𝖓𝖔𝖗𝖆

W E E K T W O // T H U R S D A Y 1 : 5 8 P M

The whole drive back to your house, your mind was spinning with thoughts, theories, possible explanations, and everything in between. The call from your mother—her restrained nervousness, that underlying panic in her voice—had completely unsettled you.

And on top of that, you were the one driving.

Yeah. You.

Not Rafe behind the wheel of his big, expensive Benz—you. Because this idiot had decided to do coke earlier. And even if he claimed it had only been one line—which you didn’t fully believe, considering how he’d looked when you arrived—you weren’t about to risk him getting pulled over by the cops in that state.

Even though he’d been absolutely against it (“fuck that, no, I ain’t letting my girl chauffeur me around like some loser, that’s my job”), you had insisted. Maybe a little too harshly, because your nerves were shot.

Maybe he’d also just been worried you’d scratch or dent the car, but in the end, he gave in and let you take the wheel of his precious vehicle.

It was automatic anyway. A baby could drive that thing.

Still, it was hard to keep your focus on the road. Whatever was waiting for you at your parents’ house, it couldn’t be anything good.

Your first thought had been that your fake relationship had been exposed. But what reason would there be for that? Only you and Rafe knew about the act. And more importantly, why would your mother react with that level of tension? Confusion would’ve made more sense than genuine worry.

Rafe, on the other hand, thought Ruthie had sent the coke video to your parents. That would explain the panic, at least. And as unpredictable as that bitch was, it still didn’t fully make sense. Why would she say she’d show it during the meeting with Ward and Mr. Whitmore, only to randomly send it to your parents instead?

Then again… maybe that was exactly her game. Being unpredictable.

"Red light ahead."

Another possibility was that something family-related had happened—maybe someone close had died—but then why would they want Rafe there too?

The thought that something had happened to Nacho didn’t even fully form in your head. You shut it down immediately.

“Y/N, RED!”

You slammed on the brakes immediately, the car jerking to a stop right in front of the stop line. The seatbelt dug into your chest, pushing you back into the seat as you let out a shaky breath, a nervous chuckle slipping past your lips while a massive truck roared through the intersection.

“Sorry,” you said, daring a quick apologetic side-eye at Rafe.

His skin looked a little pale—though, to be fair, he’d looked like that since lunch, sooo...—his pulse visibly jumping in his throat. “You do have a driver’s license, right?”

You let out a small laugh, your own heart still hammering from the near-death experience. Whoops. “Eh, maybe.”

“Let’s not fucking crash my car, yeah?” He exhaled tensely, dragging a hand through his hair and messing it up even more. “Already got enough shit to worry about.”

“Hey, watch your tone, Mister,” you shot back with mock firmness, pointing a finger at him. “Or I’ll give you another reason to worry.”

Rafe scoffed, nudging your hand away. “It’s green, you idiot.”

“What happened to ‘baby’?” you asked, trying to hide your grin as you eased the car forward again.

It bothered you more than you wanted to admit. You’d gotten so used to his pet names that hearing something neutral felt… off.

IT’S BEEN FOUR DAYS, GIRL. CHILL OUT.

“Hm?” His voice dripped with amusement. “What did my baby say? Couldn’t hear her over the loud voices in her head.”

Good one.

You forced a frown, though your cheeks warmed anyway. “You're the idiot.”

And truth be told, he was. That became painfully obvious the moment you pulled into your driveway.

Because guess what?

Your mother was already standing at the door, her expression tight and uneasy. She greeted you with a soft, strained “Hey, Sweetie,” while Rafe got a tense smile.

Inside, your dad was waiting in the dining room.

And what awaited you there wasn’t the announcement of a dead relative, or questions about your relationship, or even the dreaded coke video.

No.

It was almost worse than that.

Lying neatly on the wooden dining table was Rafe’s old gym jacket, the one he’d lent you yesterday. Folded into a perfect square.

And next to it?

About a gram of cocaine.

The white powder sat there in a small transparent baggie, impossible to miss.

You were fucked. Plain and simple, you and Rafe were both screwed.

My life is over. I can start preparing for boot camp now.

“Mary found it,” your mom explained, breaking the silence first, her fingers fidgeting nervously. “She wanted to remove any valuables before putting the jacket in the washing machine. She said it was inside an inner pocket.”

Your housekeeper’s thoroughness had always made her such a comforting presence in your home. But this one time, it completely backfired on you.

A part of you felt betrayed that Mary had gone straight to your parents with it—you’d always had a trusting relationship. But another part of you understood. Maybe because she’d known you since you were in diapers, she got worried and felt obligated to tell them.

Still, you wished she had come to you first.

“I think we’re all aware of what that is,” your dad said calmly from the other side of the table, leaning his arms against the back of a stool. His eyes stayed fixed on the baggie. “There were kids in my senior year who liked to indulge in party drugs too. But—”

“It’s mine.”

Your head snapped to the left at the sound of Rafe’s voice.

He stepped forward, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Gesturing between the coke and the jacket, he added, “Both are mine.” His anxiety showed in the way his fingers dug into his palms, but his voice stayed almost perfectly steady. “I gave Y/n the jacket last night because it was cold. I didn’t check what was inside.”

WHY WOULD HE ADMIT THE BAGGIE WAS HIS? JUST BLAME SOME RANDOM FRAT GUY FROM SCHOOL.

But you couldn’t even get a word out. Too many emotions and thoughts were crashing through you at once—shock that you were even in this situation, anger at Rafe for being careless, panic over what would come next and how you were supposed to fix this.

Because if your parents told Ward, you were done.

“We figured as much,” your father replied to Rafe’s admission, a faint, almost sad smile tugging at his lips as he met his gaze. “It’s not like Y/n to keep or use something like that.”

Then his eyes shifted to you, expectant, waiting for a reaction, maybe confirmation. “Unless her curiosity got the better of her.”

You forced yourself to shake your head. "N-no. Of course not. I'd never... I swear I never even thought about it."

You had. Once. Not because you were some follower or thought it was cool, no, purely out of curiosity. What it actually did to you. What effects one little line of white powder would have on your body and mind. More than anything, you’d wondered what it even felt comparable to.

But actually trying it? You were way too scared for that.

Coke wasn’t weed. And you were already far too aware of the inner mechanics of your own body. You didn’t need some full-on horror death trip on top of that.

“That’s reassuring to hear, Honey,” your mom said, letting out a soft sigh of relief. “And we trust you, I hope you know that. But we’re still worried.” Her gaze shifted over your shoulder toward Rafe, her brows furrowing with concern. “About both of you.”

That seemed to catch him off guard. His steady expression shifted, revealing something more raw underneath.

Your father nodded from behind the stool. “You are a good boy, Rafe. We can feel that. And I’m sure your intentions with our daughter are pure. However, as her boyfriend, you carry a certain responsibility. We do not want her in an environment that could harm her. You understand that, right?”

“I understand, Sir.” Rafe’s voice wavered slightly. “It was a careless mistake. I would never want to hurt Y/n in any way. I swear.”

“I believe you,” your dad said, stepping around the table and stopping in front of him. “But cocaine isn’t a joint or a cigarette. It’s a hole that only grows deeper, making it harder for the person inside it to climb back out until eventually there’s no way out at all.” A sad smile tugged at his lips. “And usually the damage spreads, causing the people closest to suffer alongside the user. Trust me, I know that better than most. I lost a friend to cocaine, and the pain of that loss never really leaves.”

Rafe hadn’t even outright admitted to using it, but your father knew anyway.

Maybe he’d simply guessed correctly and taken Rafe’s silence as confirmation. Or maybe his trained eye recognized the signs of cocaine withdrawal in the state Rafe was in physically.

As a doctor, he probably noticed symptoms you yourself hadn’t even picked up on. And Rafe likely knew there was no point trying to deny it.

“So please know that we didn’t ask you here to scold you or yell at you,” your father continued, gently placing a hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “We’re just parents worried about another child’s well-being. And we know punishing you won’t help. What we need is honesty and truthfulness. Do you understand that?”

Rafe nodded quickly, anxiety and tension now written all over his face and posture. “I understand, Sir. I do.” Raw desperation leaked into his voice. “But please don’t tell my dad, okay? He’d never understand. He’d be furious, wouldn’t even hear me out, he’d…” His chest rose sharply. “I don’t even know what he’d do.”

You could imagine a few things, but your brain refused to give those thoughts any space.

Over Rafe’s shoulder, your mom and dad exchanged a quick glance. Maybe it was the fear in his voice that alarmed them too. Because no boy should sound that terrified of his own father.

“He certainly wouldn’t be amused. That much is clear.” Your dad gave Rafe’s shoulder a small squeeze, his face softening with sympathy. “For now, we are not going to tell your father. But we need to understand a few things so we can assess the extent of the situation, okay?”

Rafe nodded again, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Okay. Yes. I understand.”

“Good,” your dad said, letting his hand fall away before picking up the baggie from the table. “I’m going to assume you purchased this from someone and aren’t producing it yourself.”

ANSWER SMART PLEASE.

So far your parents only believed Rafe was using the stuff. They had absolutely no idea he was dealing too. And if they found that out? Then you doubted they’d stay this calm and understanding.

“No, Sir, I’m not producing it myself. Wouldn’t even know how,” Rafe said, scratching at his jaw as he let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “I got it from some guy at a party.”

Okay. Yes. That was good.

Your mother crossed her arms. “That Statter boy’s party?” She looked toward you. “You attended that one too, right?”

Uh...

Panic flared inside you, a strained smile creeping onto your lips. You had no clue what answer would cause the least damage for Rafe. And you definitely didn’t want to accidentally drag Kelce into this by implying there’d been some drug dealer openly dealing at his party.

Especially considering Rafe WAS the drug dealer.

“No, Ma’am, not that one,” Rafe answered before you even could, his voice unnervingly steady now. “It was from the weekend before that. Y/n wasn’t there. And even if she had been, I would never have dragged her into this in any way.” He shot you a quick glance. “This is my mess to deal with, not hers.”

Warmth spread through your chest at the fact that he was actually trying to protect you.

Like, okay, yeah, honestly this was fully Rafe’s problem. His addiction had existed long before the two of you got this close. And you yourself had nothing to do with the drug either.

Still, it was sweet how he had your back.

Your mom uncrossed her arms, clasping her hands neatly in front of her skirt. “Is that true, Sweetie? You’ve never been involved in any…” She searched for the right word, brows furrowing slightly. “Substance exchange or dealing?”

“No. Never,” you answered without hesitation.

That was the truth. Technically.

Cara and Barry’s weed exchanges didn’t count in your head because that wasn’t the drug in question. And—

Oh wait, you had.

At Barry’s pawn shop on Saturday. Rafe had handed over the money he’d made from dealing and Barry—or well, that older woman working with him—had given him a fresh supply.

At least that’s what you assumed had happened. You couldn’t properly remember the details anymore besides the anxious conversation afterward in Rafe’s car.

“Are you a regular partygoer then, Rafe?” your dad asked, not a single ounce of judgment in his voice.

Rafe nodded. “Yes, Sir. But it’s not like… a hobby or anything.”

Your dad let out an amused huff. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying yourself.” He tilted his head curiously. “What are your hobbies then?”

The nerves prickled beneath your skin.

This was an interrogation. Not the Ward Cameron kind, but an interrogation nonetheless. Your dad meant well. He wanted to figure out how serious Rafe’s drug problem was without outright cornering him about it.

But it still felt nerve-wracking.

And Rafe was visibly thrown off by the casualness of the question being slipped in beneath the looming topic of fucking cocaine.

“Uh… I go to the gym like four times a week,” he said, rubbing at his jaw while thinking. “Video games sometimes. And, uh…” A nervous chuckle escaped him as he struggled to continue the list, a faint blush already creeping onto his cheeks. “I have a bike I like riding, and golfing’s kinda my thing too.”

Right. That’s where he got the bruise from.

At least that was the excuse he’d given your dad last weekend.

And your father seemed to remember. He smiled faintly. “Golfing, huh? Yeah. It’s not bad. The Country Club here has nice courses.” He shrugged lightly. “But the sport’s far too boring and slow for my taste. It’s mostly rich old men discussing business deals while pretending to play a game. Never really felt connected to that crowd.”

That genuinely made Rafe stall for a solid five seconds.

Like your father had just flipped his entire worldview upside down.

Golfing is shit? What? No way. How can he say that? I was practically born holding a golf club. Dad said it’s what good Kook boys enjoy.

Something along those lines was definitely happening inside his head.

“Tennis, on the other hand,” your dad continued, “that’s a sport I can get behind. Have you tried it?”

Rafe shook his head, still looking slightly thrown off. “No, Sir.”

“A shame.” Your dad clicked his tongue with a small smirk and looked between you and Rafe. “Did you two have a date planned today?”

Oh!

You immediately knew what he was doing.

Isolating Rafe from you to get a proper private moment with him. Maybe get him to open up more. Maybe get him to admit things he’d be too guarded to say in front of other people.

It was some kind of educational doctor-working-with-kids method.

And this could either end with Rafe basically being banned from your house and your general vicinity…

Or it could work massively in his favor.

So before he had the chance to come up with some lie about an imaginary date, you quickly shook your head, smiling innocently. “We were just driving around for a bit before we came here, but we didn’t actually plan anything yet.”

“So you’re free this afternoon?” your father asked, turning toward Rafe with a raised brow.

Rafe looked between you and your dad, absently fiddling with the bracelet around his wrist. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve got an important meeting later I need to attend, but besides that…” His brows furrowed slightly. “Why?”

“A meeting?” your mom spoke up now, and you instantly disliked the faint disbelief in her tone. She clearly thought he was making up an excuse. “What kind?”

You shot her a slight glare. “Mom, c’mon.”

“Oh, that’s alright, I wouldn’t want to keep him too long anyway,” your dad said smoothly, redirecting the conversation before it could turn awkward. “I was thinking we could head to the Country Club. Show you the tennis courts and have a little talk without taking up the ladies’ time.”

A little talk. Uh-huh.

And honestly? It would probably do him good.

You highly doubted Ward ever truly took time for his son. Took him somewhere without it revolving around business, or showed genuine interest in Rafe as a person. It was painfully obvious that Rafe lacked a proper fatherly presence in his life.

And even though the minions in your head were currently spiraling in panic, Rafe’s situation realistically couldn’t get much worse.

Your parents already knew he did coke. Even if he admitted to dealing too, would it really make that huge of a difference?

Well yeah, kinda.

Selling drugs to teenagers who then used them themselves wasn’t exactly the most honorable thing imaginable, but…

Rafe was still his own person. Whatever he chose to reveal was his decision. You couldn’t and didn’t want to mother him, even if everything inside you screamed to protect this stupid boy from more awful situations.

So you stayed quiet, giving him the space to decide for himself.

“Now?” he asked, visibly confused while the coke baggie still sat right there on the table, his gaze flickering between your parents as if expecting your mother to object.

But she simply nodded, her previously defensive expression softened into something more empathetic. “A distraction would probably do you good. And I feel like this”—she gestured lightly around the room, encompassing the entire situation—“is a topic my husband has more experience with.” She offered a faint smile, though her eyes stayed sharp. “And I don’t want you feeling pressured or cornered by us.”

Then her gaze shifted toward you.

“It was important to me to clarify that Y/n has nothing to do with this situation,” she said calmly. “But I also want to discuss everything privately with her.” Her eyes moved between you and Rafe. “Is that okay with you two?”

For a second, your eyes met his. Panic and concern flickered there, maybe for himself, maybe for you, maybe both.

But eventually you shared the same silent thought. And together, despite knowing it could absolutely backfire, you both nodded.

"Alright," your dad said with a firm expression as he bagged the coke, "but this right here, I’m going to dispose of properly, is that clear?"

Rafe nodded again, looking at the baggie like he’d lost a loved one, and said, "Yes, Sir."

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"Here."

Rafe took the pair of white golfing gloves from your dad, slipping them over his bare hands. "Thanks."

He hoped they hid the slight tremble in his fingers. The coke had probably long since worn off by now, and the craving for another line had eased a little, but the restlessness inside him had reached its peak.

Your fucking housekeeper had snitched on him by placing his baggie right under your parents’ noses. And of course they’d immediately called you both home to confront you. You, because the jacket had been at your house, and him... because it was his jacket.

And of course it had to be his old-ass jacket too, the one he hadn’t worn in forever. The baggie itself was old, basically just some emergency backup stash he’d shoved into the inner pocket months ago and forgotten about.

It genuinely felt like the universe was fucking him over.

Not only was there a coke video of him floating around, now your parents also knew he actually did coke. Like what kind of absolute bullshit was that, huh?

One could almost think Ruthie had something to do with it. And honestly, Rafe probably would've believed it himself if he hadn’t personally stuffed the baggie into that jacket. Plus, it seemed highly unlikely your housekeeper was secretly connected to her.

Though... the timing really was suspicious as hell.

Still, Rafe refused to spiral into some fate-and-destiny bullshit, and he definitely refused to give that bitch Ruthie that much power over his headspace.

Either way, he was currently way too focused on not digging himself deeper into shit with your dad.

Because fucking things up with him was the last thing Rafe wanted.

The guy was an ex-combat medic and somehow intimidating as hell without ever raising his voice. And it wasn’t even fear exactly. It was just... his aura. You automatically respected him. Hell, you wanted to respect him.

Just his presence alone in the car had been enough to keep Rafe unusually quiet, only speaking whenever he’d been directly asked something.

Well, actually, nah. That wasn’t entirely true.

Rafe had asked one question earlier while helping load the golf and tennis equipment into your dad’s Jeep. (Sadly, they hadn’t taken the beautiful Corvette, much to Rafe’s disappointment.)

He’d furrowed his brows, carefully placing a tennis bag into the trunk. "I thought we were gonna play tennis. So...?"

"So why the golf equipment?" your father had chuckled when Rafe nodded. "See, I wanna talk. Tennis is a wonderful sport, my favorite even, but it’s not exactly built for little conversations. Golf on the other hand? Perfect setting for that."

He lifted another bag into the trunk. "You don’t mind, do you? A little trip with me."

I’m scared shitless.

He’d just shaken his head. "No, Sir."

"Good," your father had replied, closing the trunk with a dull thump. "Because I’m curious how you’ll rank after one round of boring golf compared to a tennis match."

Now they were on their way to Hole 1 of the shorter golf course route at the Country Club. Earlier, your dad had checked them in at the front desk, reserved a tennis court for later, and rented the appropriate clothes. Rafe himself had shown his membership card and gotten stamped in.

Normally he brought his own clothes, but these worked fine too, especially considering he’d been wearing a sweat-soaked polo from this morning before.

"So, Rafe," your father said, and Rafe already wanted to take the next golf cart and drive straight into one of the ponds. "I’m not a man who likes dancing around the point or making someone squirm." Dude, I already am squirming. "So I’ll get straight to it: Are you planning on quitting cocaine?"

Rafe didn’t miss a beat. "Yes, Sir. I absolutely am. I’m already trying to. I mean, with quitting." A tense chuckle left his lips. "E-Except for today, that... it was a mistake. A big one. And I regret it deeply."

He already braced himself for a condescending scoff, some sarcastic comment about how great his recovery seemed to be going, and that he might as well give up if he’d already pulled the loser move of relapsing.

"Good, I’m glad to hear that," your dad said, nodding in what genuinely seemed like approval, and Rafe could barely believe his eyes. "The intention alone, the mindset of wanting to change something, is already the first proper step toward recovery."

This guy was fucking with him, right?

No judgment, no looking down on him, no mockery. It smelled fishy. Like a trap even.

"Is this... a test?" Rafe asked carefully, not wanting to upset your dad.

But he only let out an amused breath, shaking his head. "A test? No. I already run enough tests back at my practice." His eyes crinkled at the corners, kind in a way Rafe wasn’t used to, and it honestly threw him off. "I promise you there’s no hidden motive behind this little trip. The sole intention is a conversation between two men on equal footing. And if you wanna leave, we leave. I don’t want you feeling like this is mandatory or that you have to lie just to look good. I want you to be honest and sincere, because you clearly have a problem, Rafe, and since you’re my daughter’s boyfriend, that also concerns me."

He stopped beside the marker for Hole 1. "And because I can see that your own father currently isn’t someone you can turn to for this, I want to offer myself as someone you can. However, if you intend to lie to me or lead me around by the nose, then—"

"No, Sir," Rafe interrupted immediately, already feeling his cheeks heat up at the fact he’d cut your father off mid-sentence. But there was no taking it back now. He cleared his throat, forced himself to gather some courage, and continued, "I have no intention of lying to you. I know I have a problem, and I wanna do better. Y/n is important to me and I wanna be the best version of myself for her that I can be."

His heart and nerves pulsed violently beneath his skin. This felt like standing face-to-face with a tiger out in the wild. One wrong move and it’d all be over. Quick and ugly punishment for being stupid.

And Rafe had made enough stupid choices already.

But it was unbelievably hard to switch that pressure off. That performance of being the well-behaved rich boy when he was anything but good. That feeling of being lured in with fake kindness only to get stabbed in the back afterward. That inability to trust your dad enough to believe he really was the man he claimed to be.

Kindhearted and empathetic.

Not exactly traits Rafe associated with men. Especially not with his own father. Ward loved circling around a point, letting Rafe walk straight into a trap wrapped in fake warmth, only to slam him into a wall the second his guard dropped.

Literally.

So how the hell was he supposed to just open up to a stranger when his own father had taught him vulnerability was something punishable?

And yet, beneath the authority, Rafe could recognize warmth and sincerity in your father’s eyes. And something that, up until now, only his mother had ever managed to give him.

Safety.

"Good, then we understand each other," your dad said, another quiet hum of approval leaving him as he let the golf bag drop beside him. "So, if I understood correctly earlier, you relapsed today, right?"

Rafe froze.

Fuck.

Your dad hadn’t even known that part yet. Fucking shit. His brain was completely fried, and he seriously couldn’t afford another slip-up right now, especially not one that could make things even worse.

"Y-yeah, Sir," Rafe admitted anyway, because what was even the point in lying now? "Like I said, it was a huge, idiotic mistake. It won’t happen again."

Your dad’s gaze lowered toward the golf bag as he tested the weight of several clubs, seemingly debating which one would work best to beat Rafe’s ass with.

"How long had you been clean before that?"

Rafe swallowed hard, shame crawling beneath his skin. "About four and a half days."

"May I ask what triggered the relapse?" your dad asked while pulling a club from the bag, adjusting his grip before giving it a small testing swing turned away from Rafe.

A stupid bitch currently terrorizing my entire life.

Instead, Rafe answered, "Stress. It felt like I... I couldn’t resist anymore." He tapped against his temple. "Like every synapse in my brain suddenly forgot what a fucking terrible idea it was."

"That happens when the urge overrides rational thinking," your dad explained calmly, finally turning back toward him. His gaze stayed sharp, observant, yet strangely kind. "And stress unfortunately has a massive influence on the nervous system. Without a healthy outlet, pressure builds until the body demands some kind of release. Sports, for example. Physical exertion in general."

Like sex?

"But stress alone is usually only one factor. The actual root cause has to be understood and compensated for. No amount of sports in the world will help if the cause itself remains overwhelming." Your dad rested the club against his shoulder slightly. "So my question is: what kind of stress are we talking about here? School-related? Family-related? Internal pressure?"

Rafe scratched at his jaw, nerves prickling beneath his skin at the idea of actually talking about the shit going on inside his head with someone who wasn’t Kelce, Wheezie, or you.

"All kinds," he admitted quietly, fidgeting with the fabric of his gloves. "It’s like... everything affects everything else." He exhaled sharply. "My grades suck, so my dad gets disappointed and pushes me harder to do better. And obviously I wanna do better, I am trying, and it’s not like I’m stupid or bad at school or anything." His brows pulled together in frustration. "Most classes just don’t interest me, so I can’t force myself to actually care enough to study properly."

He gestured vaguely toward his chest, words beginning to spill out faster now that they’d started. "And then I try forcing it anyway, but that shit never works because I can’t concentrate unless I genuinely care about a topic. So I end up half-assing some assignment in a class I think is completely useless, but apparently that same class still decides whether I get into college or not."

He let out a bitter breath. "But I don’t even know if I wanna go to college because then the entire cycle just repeats itself again." His voice grew tighter. "Still, it’s what my dad wants for me, so of course I wanna make him proud and follow his path. He went to college, so why wouldn’t I? And I also wanna prove to myself that I can do it, because I wanna go into business after school, and you can’t really get into higher positions without a degree and..."

His voice trailed off, frustration overtaking him.

"And... fuck, I don’t know." He dragged a hand through his hair and let out a tense breath. "It’s all just so fucked."

He felt so... vulnerable right now, laying all of those recent feelings bare in front of your father. Rafe felt like the biggest loser, the biggest pussy, standing beside a man like that.

"That sounds like you're carrying a lot of pressure on your shoulders," your dad said, offering him an understanding smile as he leaned against his club. "And it sounds like the external pressure from your father creates a lot of internal pressure for you. Because his expectations clash with your own interests, you're stuck between two completely different ideas of what your future should look like."

That made Rafe scoff, shaking his head.

"Nah, trust me, he knows I'm not him. He thinks I'm a fuckup. An idiot who can't get his life together." He smiled bitterly. "Which... I don't."

"You are not a fuckup, Rafe," your dad said, lifting one shoulder in a small shrug. "An idiot, maybe. For believing everything your father says about you." His expression softened slightly. "But I'm not here to criticize his parenting. That's a conversation I should be having with him, not you."

He straightened up and adjusted his grip on the golf club.

"So, to return to the original topic: you relapsed. You had a setback. To prevent that from happening again, we need to identify what caused it." He tilted his head slightly. "You mentioned stress. Was there a specific event or comment that triggered it?"

It was a bitch, Rafe nearly said, but he bit his tongue.

He couldn't exactly tell your dad that he'd been blackmailed over a cocaine video that existed because he'd been stupid enough to get filmed in the first place. Or that he had somehow dragged you into the mess too.

Shit.

No, there was absolutely no way he could phrase that.

And yet, there was a part of him that wanted to confess everything.

Your dad had this strange way of giving people room to breathe. As if you could tell him anything without immediately being judged for it.

And God, how relieving would it be to finally share this burden with someone who might actually be able to help? No offense to you—without you, he probably would've completely lost his mind by now—but this was different.

This was an adult. Someone who actually knew things.

"The meeting I'm attending later," Rafe began carefully, searching for words that were close enough to the truth while still hiding the parts that mattered, "it's gonna decide something pretty important for my future."

Not a lie. If Ruthie showed that video, it was over.

Your dad raised an eyebrow as he placed the first golf ball onto the tee.

"I see. Do you feel comfortable sharing what the meeting is about?" he asked. "A job interview, perhaps? It could help us understand what exactly caused the stress."

If only it were that simple.

"Uh... kinda." Rafe scratched his jaw and let out a nervous chuckle. "It's... well, it's about a joint venture deal between my dad's company and Eric Whitmore's."

Your dad froze mid-swing.

The golf club stopped halfway through its motion before slowly lowering back toward the grass. He turned around.

"Whitmore?" he asked flatly. "Why the hell would Ward involve himself in a deal with that bastard?"

Funny thing.

"Actually," Rafe said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm the one taking that deal."

For the first time since they'd arrived, genuine shock crossed your father's face. A bad feeling immediately settled in Rafe's stomach.

"Was that your father's idea?" your dad asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

"No, Sir. It was mine."

"And you're voluntarily taking that deal?"

No. "Yes."

Your dad stared at Rafe like he'd just thrown up an elephant.

"Why would you do that?" he asked. "That man is a backstabbing piece of shit."

"I know," Rafe muttered, slightly startled by your dad's sudden cursing. "I'm aware of his reputation."

"Oh, his public reputation is only surface-level knowledge." Your dad gestured sharply with the golf club toward somewhere beyond the Country Club grounds. "He's not just a known cheater. That bastard tried to get my wife into bed during a business event two years ago. He tried to buy the land my practice is on behind my back, and I know for a fact that his gambling addiction is going to ruin him, his family, and potentially any business unfortunate enough to get tangled up with him."

Rafe snapped his mouth shut. He'd never seen your dad lose his composure before. And now he was making a deal with the attempted wife-stealer and company thief.

Just fucking great.

"I... shit, I'm sorry to hear that," Rafe said.

His mind was already tying itself into knots over the new information. Whitmore gambled. He didn't even know what to do with that.

Your dad exhaled slowly.

"No, I should apologize for losing my composure." He rubbed a hand across his jaw. "Whitmore is just... a nasty man. The kind that rubs me wrong in every possible way. And now you're telling me you want to enter a business deal with him..." He shook his head. "It just reeks fishy, son."

Yeah, well, shit, your nose is correct.

Nothing about the whole deal was honest in any way. But Rafe, of course, couldn't say that.

"I understand your concern, sir," he started, trying to gather himself, but your dad's reaction had thrown him off. "But I—"

"No, Rafe, I don't think you fully understand," your dad urged, cutting him off as he closed the distance and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "This stress you felt today, you relapsing... do you think that's just because you're nervous? It's your whole body telling you this is a bad idea. Maybe call that meeting off today and properly think this decision through. If you want to, I can help you truly reflect on it."

Rafe grimaced, shaking his head in frustration, unable to hide the stress. "I can't. The meeting's set."

How badly he wanted to call it off. The meeting, the deal, his agreement to submit to bitch Ruthie. But he was chained to that fucking video.

"A meeting is only set when all requiered participants are actually able to attend," your father said, giving Rafe's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You're not. I can write you a sick note and—"

"No, I have to be there," Rafe replied, a wave of nausea hitting him at the reality of his situation.

Your father's expression twisted into something alarmed. "What does that mean exactly? Are you scared your father might be disappointed if you called it off? Is he forcing you to be there?"

"No, I just..." Rafe stepped away from your dad's hand, exhaling in distress as he shook his head once more, his fists pressing against his forehead. "I have to be there today, okay? It's... I can't call it off." He met your father's gaze again, silently pleading for him to understand. "It's not something I can just take back. Trust me."

Whatever emotion crossed your dad's face, Rafe couldn't place it. It was as if his features had hardened and softened at the same time, confusion, concern, and anger all flashing across them.

Rafe braced himself for more questions, for annoyance at him dodging the earlier ones, maybe even for being knocked out with the golf club in your dad's hands.

But your dad simply gave a slow nod, his nostrils flaring slightly as he exhaled through his nose. He took a step back, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay. I'm sorry for pushing your boundary. I know the exact circumstances and your reasons are none of my business. I'm just deeply concerned about you. Not just because you're my daughter's boyfriend, but because I have a feeling you're about to make a huge mistake and get yourself tangled up in a mess between two grown men who should know better."

Weird, how this guy's definition of pushing felt like the deepest care Rafe had ever received from a father. And he didn't know what to make of that realization. He'd never been given space to breathe in a conversation with his own dad.

No, Ward pushed and pushed, throwing question after question at Rafe until he finally gave in.

And the word boundary. Rafe wasn't sure he'd ever been allowed to have one.

"But all I can offer you is a listening ear," your dad continued. "I don't want to corner you. I told you I brought you here to chat and unwind, nothing else."

He exhaled, as if even setting the subject aside took effort. "But let me tell you this at least: Eric Whitmore is a snake. I know your father knows that as well, and it concerns me that the deal is still on the table. Of course, I don't have the full picture, and I understand if you want to keep it that way. So, for your own sake, be smart about this. And if you need help with any part of it, I'll be there. I may just be a doctor, but my own father was fluent in business. Understood?"

All Rafe could do was nod.

"Okay." Your dad straightened up again, smiling. "Then how about we skip golf and go straight to the exciting part? I'm sure a few sweaty rounds of tennis will help you clear some of that tension. Does that sound good to you?"

Breathing felt easier again.

"Yes, sir."

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

All you could do in that moment was to hope you were right, and that Ruthie had at least enough common sense not to show that fucking video.

But Ruthie and common sense? Hahaha. No.

And the more you thought about it, the worse that sick feeling in your stomach became. It had been following you around since this morning.

Or no, actually since last night, when Sarah had texted you.

Then there'd been all the stress with Rafe today, your parents finding the fucking coke in your room (well, technically Mary had, but it amounted to the same thing), and on top of that, the conversation with your mom just now.

Fucking shit, was there not a single day this week that could just be remotely normal?

Seriously, ever since Rafe had been brought into your life through the art project, you hadn't had a single day that was even remotely chill. There was always something that sent your pulse racing and your nerves spiraling.

And honestly, the lack of peace was finally starting to catch up with you.

Not that Rafe was some kind of harbinger of doom or anything (maybe a little), but it felt like you were constantly in stress mode over something, no matter how small it was. And then the constant whiplash between all that stress and some sweet moment with Rafe wasn't doing your poor heart any favors.

Your mind was on permanent high alert too. Especially since Ruthie's blackmail.

You sighed, completely exhausted, and leaned against the front door, sliding down until you were sitting on the steps, hugging your purse to your chest.

The conversation with your mom had left you drained.

If you hadn't insisted that you were genuinely overwhelmed by everything going on right now, you'd probably still be sitting at the dining table, listening to her explain just how incredibly worried she was about you and Rafe.

Like yes, Mom, I know coke is bad. I know using it is even worse. And I know my fake boyfriend is a user. I know how it looks, I know you don't want me picking up his bad habits, and I know he needs to get a grip or this could end really badly for him.

I know.

She had barely let you get a word in, talking a mile a minute about how you needed to be careful, how she had such a bad feeling about all of this. Not because of Rafe, of course, that had only been implied by the way she'd compared him to Ward.

"Sweetie, I'm just concerned for your well-being," she'd said. "If he is anything like his father—I'm not saying he is, he seems like a boy who just needs a little help—but under the influence of a drug..."

She hadn't said it outright, but you knew she was referring to the way Ward could get handsy, and she was afraid Rafe might be the same.

You huffed and rested your chin on your knees.

It wasn't like Rafe was some harmless golden retriever. You knew that.

The guy had gotten into more fights over the last few days than most people did in a lifetime. He'd punched Topper. He'd nearly gotten into a fight with Reid at Kelce's party. There had been that whole thing at Midsummers last year that you only just remembered. And lately he'd mentioned wanting to smack Ruthie often enough that it had stopped feeling entirely like a joke.

Your stomach twisted. Not because you thought he'd ever do any of that to you.

But because, for the first time, you found yourself truly acknowledging that violence wasn't just some random rumor attached to Rafe Cameron.

It was an active part of him, and it was starting to bother you. A lot.

But that wasn't the point, was it?

Your mom was projecting everything she knew about Ward onto Rafe.

This was all so frustrating, and Rafe was right—you were lucky your parents had reacted relatively calmly. Worst case, they could've reported him to his father.

Why did he have to be so stupid and—

The sound of a car pulling into your driveway made your head snap up, excited, almost expecting Rafe. But then your brain registered the Halls' black Jeep, and a smile formed on your lips anyway.

That was exactly what you needed right now.

A fucking distraction.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"Girl, I can't even tell you how freaking glad I am you called," Cara said after letting go of your hug across the center console. "Like, I missed you so much. You have no idea."

A startled laugh slipped out as you clicked your seatbelt into place. "We literally saw each other at school today."

"That's not the same and you know it," she countered, her face scrunching into a dramatic scowl as she started the engine. "We haven't hung out privately since... oh my God, since fucking Monday! Can you believe that? I was starting to think you'd forgotten me."

You laughed again, but the little minion called guilt had already taken over your brain.

Not only hadn't the two of you hung out since Monday, you couldn't even remember the last time you'd texted or called her. You'd been so focused on all the drama surrounding Rafe that you'd simply... tuned everything else out.

"I could never forget you, C," you said, your voice turning more serious. "I'm sorry for the lack of contact on my side. I was just..."

"Busy with Rafe?" she finished for you.

She raised her brows with an amused smile, but you knew she felt neglected.

You nodded, sinking deeper into your seat with a sigh. "Not in the way you probably think. He has some family drama going on, and I'm trying to be there for him."

Half truth, half lie.

"Oh, right, that deal," Cara said casually, making you sit up straighter. "Young man already trying to do business, huh? Kinda hot, if you ask me."

You stared at her in disbelief, trying your hardest not to look too shocked. "How do you know about that?"

Had you accidentally told her somehow?

"Huh?" She shot you a quick glance. "Oh, well, Sarah called me earlier. Wanted to hang out, but I was getting my nails done, and I guess future me knew to keep the afternoon free for you." She grimaced. "She was being weird anyway. I'm glad I turned her down."

Every alarm bell in your brain went off.

"Weird? Why? What did you two talk about?"

It was hard to stay calm because you already knew where this was going.

And of course Cara noticed your unease.

"You two had a little argument, right?" she asked. Before you could answer, she continued, "I mean, she didn't outright say it, but she talked about you and Rafe like you were some kind of criminal masterminds. And I was like, girl, unclench your asshole, okay?" She snorted. "Then she went on about how she had this feeling Rafe was in trouble because of that deal thing with Ruthie's dad—which, by the way, still hot that he's doing business—and... gosh, I don't even remember half the stuff she rambled about. I think she was trying to get information out of me that I don't even have." She glanced at you again. "So, you little criminal... what are you two up to?"

Oh my God, this pissed you off on a whole different level.

Not Cara's curiosity. No, that was completely understandable. She was confused by Sarah's sudden interrogation and simply wanted to know what was going on.

No.

What was actually making your nerves tighten was exactly that.

Sarah's fucking nosiness.

Okay, maybe you sounded a little like Rafe right now. But guess what? He'd been right. Right from the very beginning.

Because this? This wasn't just curiosity anymore. This was plain nosiness, and it was ignoring every boundary you'd asked her not to cross.

And right now, it almost felt like she only wanted to be friends with you so she could snoop around. You didn't believe she had bad intentions, and it wasn't like you didn't understand her concern for her brother, but there hadn't been a single conversation lately where she hadn't somehow steered things back to Rafe.

And now she was dragging Cara into it too?

Girl, fuck that.

"Is she nuts?" you asked, unable to hide the frustration in your voice.

Even Cara blinked in surprise as she turned the car into the beach parking lot.

"I mean... maybe?" she said with a small shrug. "She seemed really upset about this whole deal and about you shutting her down."

"So she turns to my best friend and starts ranting about her brother and me?" You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. "Why can't she just accept a no? I don't get it."

The car rolled to a stop, the engine settling into silence.

Cara turned toward you, one hand still resting on the steering wheel. "She's worried about you two, apparently."

Something in her expression shifted into confusion. And something dangerously close to hurt.

"And honestly..." she admitted quietly, "I am too, after everything she said. Why didn't you share any of this with me?"

"What do you mean?" Your heart sank a little at the look on her face.

She furrowed her brows, letting her hands fall into her lap as she absentmindedly fidgeted with her gel nails.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "I just feel like you've been shutting me out ever since you and Rafe made things official."

She looked back up, offering you a small, confused smile.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm so freaking happy for you. And I know everyone gets caught up in their little romantic bubble at the beginning of a relationship. But it's just..." She tilted her head. "Isn't your boyfriend landing some huge business deal the kind of thing you'd tell your best friend?"

There was no accusation in her voice. Just genuine confusion.

Part of you immediately grew defensive, your muscles tensing, and that honestly scared you. You'd gotten so used to hiding huge parts of the truth from everyone except Rafe that even your best friend—the girl who was basically your sister—simply trying to understand you made you instinctively put your guard up.

But that wasn't how you ever wanted to be with her. Not even by accident.

"You're right," you admitted, your shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry for making you feel like I'm neglecting you. That was never my intention, I swear. It's just..."

An exhausted sigh escaped your lips as you let your head fall back against the seat and stared through the windshield.

You were one second away from telling her everything.

"I honestly don't have an excuse," you continued, meeting her gaze again. "Being in a new relationship doesn't excuse putting you second. Especially because you already tried to point it out to me." You gave her an apologetic smile. "You've been my best friend my whole life, and Rafe is... well, he's just a boy."

You pressed your lips together, mentally apologizing to your fake boyfriend, but you didn't want to keep lying to her.

"And Sarah is right," you said quietly. "He is in trouble."

Cara stopped fidgeting altogether, shifting in her seat to fully face you.

"So it's true?" she asked. "Ruthie is blackmailing him?"

Bruh.

Sarah really hadn't held back with her conspiracy theories. Which, technically, weren't conspiracy theories at all. They were the truth.

Then again, you remembered how the girls had played detective after Rafe's breakdown during movie night and had pretty much pieced everything together on their own.

The only thing only you and Rafe knew was what Ruthie actually had on him.

"She's trying to play a little game with him, yeah," you admitted, carefully choosing your words. "Which is why I've been so busy with him on top of the whole dating thing."

Keep it simple. No need to reveal everything.

Cara stared at you expectantly. "And? What does she have on him? Don't tell me it's a dick pic."

"What? No!" You couldn't help but laugh. "It's... complicated." Your smile faltered as you looked at her helplessly. "Look, C, I love you, and you're my best friend. That has never and will never change, okay? And I know we usually tell each other everything, but... I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone. I don't want to disrespect his wish for privacy, and I'm especially not trying to disrespect you, but now I'm stuck between wanting to tell you and—"

"Girl, calm down," Cara cut in, amused. "I get it, okay? I'm not saying it doesn't sting a little, or that I don't desperately want to know what's going on, but that's on me. I need to learn to mind my own business, especially when it comes to drama involving guys." She deadpanned, "Plus, I'm already blonde and way too invested in you and Rafe. I don't wanna become a second Sarah."

The two of you burst out laughing.

"I'm serious," she added with a slight frown. "Like, that girl? She's starting to get unhinged. In a way I really don't like."

Shame and guilt rose in your chest.

As right as Cara was—and as much as you thought the same—it still didn't feel good talking about Sarah like this. You liked gossip when it was about random girls and guys you couldn't stand anyway, people who honestly deserved it because they were just idiots.

But Sarah wasn't an idiot.

She was actually a nice girl. She was just taking things way too far right now.

You shifted in your seat, unclasping your seatbelt.

"Me neither. But let's... drop this, please." A tired sigh escaped your lips. "I'm already super stressed about her and this whole situation. I really need someone to remove my brain for, like, a few hours."

"Rafe really needs to get you laid," Cara said with a chuckle, grabbing her purse from the back seat. "Helps lower your cortisol."

Uh-huh. Yeah. I'm sure my fake boyfriend would love that.

And what he'd probably love even more right now was standing across from that bitch Ruthie, having to sit through an entire meeting while she tyrannized him.

At least she hadn't lied about attending the meeting herself, because, lo and behold, Gracie and Samantha were sitting alone at Harry's Beach Bar, sipping colorful cocktails at the counter.

Not a nasty snake in sight.

Poor Rafe.

You silently prayed Ruthie would only bless him with her presence and not actually show the coke video to their fathers.

You and Cara settled at a secluded table where a gentle breeze occasionally drifted by, offering a beautiful view of the deep blue ocean.

But even the scenery, the delicious smoothies, and your silly conversations with Cara couldn't calm your frayed nerves.

The fear of what Rafe might be going through right now hung over your shoulders like an icy veil.

What if Ruthie really showed the video?

Your mind kept drifting back to it while Cara rambled about wanting to get a second dog.

Would Rafe get into trouble with the police? Even worse, would he end up behind bars? Somehow that seemed unlikely.

If Ward found out about the video, he'd do everything in his power to keep it from becoming public.

You didn't know the man well enough, but he always guarded the image of the perfect family. A son who did coke didn't exactly fit that picture.

At worst, you figured he'd cut Rafe off from the family entirely. And if Ruthie really did release the video, Ward would make absolutely sure everyone believed he'd had no idea.

That was exactly the kind of man he was.

Cut away the weeds, and the flowers stay untouched.

"...which is why I'm thinking of getting a Doberman," Cara concluded before taking another sip of her pink smoothie. "Not that you'd need one, if you know what I mean."

She winked before letting out a satisfied, "Ahhh."

You chuckled. "He's just a moody old cat. Nothing more."

"Well, of course he's in trouble then." She raised an eyebrow and motioned for a waiter. "Ruthie always hated cats."

After successfully dodging yet another attempt to steer the conversation back to the Ruthie-Rafe drama, you redirected it toward the Gloaming.

The annual festival was taking place the day after tomorrow, on Saturday evening.

Basically just a Midsummers knockoff. Except in autumn. And hosted by the school.

You talked about who was going with whom, what dresses you should wear, how Kelce and Reggie's speech as class representatives would probably turn out, and how excited you both were for the lantern procession.

Aside from all the boring formalities and speeches, it really was a beautiful ceremony every year.

The seniors would each release a lantern into the night sky, symbolically celebrating the beginning of the new academic year.

It always looked like that one scene from Tangled.

Even back when you'd been a tiny freshman, you'd looked forward to that moment.

"I hope mine catches fire, falls onto Ruthie's head, and burns her alive," Cara said out of nowhere.

You blinked, holding back a laugh. "Okay... yeah, I can see the vision. I imagine the smell would be pretty bad, though."

"Oh please. Half the guys practically bathe in cologne and Axe. That'll cover everything else."

After discussing burning bodies and makeup, you excused yourself to the restroom.

All those drinks were really catching up with your bladder.

Besides... Gracie had just disappeared into the women's restroom. Alone.

You made a wide detour around Samantha at the bar—who was already loudly talking on the phone with Chris Reed—and tried to keep your adrenaline under control.

Talking to strangers had never really been a problem. Approaching one first was a little harder. And somehow talking to people in your own grade was painfully awkward, and you honestly didn't know why.

On top of that, Gracie was Ruthie's best friend. And Rafe's former... whatever-that-was.

"Oh, hey," you said politely, forcing the friendliest, lightest tone possible, as if you were naturally the most social person alive.

As if you hadn't just followed her into the restroom, forced yourself to pee, waited in a stall until you heard her flush, and then strategically positioned yourself at the sink to intercept her.

I'm such a creep. Help.

Gracie smiled in surprise as she joined you at the sink. "Hi."

She's shy. I'm shy. So I gotta be the less shy one. Let's go.

But what do I even say?

"Your skirt looks really cute," you blurted out, glancing at the low-rise waistband resting on her hips.

Then you realized how insane that sounded, quickly lifting your gaze again as heat crept into your cheeks. "Where'd you get it?"

Gracie's cheeks flushed slightly too, her smile turning sheepish. "Thanks. To be honest, I don't know. I thrifted it, and the tag had been ripped off."

Girl. Seriously. How was she friends with an overconsuming, anti-eco snake like Ruthie?

"Oh, well, it really suits you," you replied, drying your hands.

Before the awkward silence could settle in, you quickly filled it."Do you already know what you're wearing to the Gloaming?"

Her expression dimmed. "Not yet. I wanted to match with my date."

Huh?

"You don't have one yet?" you asked, furrowing your brows slightly.

Before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. "I assumed you were going with Rob."

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Why did I say that? Oh my fucking God.

Gracie looked just as startled as you'd expected.

You immediately tried to recover by explaining that Topper had casually mentioned to your group that his friend Rob would probably be coming because Gracie had asked for his number.

Which, honestly, only made everything worse.

Help me. Please.

Gracie blinked slowly before giving you an awkward smile.

"Oh... yeah, well..." A nervous chuckle escaped her. "No. I won't be going with him. I asked for Ruthie."

So Rafe's assumption had been right.

Crazy. Although... not really. After all, Gracie had already turned down your offer to ask Rob for her.

"Oh... okay." It was hard to hide your confusion. "Why didn't she ask Topper herself?"

She probably thinks I'm interrogating her. Which I am. Oh gosh. I'm Sarah 2.0.

"Apparently, he blocked her," she said.

Gracie shrugged at your surprised expression, absentmindedly twisting a loose strand of hair around her finger. "She ghosted him after movie night. Honestly, I don't blame him. She always treated him like a dog."

Why hadn't Topper mentioned blocking her? That would've explained Gracie reaching out instead of Ruthie a whole lot better.

Boys...

Still, Gracie talking so openly about Ruthie? Unexpected. But then again... maybe not. Considering Ruthie seemed to treat Gracie exactly the way she'd treated Topper.

Probably every single day.

"Oh, okay, I see," you said, probably sounding like a fake bitch. But one thing still didn't make any sense. "May I ask who your date is then? Reggie mentioned you turned her down because you already had one."

Reggie had told Cara, and Cara had told you, but... same outcome, right?

Also, where the hell did you suddenly get this confidence to be so straightforward from? Did hanging out with Rafe turn you into a social squirrel? Although his social skills were debatable.

Gracie's cheeks flushed even deeper, visibly embarrassed.

"I... don't actually have a date yet." She shifted from one foot to the other. "I panicked and came up with an excuse. Stupid, I know, but Reggie has a very... I don't even know how to say it..."

I am Gracie. Gracie is me. Wow.

"Dominant aura?" you finished for her, earning a sheepish nod in return. You chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, I know. She's so confident in her own skin that it's intimidating. But not in a bad way, just..."

"Like a supermodel," Gracie said, joining your chuckle. "I was so overwhelmed that she was asking me that I didn't know what to say." Her smile faltered slightly. "And I didn't know what Ruthie would think, so... yeah."

Fuck Ruthie, you almost said.

You furrowed your brows. "Personally, I don't think she should have any say in who you choose as your date. This is your last Gloaming. You should go with whoever you want."

"It's too late anyway," Gracie said with a bitter smile. "I already turned Reggie down. Ruthie thinks I should go with Caleb or Peter."

HELL NAH, ABSOLUTELY NOT.

"What?" You blinked, shaking your head as you remembered how those two assholes had talked down to you recently. "No, you shouldn't. Honestly, you'd be better off taking a garbage can as your date than either of them."

A startled laugh escaped Gracie, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand, embarrassed.

Did Ruthie forbid her from laughing too, or...?

"Let me check with Cara," you offered. "I don't think it's too late to go with Reggie. I'm sure she'd be more than happy that you changed your mind."

Gracie immediately shook her head, mortified. "I told her I already had a date. I can't just—"

"She probably noticed how nervous you were." You gave her a reassuring smile. "Reggie is cool. She'll shrug it off and be way more excited about having a fun date than whatever excuse you gave her."

Basically a female Rafe. Just... more sane.

For a moment, the only sounds were the chatter from outside the restroom and the cries of seagulls overhead. You almost expected Gracie to say no, but instead she nodded shyly.

"Okay... yeah," she said, her voice small but laced with excitement. "If you could do that..."

"Of course!" you exclaimed, completely ignoring how awkward this whole interaction was for both of you. "You deserve a date you actually want. Not one Ruthie picks for you."

Gracie's smile widened, genuine happiness spreading across her face.

"That's really kind of you, Y/n. Really. I didn't think you'd be so nice to me after..." She grimaced, searching for the right words. "Well... you know. The whole..."

"Yeah, I know."

She didn't need to finish the sentence for you to know she meant Ruthie blackmailing Rafe. She had to know everything about it, too.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, debating whether you should ask...

But no. That was probably pushing your luck too far.

Just because she was being nice right now didn't mean you could start asking about Ruthie's exact plans. She was still Ruthie's best friend, and you'd already caused enough trouble simply by talking to her.

"But you're not Ruthie, right?" You offered her a small smile. "You never did anything wrong to me, so I have no reason to treat you any differently."

And yet guilt was written all over her face.

"I'm sorry for what she's doing to Rafe," she said, genuine remorse filling her voice. "It's all my fault. If I'd never made that video..." She shook her head, hugging herself as her expression turned serious. "Look, I'm really not supposed to tell you this, but—"

"Y/n, are you taking a shit in there or what's taking you so lo—oh!"

Cara stopped as she rounded the corner by the stalls. "Hi."

Your gaze snapped back to Gracie, adrenaline surging through your body.

WHAT? You wanted to grab her by the shoulders. WHAT AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO TELL ME?!

But the moment—the chance to exchange something potentially valuable—vanished the second Cara appeared.

And so did the strange, lowkey bonding moment between you and the girl who might just hold the key to saving Rafe's ass.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"Baby?"

You smiled instinctively at the sound of his voice, subconsciously trying not to overthink what the exhaustion and weariness in his tone might mean.

It was now quarter past six.

You and Cara had treated yourselves to a huge bowl of fresh fruit, and you'd had to pull yourself together to stay calm because Gracie's words simply refused to leave your mind.

She'd been so close to telling you something important. And now there might never be another chance like that.

But... Aside from that.

The fact that Rafe was able to call you—assuming not from a police station, hahaha—had to be a good sign.

"Yeah?" You fidgeted with the charm on your necklace, bracing yourself for anything. "You okay?"

Silence.

A flock of swallows flew overhead as you leaned back against the wooden railing of Harry's Beach Bar's terrace. You'd excused yourself from Cara and found a quiet spot at the far end of the place where no curious ears could overhear you.

"Rafe?" you asked, your heartbeat pounding through your entire body.

A gust of wind rustled through the phone on his end. "No, I'm not. I'm fucking cooked."

Your heart stopped, and your nails dug into the delicate ornaments of your necklace. This could only mean...

"Why? What happened? Did she show the video?"

A thousand questions raced through your head, and the hesitant silence on Rafe's end did nothing to calm you down.

You flinched as a loud thud echoed through the phone, sounding like a car door slamming shut or a fist hitting something just as hard.

"No," he said, exhaling heavily as you heard keys being tossed into a center console. "She didn't."

A massive weight fell from your shoulders, relief flooding your veins. Because whatever had caused his mood now was manageable.

If she'd shown the video? Game over.

Your fingers traced the grain of the wooden railing. "That's good... right?"

"Is it?" A dry scoff escaped him, suppressed rage simmering beneath every word. "I almost wish she'd just shown the fucking video. I'd rather deal with that than end up with that ugly bitch as my business partner."

The sharp sound of his engine roaring to life sliced clean through the tiny bit of hope that had started building in your chest.

Business partner?

Fuck. That was so...

You couldn't even form a reply.

"Yeah," Rafe hissed, apparently taking your silence as an answer. "But that's not even the worst part."

Your heart sank even lower. "What do you mean?"

"I mean she's fucking crazy," he spat. "Where are you? I'm picking you up."

Instinctively, you glanced back toward your best friend. "I'm with Cara."

"Yeah, and where is that?" His frustration was starting to boil over, and you felt your own tension rise with it.

"Harry's Beach Bar," you answered. "But I can't just ditch her."

Another scoff. "Why not? I need to see you."

"I want to see you too, but she already feels like I'm neglecting her. I can't—"

"Y/n, please."

You snapped your lips shut at the raw desperation in his voice.

It instantly reminded you of the night he'd begged you to stay after your fight during movie night.

"I can't go back in there right now, and I don't know where else to go," he admitted, probably looking even worse than he had this morning. "I have no one else to talk to about this shit, and I'm this close to driving over to Barry's and doing something stupid."

Every alarm bell inside you went off, and you pushed yourself away from the railing. "Rafe, no."

"I know!" he breathed out in frustration. "I know, okay? My head's racing and I know I shouldn't, but I..." The next words seemed to cost him everything. "I don't wanna relapse again. Please. I promised your dad."

You'd completely forgotten about the whole coke-parent situation from earlier.Poor Rafe had faced two fathers in a single day.

"I'm pretty sure that's emotional manipulation," you said, though there wasn't any real accusation behind it.

You knew he genuinely needed you right now.

Rafe let out a weak chuckle. "Is it working?"

A faint smile tugged at your lips.

"Yeah, I guess." You sighed. "Pick me up. I'll make Cara understand."

"You're an angel." Judging by the sound, his car had already started moving. "I'll be there in ten."

"If she ever locks you up because she feels abandoned, that's on you." You shook your head, already pulling the phone away from your ear so your voice would carry through the speaker. "And stop using your phone while driving. I'm hanging up now. Bye."

As insane as that boy made you, your heart still beat just a little faster every single time you saw him again.

A wide smile spread across your face when his black Mercedes rolled into the bar's parking lot ten minutes later.

And oh!

This gentleman actually got out of the car, walked around it with the sweetest little smile on his face, met you halfway, and greeted you with a quiet, "Hey, beautiful."

Minions, stay sane.

“Hey, beautiful, to you too,” you said, your cheeks warming as he took your bag and opened the passenger door for you.

He gestured inside. “May the princess get in.”

Despite whatever had happened at the meeting, he was still treating you like royalty.

With a somewhat sheepish, “Thank you, Ser,” you climbed in, and Rafe softly closed the door behind you.

Nervously, you fidgeted with your bracelet, mentally preparing yourself for whatever he was about to reveal. At least you knew the video was still safely hidden away on Ruthie's phone.

“Ser?” He scoffed as he got in himself, though it came out exhausted. “Am I not worthy of being a lord?”

You chuckled, your eyes tracing the slowly healing bruise on his cheek. “I see you more as a knight. Ser Cameron. Has a nice ring to it.”

A small smile played on his lips as he fastened his seatbelt. “I doubt I'm honorable enough to be one. I'd kill every bastard that pisses me off.”

“Guess that would make things a lot easier,” you said, noticing the sharp set of his jaw, his tense shoulders, and how his hands kept clenching and unclenching around the steering wheel. “Because why do I feel like you're trying really hard not to go on a rampage about Ruthie right now?”

His smile turned strained. “So fucking hard.”

You laughed because he looked like someone was holding him at gunpoint, forcing him to play nice.

“Yeah, yeah, just laugh about my misery,” he said dryly. “You're lucky I'm a loyal boyfriend.”

Confused—and slightly alarmed, although why? Technically, he didn't owe you any loyalty—you stopped laughing.

“Is that so? Ruthie wanted you to sleep with her?”

A deeply disgusted, “Eugh,” left his lips, and his dramatic ass shook his head as if physically trying to get rid of the thought.

“I'd rather fuck a dead sewer rat than that bitch.”

You blinked. “O-kayyy.”

“I'm serious. She thinks she's the shit, but—”

“Rafe, spill the tea!” you cut in desperately, your patience finally snapping. “Or my minions are gonna strangle someone.”

He chuckled, his shoulders loosening just a little. “Okay, okay, yeah. So... shit, I don't even know where to start.”

“The beginning. I wanna know everything.” You shifted in your seat so you were facing him more directly. “So Ruthie and her father arrived... and then what? Details!”

Rafe sighed heavily and started the engine. “Yeah, Miss Shitface and her daddy arrived, both dressed in some shitty business attire. And—”

“What did you wear?”

“Polo and some chinos. The fuck am I supposed to wear?”

You pursed your lips. “A nice suit?”

Mhm. The thought of him in a suit...

“Nah.” He scoffed as he pulled onto the main road, a faint smirk softening the sharp edges of his face. “Dad insisted on casual attire. He always says, 'If they only respect you in a blazer, you've already lost.' Shit's true.” He shrugged. “If you can't command a room in pajamas, leave it.”

Rich old white men sayings... But honestly, that surprised you.

You'd always assumed Ward Cameron cared a lot about appearances and first impressions, so a suit at a business meeting should've been the standard.

Maybe he just wanted to see whether Rafe could handle business without looking the part.

“Okay, so no suit,” you said. “But what was the greeting like? What was your dad's mood? Or... well, both dads?”

Rafe wrinkled his nose as he guided the car over a bridge. “Whitmore was being a suck-up, of course. Always pretending to be this big chad when he's really just a little ass-kisser. And my dad's always the same in meetings like that—calm and composed.”

“And Ruthie? Bet she was playing the innocent sweetheart.”

He nodded with a grimace. “You know how she always acts when she's giving a presentation in class? Especially in Collins' class? Yeah. All sweet and girlish while pitching her stupid idea.”

Um...

You frowned. “What idea?”

Rafe smiled venomously as he rounded a corner a little rougher than necessary, causing the seatbelt across your chest to lock. “A new joint venture.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“Yes. You know how the old deal had shitty terms and all? Whitmore wanted to revitalize an old harbor in the Cut and turn it into some tourist trap because he owned most of the surrounding land. Blah, blah.”

His gaze darkened. “Yeah, well, she pitched her dad a new deal yesterday, which is why he was on the phone with my dad. Whitmore was sooo impressed by his brilliant daughter's idea that he just had to tell my father right away.”

“And your dad didn't tell you?” You shook your head in disbelief.

“No... he didn't,” he said, his jaw clenched tightly, barely concealing the rage and betrayal he must've felt toward his father. “Said he wanted to give Ruthie the chance to convince me on neutral ground. He just didn't wanna admit he'd already agreed behind my back. Worst part? Her concept is perfect. I bet she typed that shit into some fuckass AI bot and had it spit out some crazy idea.”

Oh, you didn't doubt that.

Ruthie was absolutely the type to use ChatGPT on a daily basis and somehow be responsible for ninety-eight percent of its water usage.

That aside, Ward should've told his own son—the one who'd set this whole thing in motion in the first place—about this turn of events.

But you didn't want to dwell on that.

“And?” you asked, bitterness creeping into your voice. “What's her grand idea? Turning the last natural places in the OBX into one giant shopping mall?”

Rafe shook his head, his brows deeply furrowed.

“Nah. The opposite. A luxury—now listen up—,” he began, mimicking a girl's voice, “eco-friendly subsidiary focused on developing and operating high-end waterfront cottages and private nature retreats on Whitmore-owned coastal land and, of course, funded and built by Cameron Development.”

He shook his head again, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. “The moment she started talking about environmental sustainability, I knew this shit didn't come from her. But Whitmore claims she pitched it directly to him and he didn't have to change a single thing.”

For a moment, you didn't know what to say.

You simply stared at him while the very same untouched coastline he was talking about drifted past outside the window.

That's some bullshit.

“Wow,” was all you managed, your gaze shifting back to the windshield. “So... it's still a profit-making tourist trap but for rich people, just marketed as an exclusive nature retreat?” You slowly shook your head. “That's insane. A perfect marketing strategy, but insane.”

Kie would have a stroke if she ever found out about that. And one more reason to dislike Rafe.

Rafe exhaled in frustration. “I didn't even get a proper chance to question her stupid idea because I couldn't risk her showing the video if I stepped out of line.”

As much as you hated seeing him submit to Ruthie, it had probably been the smarter move not to provoke her any further.

Besides, apparently his dad had already approved the whole thing the night before anyway. Nothing Rafe could've said would've changed that.

“That was the right call,” you said, your gaze drifting to a flock of crows flying low beside the road. “So... this is why Ruthie's your business partner now, I assume?”

“Yeah.” Rafe turned onto a quiet road leading toward the beach. “Of course her daddy thinks his daughter deserves the same opportunity as me, especially after coming up with such a brilliant idea. If you ask me, he's just butthurt and refuses to make the deal directly with me.”

Not surprising. You probably wouldn't want to do business with a teenager either as an adult.

You twisted the key charm on your bracelet between your fingers. “So he's doing the exact same thing as your dad. Giving responsibility to his kid and letting them work under his name.”

Both fathers were playing the exact same corrupt game.

If the company succeeded, they got good PR and a safety net because everything was under their names. If it failed, they could pin the blame on their children because they were "just" the signing authority.

“The first draft says it's a parent-backed joint venture, yeah,” Rafe said as he brought his Mercedes to a stop beneath a shady tree. “Bitchface and I are Managing Directors and partners, and our dads are Co-Founders and Contributors.”

You took in the secluded clearing that barely qualified as a parking spot, the white dunes surrounding it, and the narrow sandy path leading toward the beach just a few steps away.

There wasn't another soul in sight.

You turned back toward Rafe, your brows lifting, but before you could say anything, he'd already unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out. He walked around the front of the car while you remained seated, watching him open the back door, grab a dark beach bag, sling it over his shoulder, and finally make his way to your side.

He opened your door and held out his free hand. “C'mon. We can discuss this with a better view.”

Of course he'd planned this.

A smile tugged at your lips as you climbed out after him, the salty breeze immediately brushing against your skin.

“C'mon,” he repeated, offering you his hand.

Without thinking twice, you slipped your hand into his, letting him lead you along the narrow path weaving through the dunes. The salty breeze brushed gently against your skin.

“A date?” you asked, your whole body buzzing with nervous excitement.

Rafe shrugged. “You're my girlfriend, right?”

So... Yes. AJDSKJDVBHJSDNBSDK.

Dry beach grass swayed softly in the wind around you, and with every step the sound of crashing waves grew louder until the ocean finally opened up before you.

He stopped a comfortable distance from the shoreline, the setting sun turning the waves into a kaleidoscope of orange and red.

It was a small beach. Very intimate. Very private.

“It's a beautiful spot,” you said as you watched him spread a large blanket over the white sand. “How did you find it?”

Still no one else in sight.

Not even trash littering the sand.

Rafe knelt on the blanket, smoothing it out with both hands before pulling a large pillow from the bag and tossing it onto the corner.

“My mom used to bring me here sometimes when I was little. Just me. No Sarah. I couldn't find it again for years until I stumbled across it during some random bike ride.”

Your chest tightened.

This had to be a very special place for him. And the fact that he felt vulnerable and comfortable enough to bring you here...

AHAHDBHWCNDJKSILWJCNWSFC.

“It's stunning. Thank you for bringing me here,” you said, looking down at him with a soft smile.

Rafe mirrored your expression and patted the spot beside him. “Anything for the girl of my dreams. Now c'mere.”

And just like that, he ruined the moment by overdoing it.

Meh.

You stepped out of your shoes and sat down beside him, pulling your knees to your chest while Rafe leaned back on his elbows, the two of you quietly watching the horizon for a while.

Eventually, your curiosity got the better of you.

“So, from what you've told me...” You glanced over at him. “It sounds like the deal is sealed.”

Rafe furrowed his brows and let out a tired sigh before meeting your eyes. “It is. I'm officially in business now. Cameron & Whitmore Coastal Horizon Development is being announced at the Gloaming.”

A real grown-up man.

Wow.

You shifted closer, resting your arm beside his to close some of the distance. “But why are you feeling so down? That's good, isn't it? You managed to buy us more time now that Ruthie temporarily got what she wanted.”

“Good.” He scoffed, shaking his head, looking utterly exhausted. “Sure, yeah. It's fucking great that I'm tied to a fucking bitch and forced to work alongside her. Maybe forever.”

He dragged a trembling hand over his face with a groan. “Seriously... what have I gotten myself into? She's gonna make my life a living hell.”

Restlessly, your fingers played with your bracelet, itching to reach over and touch him.

But something inside you still felt shy about initiating physical contact sometimes. You still hadn't quite figured out when it was okay.

He probably doesn't care, girl.

“The fact that she's part of this now... yeah, that sucks,” you said, offering him a small smile. “But think about it. She's not some minor contributor or employee or whatever. She's your equal partner, right?”

Rafe grimaced. “Fifty-fifty ownership between our families' companies, yeah.”

“That also means fifty-fifty responsibility.” Your smile widened as the thought settled into place, the little minions in your head already connecting the dots. “So whatever happens to either one of you will automatically affect the other.”

You could already see a spark returning to Rafe's eyes, but you kept going. “This is actually good for us in a lot of ways. Ruthie isn't untouchable anymore. She's a liability now. It'll probably be much easier to screw her over than her dad if we ever wanna get you out of that deal.”

“Not sure about that, but... yeah.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe.” You chuckled, feeling your cheeks warm beneath how intently Rafe was listening to you. “But think about it. The second this deal gets announced publicly, neither of you can afford a public scandal anymore.”

Rafe’s mouth twitched into the faintest smile as he turned onto his side, reaching for your fidgeting hand and absentmindedly playing with your bracelet instead. “Then she better get herself into one.”

Your heart beat faster, partly from the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of this after all, and partly because of the warmth of his touch.

“That, and the probability of her publishing the video should've decreased.” You could barely contain your grin. “It just doesn't make sense for her to release it now. She got what she wanted. And even if she did publish it for whatever reason, she'd be dragging herself down with it. The sole fact that one business partner is blackmailing and sabotaging the other is a scandal in itself. But let's hope it never comes to that.”

Goosebumps spread across your skin as his thumb slowly circled the inside of your wrist.

Such a simple gesture felt strangely intimate.

And then his eyes dropped to your lips.

“My girl's very smart,” he hummed before slowly lifting his gaze back to yours.

You smiled sheepishly.

Girl, c'mon. You made this guy cum in his pants.

“It's just... lots of thoughts in my head right now.” You shrugged softly. “One of them is bound to make sense.”

“Mhm.” He wet his lips. “And what else is going on in that pretty head of yours right now?”

Dude was not subtle.

A shaky chuckle escaped you. “Well... I guess now that the deal is sealed and we don't have to worry about that anymore, we can fully focus on getting rid of that video. I mean, you'll have to focus on the new company and everything, but I actually think that, now that we have more time, I could make it my job to focus on Gracie and—”

You were cut off by a kiss.

The moment his hand came up to cup your cheek and he shifted closer, sitting up a little straighter, you melted right into him. You felt him smile against your lips as you kissed him back shyly, still awkwardly clinging to the blanket with both hands.

“You babble and babble about this shitty deal,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a low rumble. He kissed you again, only to pull back another inch. “And all I could think about was this.”

Warmth flooded your veins, and your movements became more confident, more instinctive. A quiet giggle escaped you before you kissed him back, closing your eyes to savor the moment.

No way you were ruining this by talking.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, sending another jolt through your body as he gently, yet firmly, guided you closer, tilting your head ever so slightly to deepen the kiss.

You turned your body more toward him, every thought slowly dissolving until all that remained was his scent, his warmth, his lips against yours, the way his fingers caressed your neck, and how effortlessly he made this feel real.

Like he wasn't kissing you just because he had to. Not because it was some upgraded form of fake dating. But because he genuinely wanted to kiss you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured suddenly, pulling back just enough for your foreheads to nearly touch.

Startled, you mirrored his movement and frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For causing you trouble.” The frustration from earlier had completely faded from his face, replaced by something much softer. His hand slipped from your neck to rest against the side of your throat. “It was so careless of me to give you that jacket without checking it first. I just... didn't think I still had a stash in it.”

Your expression softened, and without realizing it, you leaned ever so slightly into his touch.

“It was a little stupid, yeah,” you admitted with a smile. “But we managed. It could've been a lot worse.”

“Only because your parents reacted so chill,” he argued, gently stroking your skin with his thumb. “They could've gone straight to my dad or... I don't know, completely crashed out or some shit. Your dad was so calm with me that I was scared shitless.”

You couldn't help but laugh, even if part of you genuinely felt sorry for him.

“Shit's not funny,” he complained, though a quiet chuckle escaped him anyway. “I thought he was gonna swing that golf club at me at some point.”

“I'm glad he didn't,” you mumbled, caught somewhere between feeling shy and wanting him to know just how much you liked having him here.

Sure enough, a cocky smile slowly spread across Rafe's face.

His hand slid back up to your cheek, brushing gently along your jaw as his gaze drifted down to your lips again.

“That so?” he murmured, already leaning closer.

A breathy laugh escaped you before you nodded, closing the remaining distance yourself. “Yeah.”

This kiss was much slower. Much softer. And a lot more patient than the one before.

It felt as though neither of you was in any hurry anymore, both quietly taking your time to learn the feeling of the other's lips.

His hand stayed cupped against your cheek while your own finally found the courage to move, hesitantly resting against his shoulder before your fingers curled into the fabric of his polo.

The tiny gesture earned the faintest smile against your lips.

Your heartbeat stumbled, and a quiet sigh escaped before you could stop it.

Rafe's thumb paused for only a heartbeat before gently tracing the sensitive spot just beneath your ear instead.

Goosebumps immediately spread across your skin.

His lips drifted from yours only slightly, brushing the corner of your mouth before ghosting along your jaw, every kiss so feather-light it almost drove you insane. Without even realizing it, you tilted your head a little farther, silently giving him more room.

He took it as permission to continue, his lips slowly trailing lower until they reached your collarbone, where he carefully nudged the fabric of your top aside just enough to reach your skin.

Your fingers tightened around his polo, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he had to hear it.

His breathing had become uneven too.

For a brief moment, his lips stayed in one place, suckling gently, as though he were trying to steady himself when in reality he was very obviously giving you a hickey.

“Do you wanna stop?” he whispered against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, not lifting his head.

HELL THE FUCK NOOO.

You shook your head, your own breathing shaky. A warm, pulling sensation coiled low in your stomach.

A relieved breath left his lips. “Good.” He kissed your collarbone again, his hand drifting lower, his knuckles brushing the side of your breast.

“This okay?”

You nodded, followed by a soft gasp as his thumb brushed over your chest through the fabric of your bra before eventually cupping your breast.

Another gasp escaped you as he gave it a gentle squeeze, lifting his head to capture your lips in another hungry kiss.

“Upgraded bonding time?” he asked as the hand on your breast drifted down to your waist, hinting at his intentions.

You let out a nervous chuckle in response. Your heart pounded even faster, your own desire battling the fear of exposing yourself in such a way.

“Like what? Sex?” You immediately regretted the caution and bluntness in your own voice, not even understanding where it had come from.

Rafe pulled back slightly, furrowing his brows before chuckling. “No. I’m not gonna let you have your first time on some beach. Imagine the sand getting everywhere.”

As if the sand was your biggest concern.

“Then what?” Your cheeks flushed. “Like what we did on the yacht?”

The memory alone brought back some of the lingering embarrassment of exposing yourself like that.

“As much as I’d love to have you grinding on my cock again, I’d rather do something else,” he said, his smile turning lopsided. “Let me take care of you this time.”

His hand slid even lower to your hip, his thumb coming to rest on the waistband of your shorts, a silent question in his gaze.

Ummmm...

Guys.

Code red.

Like... fingering?

His fingers in your shorts, in your—

On the beach.

Now.

Like, today.

What.

Overwhelmed, you let out another nervous chuckle, all your earlier boldness gone, leaving behind the shy and awkward girl from last week. “Take care of me. How...?”

Rafe remained calm, shrugging nonchalantly. “I don’t exactly have a step-by-step plan, baby. That’d spoil all the fun.”

Fun.

Plans were fun.

Having something to stick to was fun.

The unpredictable?

Definitely not fun.

“Look, I know this is a lot for you, and we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay?” His hand moved in slow circles over your hip, a quiet attempt to settle your racing thoughts. “We can just go back to normal bonding time. Cuddle. Talk. No questions asked. But you made me feel so good at the sleepover. I wanna make you feel like that too. If you’ll let me.”

The blue in his eyes had softened into a warm brown beneath the orange glow of the sunset. A rare gentleness clung to his features.

“And if you do,” he continued, his voice quiet, “I’ll go slow. We move at your pace, and if you wanna stop, we stop. I don’t want your minions tearing each other apart because they’re overwhelmed.” His gaze drifted over your panicked expression. “But they already are, aren’t they?”

You nodded, his hand somehow both an anchor and the source of every nerve in your body at the same time. “I just...” You felt so stupid. “I don’t know how to... do this, you know? I don’t want it to be awkward.”

Rafe blinked, completely caught off guard. “Awkward?” He chuckled softly. “Beautiful, you don’t have to do anything except lie there and enjoy it. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Well, I don’t want it to be awkward for you either,” you mumbled, almost too quietly to be heard over the waves.

His confidence shifted into confusion. “Why would it be? I’d be enjoying every second of it too.”

This conversation alone was turning awkward.

“Yeah, I meant...” You gave him an awkward smile, your whole face burning now. “Never mind. Okay. Go on.”

The words stumbled out before you could think them through, and you immediately felt the overwhelming urge to dive into the ocean and never come back up.

Why had you just randomly agreed instead of admitting you were scared he’d be bad at fingering you, that you’d end up having to fake it, that you’d be terrible at pretending, and that he’d probably feel awful and embarrassed?

Rafe stared at you, his mouth slightly agape, looking just as startled as you felt. He let his hand fall from your hip and gestured between the two of you with quiet amusement. “You’re giving me some very mixed signals here, ma’am.”

“I know,” you groaned, grimacing at your own awkwardness. “I’m sorry. I’m making everything so complicated.”

He reached for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “That’s okay. I can work with complicated. If this is just nerves, inexperience, or... I dunno, some general minion shit going on in your head, I can handle that.” He furrowed his brows. “But you’re gonna have to give me a clear yes that you want this. I’m not gonna start something while you’re not fully into it.”

That alone quieted some of the racing thoughts in your head.

“I do want this,” you said at last, sounding more confident. “But I’m nervous because I’m inexperienced. And I’m inexperienced because the minions in my head never let anything get this far.” You made a small balancing gesture with both hands, a self-deprecating smile tugging at your lips. “So... I’m kind of struggling in every department.”

Rafe chuckled. “Sounds like a skill issue to me, but alright.” He smiled. “Told you I can work with that. So how about we just go with the flow? I’ll take the lead, you lean back and enjoy, and if it becomes more than kissing, it happens naturally. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. Sound good to you?”

He made it sound so simple when—

It was.

Girl, it really was that simple. There was no reason to make this any more awkward for either of you by dragging it out when you both so obviously wanted more.

So you took a breath and nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed, but you didn’t miss the way he bit the inside of his cheek or drummed his fingers against his thigh.

Was he... nervous too?

Rafe pulled the oversized pillow closer and adjusted it behind your back, but instead of easing you onto it, he scooted closer and let his hand rest against your cheek, his eyes drifting to your lips.

“I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?” The quiet confidence in his voice carried the faintest trace of nerves, and now that you noticed it, you couldn't unhear it.

Fuck thiiiiiiis.

Instead of answering, you closed the distance yourself, pressing your lips to his in the boldest response you could manage.

An excited groan escaped him as he followed your pace for a few seconds before taking the lead himself, slowing your overly eager kisses into something softer, a slight tremble running through the hand cupping your cheek.

It seemed like he tried to hide it as his hand slid down to the side of your neck, his thumb coming to rest gently against your throat.

You had tried so hard to keep up with him that every kiss came just a little too quickly, your lips chasing his whenever he barely pulled away for a breath.

Eventually, there was that quiet, amused exhale through his nose again, almost like he couldn’t quite believe your impatience.

“So eager,” he murmured against your lips, the words carrying a low, teasing confidence that wasn’t mocking you so much as simply observing you, as though he already knew your racing thoughts had transformed into equally impatient actions.

Heat immediately rushed to your face, but you didn’t get the chance to retreat into it because his hand stayed at your neck, steady and grounding, his thumb moving in slow, absent strokes that somehow kept you anchored while his attention remained entirely on you.

“It’s okay,” he said, grinning perhaps a little too cockily at the thought of you being so needy. “But let’s go slow, alright?”

Embarrassed but grateful for his understanding, you nodded.

The kiss changed without warning but also without distance, simply deepening as he took more control of the rhythm, slowing it down in a way that made your earlier urgency melt into something softer and less chaotic, until it wasn’t a chase anymore but something he guided you through with a patience that felt almost intentional, like he was teaching your body to match his pace without ever needing to say it.

Your breathing evened out without you even noticing exactly when it happened, your shoulders gradually relaxing as the tension that had been sitting beneath your skin for hours finally began to dissolve.

Rafe noticed it immediately, the faintest approving hum escaping him as the corners of his mouth curved against yours, like he had been waiting for exactly that shift.

His hand left your neck only briefly, just long enough to adjust the pillow behind you, easing you back into it with a careful pressure that made you sink into the softness rather than simply fall onto it.

When he followed you down, it wasn’t abrupt or overwhelming, just a natural closing of the space between you until you were reclined against the cushion and he was angled beside you, close enough that the warmth of his body remained a constant against your side, slightly above you.

And yet, the change in position also brought a change in dynamic.

Rafe grew a little bolder in the way he led, letting his tongue join the kiss as he settled half against you, half leaning over you, supporting himself on one elbow while his other hand found its way back to the side of your neck.

You tilted your head to meet his increasingly hungry, messier kisses more easily. Instinctively, the hand closest to him slipped beneath his supporting arm to rest on his bicep.

A low rumble vibrated through his chest as you gave it an experimental squeeze, almost as if you wanted to feel the muscle flex beneath your fingers.

“You like my arms, baby?”

Heat flooded your cheeks, a girlish little laugh slipping free before you could stop it as his thumb stroked lightly over your throat.

“Maybe I do,” you admitted, neediness and shyness battling across your face in response to his confidence.

God, that was attractive.

He grinned, entirely too pleased with himself, the hand at your throat slowly drifting down to cup your breast. He gave it one gentle squeeze...

Then another, just a little firmer.

A quiet whimper escaped your lips.

Something deeply hungry flickered across his face at the sound, and he instinctively shifted his hips, letting the unmistakable outline of his erection press more firmly against your thigh through the fabric of his shorts.

From that moment on, everything between you grew more heated.

The kisses turned sloppier, his lips drifting back down to your neck where he'd left off earlier while his hands continued exploring you with growing confidence, gently caressing your breasts as your fingers remained curled around his bicep.

Somewhere between one kiss and the next, he'd managed to unclasp your bra—not taking it off, only loosening it enough for his hands to slip beneath the fabric and play with your nipples.

Soft little sounds escaped you as he alternated between kissing and gently sucking at your skin all the way down to your collarbone. His hands mapped your body with a mixture of patience and urgency that slowly dissolved every coherent thought until all you could do was let yourself feel.

Throughout it all, quiet little compliments slipped from his lips.

Calling you beautiful. Pretty. Telling you how sweet he found the contrast between your eagerness and your inexperience. How much he enjoyed teasing you just a little by making you wait.

But you knew it wasn't easy for him either.

His arousal kept pressing against your side in search of friction, quiet groans slipping from him in between kisses.

By the time his hands came to rest on the button of your shorts, your panties were already soaked.

You were almost too shy to let him feel you, to let him discover the part of yourself that had remained hidden from everyone for all these years.

Because, frankly... it was your pussy.

It had its own shape, its own feel, its own scent—along with the insecurities that seemed to cling to almost every girl at some point in her life.

And letting a boy see that part of you...

It was terrifying.

But somehow, Rafe had managed to make all of those nerves crumble into a single, suspenseful moment. Every kiss, every touch of his hands had only tightened the ache between your legs, need coiling low in your stomach.

"Do you want to stop?" he asked, his expression serious despite the unmistakable hunger beneath it.

Do I?

"No," you breathed, your voice ragged with need.

But Rafe still didn't continue.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly. "Tell me you want this."

"I do." You nodded, silently begging him to keep going.

"That's not a full sentence, baby," he teased, his thumb circling the button of your shorts. "Come on. Use your words."

You grimaced, fighting the urge to rub your thighs together. "Rafe... don't tease me."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"You got me worked up too." With one smooth motion, he lifted the leg closest to him over his own, spreading you a little wider. "But alright. I'll put you out of your misery."

And he did.

Everything happened so naturally, so effortlessly, that you barely had time to second-guess yourself before his lips found yours again, the button of your shorts popping open at the same time.

You hardly noticed one arm slipping beneath your back to lift your hips just enough for him to ease your shorts down your legs.

What you did notice was the hesitation in his touch. He almost seemed reluctant to touch the bare skin of your legs, until your own need made you guide his hand down your thigh.

A breathy chuckle escaped him as his fingers settled against the softness of your hip before slowly sliding higher—over your inner thigh—until the warmth of his palm finally cupped the damp fabric between your legs.

Your breath caught against his lips when he groaned.

"Holy fuck." His voice turned rough as his hips rolled lightly against your side. "You're already soaked? For me?"

The last question came out almost an octave higher, full of genuine disbelief, and heat rushed to your face at the undeniable evidence beneath his hand.

All you could do was nod, looking back at him with vulnerable eyes.

"Shit... that's so..." He kissed you again, harder this time, his thumb rubbing over your wet panties. "So fucking hot."

A soft gasp escaped you as your hips instinctively lifted into his touch, your thoughts already beginning to dissolve beneath the growing ache.

"You want me to touch you properly, hm?" he murmured, the familiar cockiness slipping back into his voice as he looked into your eyes, his pupils blown wide. "My pretty girl needs it that badly?"

You nodded again, an involuntary whimper escaping your lips.

An approving hum vibrated against your mouth as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finally making contact with your soaked folds.

He took his time exploring, carefully tracing the sensitive skin before two fingers slowly glided upward through your slickness, no doubt searching for your clit.

WAIT... WHAT IF HE DOESN'T FIND IT? AND—

A startled moan broke from your lips as your back arched, his fingertips brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"There you go, baby," he murmured. "Let me hear you."

He watched your eyes flutter closed as he gently stroked your clit.

Every coherent thought disappeared beneath the sensation.

Your fingers dug into his bicep while your other hand clutched the blanket, your hips eagerly chasing every slow stroke.

"Fuck," you moaned as he rubbed a little faster, a little firmer, letting the swollen bundle of nerves glide between his middle and index finger.

Then he slowed again, deliberately teasing you before sliding through your slickness toward your entrance, which had been clenching around nothing until now.

"You want more?" he asked with a quiet chuckle as you instinctively ground your hips into his hand.

You nodded desperately, your brows knitting together. "Yes... please."

A slow stretch followed as those same two fingers carefully eased inside you, drawing a choked moan from your throat.

Rafe immediately pulled his hand back, resting it on your thigh. "Shit. Did I hurt you?"

"A little," you admitted through a shaky breath, only for his face to drain of color.

"N-no, it's okay. I just... I shouldn't have tensed up while you... you know... went in."

But he didn't look convinced. Guilt settled heavily across his features. "No. That's on me. I went too fast. I probably didn't get you ready enough."

You let out a surprised little laugh, warmth flooding your cheeks. "I'm already soaked, Rafe. I don't think I could've been any readier."

"You sure?" Concern was written all over his face. "I don't want to hurt you."

"It was more of a startled reaction than actual pain," you assured him honestly.

Rafe gave a small nod, though he still looked uncertain. "Okay... I'll be more careful. And if anything feels wrong, you tell me."

You nodded again.

Only then did he lean down to kiss you once more, gently closing the brief distance that had formed between you.

"Relax," he whispered against your lips.

His fingers parted your folds again, gathering some of your slickness before slowly returning to your entrance.

When he felt your muscles finally unclench, he eased two fingers back inside.

Very slowly.

This time, they slipped in smoothly, coming to a gentle stop as he let you adjust to the unfamiliar stretch.

“You’re doing so well, baby.” His voice a soft praise against your needy gasps and moans. “Just focus on my fingers.”

He curled them slightly, trying to find the right spot inside you, but he didn't quite manage.

Something felt... off.

Not painful. Just... not particularly stimulating.

Like, it wasn't bad, you felt his fingers pump into you gently as you clenched around him but... hm...

HELP, THIS IS WHAT I WAS DREADING.

"You like that?" he asked, completely absorbed in the moment, and your eyes fluttered open with a sheepish smile.

You hesitated, cheeks warming immediately. It wasn't easy admitting it, not after seeing how carefully he'd been trying.

"Can you... go back to before?" you said, guilt scratching at your throat.

Rafe stilled his motion. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you again?"

"It's not that it hurts," you said carefully. "I just... liked it better before."

His brows knit together. "Before?"

You gave the smallest nod, unable to meet his eyes for long.

"Outside," you admitted, almost under your breath.

I'M RUINING THE MOOD AHHHHH.

"Okay..." Carefully, he withdrew his fingers before letting them glide back through your folds, returning to your clit. "...Like this?"

You nodded, a needy whimper slipping past your lips as he picked up where he had left off, his fingers somehow knowing exactly what to do there.

"Yes," you moaned, your eyes fluttering shut again as your mind drifted right back into that hazy, blissful state. "Just like that."

This, he was very good at.

Your legs began to tremble as his movements gradually grew more confident, his fingers alternating between slow, deliberate strokes and quicker, tighter circles over your swollen clit.

The tension low in your stomach wound tighter and tighter, every sensation narrowing until all you could focus on was the warmth of his hand between your thighs.

A soft gasp escaped you when Rafe's lips found your neck again. He kissed slowly upward, brushing along your jaw before lingering just beneath your ear.

Goosebumps rippled across your skin.

"Next time I'm doing a shitty job," he whispered, his lips barely grazing your ear, "use that pretty mouth of yours and tell me right away. Got it?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

Instead, he caught the moan that escaped you in another slow, lingering kiss while his fingers resumed their steady rhythm, drawing another helpless arch from your hips.

"Are you close?" he murmured against your skin.

You nodded, every nerve in your body straining toward the release that felt so impossibly close.

A low chuckle vibrated in his chest as he pressed his own arousal a little more firmly against your hip.

"Yeah?" he murmured. "You want me to drag it out?"

Your eyes flew open immediately.

"No," you pleaded.

"No?" His brows lifted, amusement dancing across his face as his movements slowed to an almost unbearable crawl, his gaze locking onto yours. "My pretty girl wants to come?"

You nodded with wide, pleading eyes, no longer caring how desperate you looked.

A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Gonna make it good, then."

For another moment he simply watched you, taking in every tiny twitch of anticipation that crossed your face. The playful grin softened into something quieter, more intent, as though he'd tucked away the tiny bruise to his ego from earlier and replaced it with determination.

"So pretty like this," he murmured, his voice lower now, almost coaxing.

His thumb resumed its careful rhythm, unhurried at first, letting the tension build instead of rushing it. Every little reaction you gave him seemed to guide his next movement, his confidence returning piece by piece as your breathing grew more uneven beneath him.

Your whole body trembled as he never let up, patiently guiding you through wave after wave of pleasure until the tension finally snapped.

Your eyes rolled back, your entire body tightening before release washed over you so completely that, for a fleeting moment, you couldn't tell whether the stars you saw belonged to the night sky above or the ones bursting behind your closed eyelids.

Slowly, gently, he eased you through the last lingering waves, the pressure lightening just before it tipped into too much.

"That's it," he murmured. "You did so well, baby."

Panting, all you could do was lie there, completely spent, a deep sense of peace settling over you like the softest blanket. Your hand was still curled around his bicep, with no intention of letting go.

One last whimper escaped you as Rafe let his fingers glide through your slickness one final time before bringing them to his lips.

With a quiet pop, he slipped them into his mouth. "So good."

WHAT A FREAKY-ASS GUY, WOW.

"Nasty," you muttered, laughing as you nudged him away.

Rafe only chuckled, completely unashamed, holding his fingers out toward you. "You should taste."

"NO!" you shrieked, heat rushing to your cheeks as equal parts embarrassment and laughter bubbled up inside you.

He simply shrugged before wiping the remaining slickness on the leg of his shorts. Then he retrieved your own shorts helped you dress up again.

"You okay?" he asked while he buttoned up your bottoms for you.

You nodded, your shyness returning, stuck between letting yourself believe what just happened, and lingering a moment longer in this beautiful bubble you were in.

"And... this," he gestured to the whole situation that just unfolded seconds ago, the confident leading guy slipping beneath something quieter, more vulnerable. "Was this... you know... was it okay, too?"

GIRL, GIVE HIM THE PRAISE HE DESERVES.

You slid lower onto the pillow, letting yourself slip closer to him, so he was leaning above you. "It was perfect."

"Despite..." He smiled awkwardly, no trace left of the cockiness from earlier. And because he didn't finish the sentence, not clarifying whether he meant the scratch to his ego or the fear of hurting you, your only need was to reassure him.

You nodded, fingers reaching out to play with his bracelet. "Rafe, it was perfect, I swear. Please don't overthink whether something didn't go as you planned. It was the first time you've ever... well, touched me like this." You looked away for a moment. "It's normal that you don't know my body inside out yet."

Rafe's smugness returned immediately, and he shifted to curve around your side (his boner still very present), his hand finding your waist to pull you flush against him. "Yet? So there'll be more, am I hearing that right?"

"What I'm trying to say is," you continued, trying to hide your smile, "that you did very well." You grew more sheepish. "I mean you got me worked up very quickly."

BECAUSE I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU BUT STILL.

"That I did," he agreed, a soft breeze coming from the shore up to rustle through his hair. He rubbed your arm. "You're cold."

Before you could answer, he reached into his bag and somehow produced another blanket.

Seriously. How much stuff fit in there? Was he secretly Hermione Granger?

He draped it over both of you before sliding one arm beneath your shoulders, letting you settle comfortably against his chest.

"Better?" he asked.

Warmth immediately wrapped around you, making you feel like you could fall asleep right there.

Which is why you only let out a sleepy "Mhm."

"Good." He was quiet for a beat. "So..." His chin rested lightly against your head. "This is the aftercare part, right?"

The question almost made you laugh. Not because it was silly but because of how earnestly he asked it. But then you remembered he'd never actually done this before.

You tapped his chest. "Yes. It's the most important part after... anything like this."

"Yeah, I did my research," he said proudly.

"Actual research or research as in I asked my best buddy Kelce for tips?"

He frowned. "Don't say it like I cuddle with him or some shit. Plus I don't need his help, okay?"

"Apropos of needing help." You shifted more upright, a sudden urgent thought bolting through your mind. "The video..."

Rafe groaned. "Shit, no, we are not gonna talk about that now."

"Please, just hear me out for a quick second." You tilted your head in your sweetest smile.

The frown stayed unbroken, but he sighed. "Fine. You have one minute. Then I'm demanding standard bonding time."

All fucked-out minions, please assemble.

Mission objective: convince this incredibly stubborn boy that letting his friends help him won't kill him if you want to beat Ruthie at her own game.

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