The Sound of Forever

Chapter 55

Chapter Fifty-Five

Julianna

I sit at the kitchen table, a thick file spread out in front of me. The papers are a mess of legal jargon, bank statements, and photocopies of old documents. The faint aroma of coffee lingers in the air, though my mug sits untouched, its contents probably gone cold. The words on the pages blur together, and I blink hard, trying to focus, but it’s like swimming against a relentless current. Frustration knots tighter in my stomach with every passing minute.

Hank Nichols is my sworn enemy. His face flashes in my memory. Sun-weathered skin, calculating eyes that darted too quickly, and a mouth that formed threats with unnerving calm. He wasn’t aggressive when he showed up—no raised voice, no clenched fists. But his words landed like punches. He’d claimed to be Rayne’s uncle, and though he hadn’t said much, the promise of his return has been hunting me since he left.

Am I scared he’s going to take my kid away? Of course. The thought gnaws at me, relentless and unforgiving. She might not be my daughter, but Rayne is mine in every way that matters. Mine to care for, to guide, to love with everything I have. Mine to hold through her nightmares, to celebrate her triumphs, to protect from anything that might hurt her. Losing her isn’t something I can even begin to imagine.

A soft thud pulls me from my thoughts, and I glance toward the door just as it swings open. Keane steps inside.

“Any progress?” he asks, crossing the room in a few quick strides. He leans down, brushing a kiss against my lips, and the fleeting warmth of him is almost enough to ground me.

Almost.

I shake my head, gesturing to the mess on the table. “If by progress, you mean having at least a million new questions, then sure.”

He pulls out a chair beside me, the scrape of wood against tile grating against my already frayed nerves. Settling down, he picks up one of the documents, his brow furrowing as his eyes skim the text. The silence between us stretches, filled only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the rustle of paper under his hands.

“This picture makes me want to punch him,” he growls.

“That’s Hank Nichols, who is Steve Nichols’s brother,” I begin. I tap the page in front of me, the name glaring back like an accusation. “And Steve Nichols was . . . well, according to this, he was Elena’s boyfriend. Or at least, he was around the time she got pregnant with Rayne.”

“I wish I knew how Rowan pulled all this information.” Keane’s jaw tightens, his fingers flexing subtly as he sets the paper down. “Do we know for sure that Steve is Rayne’s father?”

“No,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “There’s no proof. Elena didn’t put a father’s name on Rayne’s birth certificate. I can’t confirm that they were together either. After Mom died, we stopped talking. Completely. I didn’t know anything about her life during those years.

“This is a copy of a trust fund Steve opened. It’s in the name of his unborn child with Elena Valencia.” I push it closer to him.

Keane leans back slightly, his expression darkening. “So, the child from his relationship with Elena. If there was indeed a child.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “If she is related to the Nichols, then Rayne is entitled to it.”

“But that doesn’t prove anything,” he says firmly, setting the document down. “A trust fund doesn’t confirm paternity.”

“Exactly.” I let out a shaky breath, leaning back in my chair and running a hand through my hair. “But if Hank pushes this—if he takes it to court—we’ll have to prove that Rayne isn’t related to them. There might be a custody battle. I’m still working with the state of Washington to convince them that I’m indeed a good mother. And winning might not as simple as it sounds.”

Keane frowns, the crease between his brows deepening. “But they can’t prove she is, either.”

“Not yet,” I say, my voice tight. “But if he’s serious, he could try to spin this into a case about what’s best for Rayne. He could argue that she deserves access to the trust fund regardless of paternity. That the Nichols should have her because they have resources—I think.”

“What’s his angle?” Keane’s tone sharpens, and he sits up straighter, his gaze locking onto mine. “Does he genuinely think she’s Steve’s daughter, or is this about the money?”

“I don’t know.” The words are bitter on my tongue, a confession of helplessness I hate making. “He said he wanted her with her family. Never mentioned a trust while he was here. That’s just what your brother dug up.”

“Well, Rayne is with family,” Keane snaps, his voice steady but his eyes blazing with anger. “With us.”

The intensity in his tone catches me off guard, and I blink, the tears I’d been holding back threatening to spill over. I glance at the pile of papers, their sharp edges and dense text blurring together. My mind races through scenarios, each one more suffocating than the last.

“We need a legal team,” I say, trying to keep my composure, though it’s almost impossible.

“Rowan already sent this to the lawyer,” Keane says, breaking the silence. “We need to gather any documents Elena left behind. Anything that could clarify who Rayne’s father really is. And if it comes to it, we’ll do the DNA test. It might be quicker to get over with it. If she’s not related this won’t drag.”

I nod, my hands trembling slightly as I reach for my mug, only to remember it’s empty. “And if Hank doesn’t back off?”

Keane’s gaze softens, and he reaches across the table, his hand covering mine. And honestly, I don’t know where I would be without this man.

“Then we fight,” he says simply. “We do whatever it takes to protect Rayne. She’s ours, Julianna. No one’s taking her from us.”

My throat tightens, but this time, it’s not from fear. He squeezes my hand gently, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a soothing rhythm. I let myself lean into the strength he offers, letting it chase away the anguish that Hank’s threat left behind.

“You’re not doing this alone,” Keane says, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m here. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you. We’re not losing Rayne. And we’ll make sure this doesn’t touch her. Not even a little.”

Tears well up in my eyes, but I blink them away, nodding as I hold his gaze. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “For being here. For . . . everything.”

He leans in, brushing a kiss against my temple. “Always. You have me. I’m always going to be here for you.”