51. Maeve
Maeve
I've learned quickly that living with Keaton meant learning a language no one else seemed to speak.
It wasn't words. Those came carefully and only after he'd already decided exactly which ones belonged together.
It was everything in between.
The way his jaw tightened when something unexpected interrupted his routine. The tiny crease between his eyebrows when he was mentally solving three problems at once. The way he'd straighten a picture frame every time he walked past it, even if it had only shifted enough for him to notice.
And...The tapping.
A finger twice against his thigh. A pause. Then twice again. Not impatient. Not nervous.
Thinking.
Usually because something in his head refused to come out the way he wanted it to. I'd watched him do it enough over the last few days to know better than to interrupt immediately. If I gave him a minute, he'd usually find the words.
The guest room is quiet except for the soft zip of the duffel bag he'd packed with almost military precision. Every shirt folded exactly the same. Every magazine counted before it disappeared into the side pocket. Phone charger. Extra batteries. Medical kit.
He'd packed the bag in less than four minutes. He'd spent the last fifteen standing in front of it.
Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap.
I sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed, watching him pretend to reorganize items that had already been organized. "I'll be okay."
He nods without looking at me. "I know."
"You don't sound convinced."
"I am."
Tap. Tap. He adjusts a zipper that was already closed.
"I can go stay with my parents."
Another nod. "Yes."
"Or Rachel."
That finally earned me a glance. "Rachel has invited you twelve times."
I smile. "She'd love having me."
"I know."
"She'd probably make cookies."
"I know."
"And she'd make me watch terrible reality television."
"I know."
"So..." I wait. "I'm going to be fine."
His eyes drift back to the bag.
Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap.
There it is again. Not louder. Not faster. Just...stuck.
I watch him stand there another several seconds before I finally slide off the bed. The hardwood feels cool beneath my bare feet as I cross the room. He doesn’t notice me until I am standing directly in front of him.
Or maybe he noticed. Maybe he was simply somewhere else inside his own head.
Gently, I reach up and cup his face between my hands. The same way I had that night he saved me.
His eyes lift to mine immediately. The tapping stopped.
"What is it?" I ask softly.
"I don't like leaving."
"I know."
His shoulders rise with a slow breath before falling again. "I'll only be gone a few days."
"I know."
His gaze searches my face as though he is trying to determine whether I actually understood what he is saying.
I smile. "Taibhse..." His eyes close for the briefest second. "What are you not saying?"
Silence. I don’t rush him. I'd learned that, too. If Keaton is searching for words, it wasn't because he didn't want to answer. It was because he wanted to answer correctly.
His fingers find his thigh again. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap.
I reach down and cover his hand with mine before he can start again.
The movement stops immediately. "You don't have to get the words perfect."
His eyes lift to mine. "I know."
He is quiet for another several seconds. Long enough that I wonder if he'd decided not to say whatever had been keeping him trapped inside his own head.
Finally… "If..." He frowns almost immediately. "No." His gaze drifts toward the floor. "That's not how I want to ask."
I wait.
He draws a slow breath. "If, while I'm gone..." Another pause. "...you decide you'd rather stay somewhere else..." The words sound painfully deliberate, as though each one had been inspected before being allowed out into the room. "With your parents."
"Rachel."
"Anywhere."
His eyes finally find mine again. "Would you let me know?"
I blink.
"So I know where to find you?" He shakes his head once.
"So I know where you are." His fingers twitch beneath mine.
"I don't..." He stops again. The muscles in his jaw tighten.
"I don't want to come home and spend hours trying to determine whether something happened to you...
" Another pause. "...or whether you simply decided you didn't want to be here anymore. "
The room falls completely silent. My heart breaks so quietly I am sure he heard it. He wasn't asking me to stay. He wasn't asking for a promise. He'd already accepted that leaving was a possibility.
He was only asking me to let him know so he didn’t worry.
For just a second, I simply look at him. At the worry he isn't trying to hide. At the way he's already accepted that I might leave. That somehow hurts more than anything else he's said.
Slowly, I rise onto my toes. His eyes widen ever so slightly as I cup his jaw and press a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth.
When I pull back, I don't go far. "Taibhse..." His eyes close. Just for a heartbeat. "I would absolutely tell you."
His brow furrows. "If I ever thought I wanted to leave... I'd tell you."
I smile softly. "You'd never have to wonder where I was."
Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, but not enough.
So I keep talking. "I'm actually hoping you'll let me stay."
His eyes meet mine again.
"I..." I laugh quietly, suddenly feeling much more vulnerable than I expected. "I kind of like being here."
His expression doesn't change, but I've learned enough about Keaton to know that doesn't mean he isn't feeling anything.
"I like being around you." The words come easier now. "You make me happy." I watch him swallow. "You make me feel safe." Another tiny shift. "And..." This one feels bigger somehow. "You make me feel seen." The room falls completely silent. "I don't think I've ever really felt that before."
Not with Ronan. Not growing up. Maybe...Not ever.
I reach for both of his hands, threading my fingers through his. "So..." I squeeze them gently. "If it's okay with you..."
A smile finds me before I can stop it. "I'd really like to be here when you come home." His fingers tighten around mine. "And..." I tilt my head just enough that he has to look directly into my eyes. "I'd like to stay for as long as you'll have me."