediate.
She adjusts herself, her fingers brushing over her flushed skin, and my body tightens in response. But before I can pull her back, she’s already swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.
She looks at me, her smile soft but tired. “You don’t have to. I’ll clean up and check on her in a minute.”
“I want to,” I reply simply, standing and stretching. “You stay here. Take your time.”
Her eyes soften. “Thank you, Keane.”
I nod, grabbing my clothes from the chair before heading downstairs. Rayne’s giggles grow louder as I approach the kitchen.
When I step inside, she’s perched on a stool at the counter, a bowl of cereal that’s more marshmallows than anything else in front of her. A cartoon plays on the tablet propped up beside her, and milk has already started pooling on the counter.
“Morning, Ray,” I say, leaning against the doorway with a grin.
“Keane! You stayed for a sleepover,” she exclaims, her gap-toothed smile lighting up her face. “Look. I made breakfast all by myself. Do you want some?”
“I can see that,” I reply, grabbing a paper towel to start wiping up the mess. “Looks like you’ve got enough cereal there to feed an army.”
She giggles, swinging her feet back and forth. “I saved some for Julie, too.”
“Good call,” I say, ruffling her hair as I move to the coffee machine. “But maybe let’s not drown the next bowl in milk, huh?”
Rayne beams, taking another bite, and her laughter fills the kitchen. It’s a sound I hadn’t realized I’d miss until she fell sick, when it was replaced with weak whimpers and silence. As the coffee brews, I hear the soft padding of footsteps behind me. I turn to see Julianna walking into the kitchen, her damp hair falling over her shoulders, a towel still slung around her neck. She’s wearing an oversized sweater and leggings, the kind of effortless look that somehow makes her even more beautiful.
“For you,” I say, handing her a mug of coffee as she approaches.
She takes it, her fingers brushing mine, and for a moment, the contact lingers, electric in a way that sends my pulse skittering.
“You’re spoiling me,” she teases, though her voice is warm.
“Someone has to,” I reply, leaning against the counter. “Rayne’s pretty sure she’s running the place now. Thought you’d want to know.”
Julianna laughs softly, taking a sip of her coffee. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. That kid could lead a small nation if she put her mind to it.”
I chuckle, watching as she moves to the counter where Rayne is still engrossed in her cereal. She leans down, brushing a kiss against the top of Rayne’s head before turning to clean up the trail of marshmallows.
The scene feels almost surreal, like a snapshot of a life I never imagined for myself—one I never thought I’d want. But here, in this moment, it doesn’t just feel natural—it feels right. Not long ago, Rayne wouldn’t even say her aunt’s name, and now, here they are, together in a way that feels effortless, like they’ve always been this way. Like they belong to each other.
I stay where I am, watching them, something deep inside me shifting, settling into a truth I didn’t see coming. We’re not just three people brought together by chance, casualties, or circumstances—we’re a family. The thought is as comforting as it is terrifying.
Because I know what family means. And I know what it means to lose one.
And that’s what scares me most.