Chapter 10 - Keefe

*Keefe's POV*

Keefe's heart pounded as he followed Foster out of the café, his instincts screaming at him to stay close. She'd been gone for longer than he expected, and when she hadn't returned, panic had started creeping in. He'd known something was wrong, but seeing her eyes—haunted and full of pain—when she'd finally reappeared was all the confirmation he needed.

He couldn't let her face this alone. Not when it hurt so much.

He kept his distance at first, giving her space, letting her process whatever was going through her mind. He was just about to catch up when he saw her start walking faster, the tension in her shoulders tight with distress. Keefe's breath caught in his throat. Whatever had happened in there, it had completely thrown her off-balance.

Before he could reach her, Fitz's voice cut through the air.

"Sophie, wait!"

Keefe felt a flash of anger, the urge to shove Fitz away before he could hurt her any further. But he held himself back, letting her handle it, waiting to see what she'd do.

But Foster didn't stop. She kept walking, faster now, the ache in her chest palpable. Keefe could feel it, feel the raw, painful emotions emanating from her like a storm. She wasn't ready to face Fitz. She wasn't ready to deal with whatever had gone down in that bathroom.

"Please, Sophie!"

Fitz's voice came again, closer this time. "Just let me explain! I messed up, okay? I never meant for this to happen."

Keefe clenched his fists, his teeth grinding. Fitz was always a mess of emotions—always acting without thinking, always sorry afterward. But Foster didn't need his apologies. Not now, not after what she'd witnessed.

He saw Foster's shoulders tighten, saw her speed up, and knew she was about to break. He couldn't let her fall apart in front of him.

"Please, Sophie, I need to talk to you," Fitz's voice was quieter now, almost desperate.

Keefe felt her flinch, even from where he stood. He knew she wanted to ignore him, to run from the hurt, but Fitz wouldn't let her. He had to stop this—stop Fitz from hurting her any further.

"Hey, buddy. Back off."

Keefe's voice was calm, but there was a sharpness to it. He could feel the weight of his words as they cut through the tension between Foster and Fitz. Fitz wasn't allowed to approach her. Not after everything.

He saw Fitz falter, heard the frustration and confusion in his voice. "What the hell, Keefe? I need to talk to her. Let me through."

Keefe didn't move, standing between them like a wall, his stance protective. He wasn't about to let Fitz hurt Foster any more than he already had. He could feel the rage building inside him, but he held it back, keeping his focus on Foster. She was the one who mattered right now.

"Not a chance, Fitz. You've already done enough."

Keefe could feel the tension building in the air, the confusion and hurt radiating from Foster. He could tell she was on the verge of breaking, but she hadn't turned to him yet. She hadn't looked at him. He wasn't sure if she even knew he was there, but he couldn't leave her. Not now.

Fitz's gaze flickered between him and Foster. The frustration was still there, but Keefe could see the regret in his eyes. For a moment, Fitz softened, and it almost looked like he wanted to make it right. But it was too late for that.

"I messed up, okay?" Fitz's voice cracked, a little quieter now. "I need to make this right. I need to explain."

Keefe's heart twisted. He hated seeing Foster like this, hated that Fitz was still trying to justify himself. It didn't matter. No explanation could fix this.

"No, you don't," Keefe replied coldly. "You don't get to explain. Not after what you just did."

He felt Foster stiffen behind him, but she still hadn't spoken, still hadn't moved. Keefe wished she would look at him, wished she would feel his presence and take some comfort in it. But he knew she needed time. She needed space to process this, and he would give her that. But Fitz didn't get to do this to her.

"You're not going to hurt her anymore. Not while I'm here."

Keefe's voice was low, steady. He meant every word. Fitz was not going to get away with this. Not again.

Fitz's frustration shifted to something else—something deeper, but Keefe didn't care. The apology was hollow. The regret was too late. Foster deserved better.

"You don't understand, Keefe," Fitz muttered, his voice quieter. "I never meant for this to happen. I didn't mean to hurt her."

Keefe's jaw tightened. He could feel Foster's emotions swirling around them—her hurt, her anger, the overwhelming sense of betrayal. He wanted to turn around and wrap his arms around her, to tell her everything would be okay. But he couldn't. Not yet.

"No," Keefe said softly but firmly, "you don't get it. You can't undo what you've done."

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of truth. Keefe wanted to scream at Fitz, to force him to understand, but he couldn't. This wasn't his fight to fight. It was Foster's.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Foster stood behind him, still, not saying a word. Keefe felt her emotions shift, her pain still raw. He wasn't sure if she even knew he was there, but he didn't care. He was here, and he wasn't going anywhere.

Fitz took a step back, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "I'm sorry, Sophie," he muttered, barely audible.

Keefe didn't let the apology affect him. It was just words. Words that meant nothing after what he'd just done to her.

Keefe turned toward Foster, stepping a little closer to her. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was holding herself together, but just barely.

"Come on, Foster," he said softly, his hand reaching for her shoulder. "Let's go."

Foster didn't look up, but Keefe felt her nod. With one last glance at Fitz, who stood there like a lost boy, Keefe gently guided Foster away from the scene. He didn't say another word as they walked out of the café and into the cold night.

All he could think about was getting her away from this mess. Away from the pain.

And he wouldn't stop until she was okay.