He sets it down on the tray, then faces me again. “I’d like to play the piece for her if it’s okay with you.”
“Of course,” I say, then kiss the top of Jenna’s head. “Any life down there?”
Killian nods. “Just a little.”
I move out from behind her and hold her upright when she tries to crumble to the mattress.
“Jenna, sweetheart, I want you to try and get out of bed on your own.” Hopefully, the movement will lend some life to her body and the new awareness will wake up her mind.
She grabs the comforter and pulls it up, trying to squirm out of my grip.
I gently try to pull the comforter off, but she holds on. “If you don’t come on your own, I’ll carry you, but I would like you to move by yourself. Can you be a good girl and do that for me? I’m right next to you.”
She hesitates, and then her fingers slowly loosen around the comforter.
“Good girl,” I croon and help her scoot her legs out over the edge.
Killian comes to stand at my side when I take Jenna’s hand and wrap an arm around her back. He tries to take her other hand, but she pulls away. Hurt draws his features tight, but he accepts her silent rejection and steps aside.
Pride swells in my chest again. For him and for her. He’s finally starting to show the emotional maturity and patience I’ve been waiting for, and Jenna takes small steps over the floor while gripping my shirt at my chest.
I keep her steady against me until we’re in the music room across the hall. Killian is right behind us, hovering close by as ifready to catch her even though I’m holding her. His protective instincts seem to have roared to life with a vengeance.
“Good girl,” I tell her when I finally scoop her into my arms and sink onto the couch with her in my lap.
Killian hesitates, then steps close and leans down to press a swift kiss to Jenna’s head before going to sit at the piano.He closes his eyes, discreetly shakes his hands in his lap, and draws a few deep breaths. He’s nervous. I can’t remember the last time I saw him nervous before playing.
The start is shaky, but then he finds his footing, and what he plays is unlike anything I’ve ever heard—from him or anyone else. His technique is flawless, as always, but the depth of emotion he imbues the music with is new—so raw and honest that it draws tears to my eyes. It’s like he’s saying all the things I have been trying to get him to say over the years, releasing all the hurt and fear I know has been stuck inside him.
I remember hearing him play the piece a few months ago and being surprised by the choice of music and the depth he played it with, hoping he was on the right track toward the greatness I’ve always imagined for him, but this goes beyond anything I could have hoped for.
I feel Jenna reacting as well. At first, it’s just her hand clutching my shirt a little tighter, then she starts quivering, and finally, she gives little jerks and shudders as if crying. There are no tears or sobs, but I take it as a good sign. She’s feeling something and reacting to it. Something’s loosening. She’s coming back.
I rock her gently and whisper quiet, unobtrusive reassurances while Killian plays. When he’s done, he just sits there, staring at the keys. His shoulders are drawn in, his head lowered. He looks nothing like the strong and confident son I know. It breaks my heart, but there’s also hope in the change, and I decide to focus on that.
“That was beautiful, Killian,” I say. “The best I’ve ever heard you play. The best I’ve ever heardanyoneplay.”
There’s no reaction to my words when he lifts his gaze, only bone-deep concern and regret. “How is she?”
I gesture my head for him to come sit with us. He does so without hesitation. The fear of showing care and affection is gone, just as quickly as his vulnerability disappeared thirteen years ago. I still remember picking him up from school one day and seeing that cold, detached look in his eyes. His stutter was gone, but the price was way too steep. I dearly hope he won’t snap back into that coldness once Jenna gets better. Because she will. I’m determined to make it so.
“Touch her,” I tell him softly.
He tentatively lifts a hand to her back and makes a slow brush with his fingers. When she doesn’t recoil, he places his hand beside her spine. I feel her breath growing more staggered. But it doesn’t seem to be despair. It seems to be relief.
“Go on,” I whisper.
He starts stroking—long soft trails down the full length of her back. When Jenna sniffles, he pauses, but I nod for him to continue. And so he does. His touch stirs a rush of emotion in her that ebbs and flows like a wave. Her chest lifts and falls, breaths lengthening, shuddering and stuttering. Her sniffles become louder, and her hands grip tighter onto my shirt.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Let it out. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe.”
“We’ve got you,” Killian chimes in, adding his other hand. “We’re here for you.”
He keeps caressing her, speaking soft words of reassurance. He becomes so fully engrossed in the task of comforting her that he seems to forget about everything else. Little by little, he moves closer, leans his head on her shoulder, eyes falling shut as he gets lost in the moment. She reacts just as gradually,softening beneath his touch, letting him take her hand, even squeezing it in return. She still doesn’t cry, but the release of emotion is palpable in her shaking breaths and stuttering chest.
“I’m here for you, Jenna. Always.” Killian draws a shuddery sigh. “Always,” he repeats with a fervor I feel beating in my own heart.
Those words seem to break through Jenna’s stiff wall of detachment. She straightens, eyes dazed as they move across the room, landing on Killian. She just stares at him for a moment, lost. And then she starts shaking her head.