There Are Never Enough Minutes - A SoKeefe Short Story

The Final Part

"Foster?" A weak voice mumbled. Sophie didn't think she'd ever sat up faster than she did at that moment, and when she met his eyes; God, when she met his eyes, she felt it all over again. She had to clench her jaw to keep from crying.

Slowly, unsure if she'd actually heard him, Sophie pulled back the white covers, slid her legs over the side of the bed, and stepped barefoot onto the cold tiled floor. "I'm here," she whispered, brushing away a mischievous tear that had slipt out.

Her legs were stiff as she walked the few feet to Keefe's cot. His eyes were still closed and he looked as if he was still asleep. Sophie wondered if she was delusional now, so in love with him that her mind was making her believe he was talking to her- that he even wanted to talk to her. Was this all fake– him waking up?

Would he ever wake up?

And if he did, who was to say that he would want to talk to her? Or even see her face becau–

"Foster," Keefe said again, this time as if her name was a breath he had been holding in, waiting to hear good news. Her name was his sigh of relief. He puffed out another breath of air, and then his eyes fluttered open.

And his eyes, oh God, his eyes. She didn't realize how much she had missed the blue wonders that they were. An icy blue, a cold color by nature, but not with Keefe. No, with Keefe it was the warmest, most welcoming, most beautiful blue she had ever seen. And she couldn't imagine them not being in her life. She was sure no one else in the world had as beautiful eyes as he did.

And she didn't want to lose them.

She finally pulled her eyes away from his and got up the nerve to answer him. "I'm here," she repeated.

It seemed to take a great deal of struggle, but Keefe smiled. He met her eyes and her heart surged up in her chest like an inflated balloon. She felt ecstatic. He had smiled at her, he was happy to see her.

He had put her life before his, and now, that he was okay, he could confidently meet her eyes and smile, dare she say, lovingly, at her.

Keefe swallowed slowly, and his eyes traveled her face as if he was memorizing it. Following the curve of her jaw, the blush on her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and at last returning to her eyes. She watched him intently the whole time, waiting for a hint. Waiting for a response to her outburst.

To her declaration.

To her confession.

Before it happened.

Then he grunted and closed his eyes briefly. He took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes once again they seemed pained with worry. He looked down at the IV connected to the top of his hand. Keefe's eyes furrowed in confusion, and he took a quick breath. In a hurry, he looked back at Sophie, then to the bed he was sitting in, and finally to the rest of the room.

He met her eyes again, his gaze questioning. He reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and then asked, "Foster, where are we?"

Now it was Sophie's turn to suck in a breath. "What do you mean 'where are we?' You... you," she couldn't bring herself to say it, "you don't remember what happened?" He nodded in agreement.

Was that why he smiled at her? He didn't remember?

"I just know that we heard gunshots. I– everything else is gone." He wouldn't meet her eyes now, and he fidgeted with the IV in his hand, making Sophie squirmish.

"You remember nothing? It's like... entirely gone?" Sophie couldn't believe it, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Was this a blessing or a curse? He didn't remember her confession– but was that such a good thing? What if, against all odds, he felt the same way? What if now, that he didn't remember, he would never know, and she would never know if there was ever a time. Keefe looked at his hands.