And in this moment, clarity slices through the fog of panic, and I already know what I'm going to see.
I've known for a while. Maybe since the first time he said my name like it meant something. Maybe since shitty reception and good coffee. Maybe since the garden. Or when he looked at Hale with an intensity that made no sense for a stranger.
Maybe I've always known.
I just wasn't ready to believe it.
"Take them out," I say again. My voice doesn't waver this time. "Let me see you."
He looks almost relieved. I drop my hand and watch him tilt his head back, fingers pressing against one eye, then the other. The contacts come out silently. He holds them in his palm like the final piece of a mask he's been dying to tear off.
When his head drops back down, his eyes are closed.
My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my temples.
Open them. Please.
His lashes lift, and my mouth drops open.
Gray. Not brown.
The color of storm clouds gathering over Dublin Bay. The color of the rain that soaked through my clothes the first night he kissed me.
The color I gave to our son.
I'm speechless.
The bathroom tilts. The walls close in. The universe narrows toa single, impossible point—this man, this face, these eyes I thought I'd never see again.
"Tristan."
His name falls out of me like the first breath after drowning.
"Hi, Red."
Two words that change everything.
He came for me.
After everything I did. After the lies. The silence. The years of letting him believe the worst—that I set him up that day and chose someone else. That I wanted this and left him behind without a backward glance.
He came anyway.
I crumple forward, and he catches me, arms wrapping around my body like he's trying to hold me together, like he's afraid I'll dissolve if he lets go. And maybe I will. Maybe I'm already fading.
Maybe I've been in pieces for years, and I just didn't notice until this exact moment, when someone finally showed up to help me find them.
"You're here." I fist my hands in his shirt. "You'rehere."
"I'm here, Keira. I've got you."
"How long?" I pull back, wanting to watch his face. "How long have you been?—"
"Months." His jaw tightens. "I've been searching for months. Three feet away from you for weeks, and I couldn't—" He stops, trying to collect himself. "I couldn't tell you. I couldn't touch you. I had to stand there and watch him…I'm so sorry."
And that's when I realize he's been drowning too.
Different water. Same depth. Both of us gasping for air in a world that forgot we existed.
