Couldve fooled Me - Part 3
Rafe Cameron
Masterlist
Trope: Secret relationship
Warnings: angst, jealousy, toxic relationship dynamics, secrecy, emotional manipulation, possessiveness, intense confrontation, hurt/comfort, mild language, alcohol/party setting
Words: 9.5k
˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩
"Rafe, you can't be serious right now." The words leave me on a breathy, disbelieving laugh, and I fold my arms tight across my chest like that'll somehow keep me from coming apart in front of him. My brows shoot up before I can stop them. "You literally promised me it was a one-time thing. We had a whole conversation about this, Rafe. You looked me right in the eye and said it wasn't gonna happen again."
He stares at me for a second, jaw ticking, nostrils flaring just slightly like he's already annoyed that this is turning into a thing. "It was Y/N," he says, clipped and hard, dragging a hand through his already messy hair. He starts pacing once, then stops, too wound up to stay still. "I told you that. I told her it wasn't gonna work, alright? What else do you want me to do? She's still gonna be there. She's still gonna be out with us. I can't control every single person in the room."
"That's not the point and you know it."
"No, I do know it," he snaps, then laughs once under his breath, sharp and humorless. "You think I'm out here trying to make you look stupid? Is that what you think?"
My stomach twists so hard it almost makes me feel sick. Because beneath the frustration, beneath the anger, there's something worse. That awful, familiar ache of realizing I should've known better. I should've known better than to believe that with Rafe, promises ever stayed simple.
"I think," I say, quieter now, even though I hate how shaky I sound, "that if it's nothing, then why does it always feel like I'm the one who's supposed to just deal with it? Why am I always the one adjusting? Why am I always the one hiding?"
That lands. I can tell it does by the way his expression changes, just for a second. Something tight flashes across his face. Not softness exactly. Not even guilt all the way. Just something raw and irritated and cornered, like he hates that I said the one thing he doesn't have a good answer for.
He looks away first, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "Jesus," he mutters. "Can you not do this right now?"
"Do what?"
"Make it into something bigger than it is."
I let out a short laugh, because that almost would've been funny if it didn't hurt so bad. "Bigger than it is? Rafe, we're in your bedroom with the door shut and half the island doesn't even know I exist to you. How exactly is that not a thing?"
His eyes cut back to mine then, cold and sharp in that way of his that always makes the room feel smaller. For a second I think he's gonna blow up, say something cruel just because he can, just because that's easier than actually talking. That's the thing about him. With Rafe, you can always feel the edge before it comes.
But then his voice drops instead.
"Baby," he says, rougher now, stepping closer. "Don't start tripping on me over this. You know how it looks, yeah, I get that. But I'm telling you, it's nothing."
The way he says baby should irritate me more than it does. It should make me angrier, hearing him use that low, coaxing tone like it's enough to smooth over everything else. And maybe it does. Maybe that's exactly why my chest tightens the second he says it.
Because it works. At least a little. And I hate that.
I look down at the floor, swallowing hard, suddenly too aware of how heavy everything feels inside me. My chest is tight. My throat feels hot. It feels like if I say one more thing, everything I've been trying to hold in is gonna come spilling out all at once, and I refuse to cry in front of him. Not over this. Not again.
"Hey." His voice softens, just enough to make me look up. "Hey, c'mere."
He doesn't wait for me to decide. He never really does. One second there's space between us, and the next his hand is at my waist, pulling me into him with that careless certainty like he already knows I'm not gonna fight him too hard. My heart stutters anyway.
"Rafe..."
"Relax," he murmurs, though he's the furthest thing from relaxed himself.
His chest is warm beneath the hoodie, solid and familiar, and when I breathe in, all I get is salt air, smoke, detergent, and him. My shoulders loosen before I mean for them to. His hand slides up my back slow, almost absentminded, but I know him well enough to know it's not absentminded at all. With Rafe, even tenderness has control in it.
"It's just a party, alright?" he says into my hair. His fingers thread through it in that lazy, deliberate way that always messes with my head. "You're with me. I'm gonna be right there. Nothing's gonna happen."
I let out a quiet breath against his chest. "You keep saying that."
"Because I'm serious."
"Are you?"
That makes him go still for half a second.
I feel it, the change in him. The slight tension in his arm around me. The way his fingers tighten on my hip before easing again.
When he speaks, his voice is lower. Less defensive. More dangerous somehow because of how controlled it is. "Yeah," he says. "I am."
I lean back just enough to look at him, and there's something in his face that catches me off guard. His jaw is still hard, his eyes still intense, but all that anger from a minute ago has burned down into something quieter. More focused. He's looking at me like the rest of the room, the rest of the night, all of it, has narrowed down to this one conversation.
"Then tell me the truth," I whisper. "Why does this have to be a secret?"
For a second, he doesn't answer.
His mouth presses into a flat line. He glances toward the door like the question itself put him on edge, then back at me.
"You wanna do this now?" he asks.
"Yeah. I do."
He exhales through his nose, impatient, but not dismissive this time. More like he's trying not to say the wrong thing and failing anyway. "Because people talk," he says finally. "Because people don't know how to keep their mouths shut. Because the second anybody sees something, it turns into a whole thing, and I don't need that right now."
"You don't need it," I repeat.
His eyes narrow. "Don't do that."
"I'm just listening to you."
"No, you're twisting it."
"Am I?"
He lets out a low curse and drops his head back for a second, staring at the ceiling like he's trying to wrestle himself under control. When he looks at me again, there's frustration there, but underneath it something more honest slips through.
"I am trying," he says, quieter now. "You get that, right? I'm trying to keep this from turning into a mess."
"It already is a mess."
His laugh is bitter and brief. "Yeah. No kidding."
That shouldn't make me want to smile, but it almost does. Almost. Instead I just shake my head and press my lips together, because if I let myself soften too fast, we're just gonna end up in the same place we always do.
I rest my forehead lightly against his chest again, closing my eyes for a second. My stomach is still doing that nervous, twisting thing, still not buying any of this even when the rest of me wants to.
"Just... promise me nothing's gonna happen," I mumble. It comes out small, embarrassingly small. Like begging. Like I haven't learned anything. Like some part of me still believes if he says the right words in the right tone, it'll change what he is when the lights are on and people are watching.
His hand slides under my chin, rough fingertips warm against my skin, his thumb pressing just enough to tilt my face up. "Look at me," he mutters.
I do.
His eyes lock on mine, blue and steady and impossible to read all the way. His jaw works once. Twice. Like whatever he's about to say costs him something.
"I promise you," he says finally.
And the thing is, he sounds deadly serious. Not casual. Not lazy. Not like he's saying it just to shut me up. He sounds like he means it right now, in this exact moment, with his hand on my face and his body still close to mine.
There's a flicker in his expression then, there and gone so fast I almost miss it. Something that looks too much like guilt. Or fear. Or maybe just the briefest crack in all that swagger and temper and control. Something human. Something that makes my chest twist in a way I don't know what to do with.
"Rafe..."
"I said I promise," he says again, softer this time, but firmer too. His thumb brushes once across my jaw. "I got you, okay?"
I want to ask if he even knows what that means. I want to ask how he can say that and still keep me tucked away behind closed doors like something fragile or shameful or temporary. I want to ask why I keep letting him pull me back in every single time.
I don't ask any of it.
Maybe because I already know none of his answers would fix this. Maybe because standing this close to him always scrambles my better judgment. Maybe because some stupid, hopeful part of me still wants to believe him.
He dips his head before I can say anything else, catching my mouth in a kiss that feels more like a claim than comfort. It's quick and sharp, not soft exactly, but careful in a way that surprises me. Controlled. Like he's holding back the part of himself that always wants too much, too fast, too hard.
When he pulls away, it's only barely. His forehead rests against mine, his hand still at my jaw, the other planted firm on my hip.
"You need to stop looking at me like that," he murmurs.
I blink up at him. "Like what?"
"Like you don't believe me."
I let out a shaky breath. "Maybe because I don't know if I should."
His eyes search mine for a long second, intense and unreadable. Then his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, more like something tired and crooked and a little broken around the edges.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "Maybe not."
That honesty hits harder than another promise would've.
Outside his bedroom, the house is still alive somewhere beyond the walls. Voices downstairs. A door shutting. Music bleeding faintly through the floor. The whole world waiting just outside this room, ready to ruin whatever this is the second we step back into it.
But for one suspended second, he doesn't move away.
Neither do I.
And when his forehead stays pressed to mine like he's not ready to let me go, I hate how much it feels like maybe I'm not ready either.
----
My phone lights up on the bed beside me for the third time in ten minutes, some useless notification I ignore without even checking. I scroll back up to Rafe’s last text instead.
Be cool tonight, alright?
That’s it.
No heart. No nickname. No stupid little thing that sounds soft enough to belong to us. Just three words and everything packed inside them.
Be cool. Don’t sound jealous. Don’t start anything. Don’t look at him too long. Don’t act like a girlfriend when nobody’s supposed to know you are one.
I stare at the screen until the words start to blur together, my chest tight in that familiar, exhausting way. It’s insane how three words from him can do that to me. How they can make me feel chosen and dismissed at the exact same time.
Then my phone buzzes in my hand.
JJ.
His name flashes across the screen, and for some reason that feels easier to breathe through.
I swipe to answer and press the phone to my ear. “Hey, JJ.” My voice comes out softer than I mean for it to, thin with tiredness.
“Yooooo, y/n,” he says, dragging my name out like he’s already grinning. “You alive over there or did you finally fuse with your mattress?”
Despite myself, I let out the smallest huff of a laugh. “Maybe a little of both.”
“Cool. Love that for you. So you coming tonight or what?”
I stare up at the ceiling. At the hairline crack in the paint. At the shadows stretching over my room as the light outside starts to change.
I really don’t want to go.
I don’t want the noise or the bodies packed too close together. I don’t want the music so loud it crawls under my skin. I definitely don’t want to see Rafe standing around with his friends and all those girls who act like they don’t notice me, like I’m furniture, like I’m too irrelevant to even be jealous of.
But I know better.
I know they notice him. I know they always will. And I know one of them will try something, because they always do.
And the worst part is I can’t even react. I can’t walk up and put a hand on his arm. I can’t look at him the wrong way. I can’t ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing.
Because he’s mine in all the ways that matter and none of the ways that count in public.
I roll onto my back and twist a loose thread on my pillowcase around my finger until it almost cuts into my skin. “I don’t know,” I say after a second. “I might stay in tonight.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then JJ scoffs so dramatically I have to pull the phone back a little. “Stay in? On a Saturday? Absolutely not. No. Rejected. Try again.”
I close my eyes. “JJ.”
“Nope. I’m serious.” I can hear movement on his end, a car door slamming somewhere in the background, wind rushing past the speaker. “You are way too hot to be rotting in your room like some haunted little Victorian orphan.”
A smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it. “That is such a weird thing to say.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a weird guy. You knew that when you picked me as one of your favorite people.”
“I don’t remember saying that.”
“You didn’t have to. I can feel these things.”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet lovable. It’s a burden.”
I hear him messing with something, probably turning down the radio with one hand while doing something else reckless with the other. Then he says, “C’mon, it’ll be fun. There’s gonna be kegs, a garbage playlist, at least three guys trying way too hard to look cool, and probably somebody crying before eleven. Classic Outer Banks event. You can’t miss quality entertainment like that.”
I don’t answer right away.
Because I can picture it too easily.
The heat. The smell of beer and salt and expensive perfume. The press of people moving around each other like tides. And Rafe somewhere in the middle of it all, leaning back with that lazy, smug look he gets when he knows everyone in the room is watching him.
Some girl laughing too loud at something he says. Some girl stepping into his space like she belongs there. Some girl touching what I only ever get in secret.
My stomach knots so hard it almost feels like nausea.
“I’m not really in a party mood,” I say quietly.
JJ goes quiet for half a second.
He always hears it. Even when I want him not to.
“Okay,” he says, and his voice changes a little. Softer. Less performance. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah, and I’m a licensed medical professional.”
I snort before I can help it.
“See, there she is,” he says quickly, like he’s proud of himself for getting even that much out of me. “You’ve been weird all week. What’s going on? You sick? You tired? Pope assign you fifty pages of something painful? John B been acting stupid again?”
Rafe’s name rises up so fast it almost slips out.
It sits there, bitter and heavy, right at the back of my tongue.
Actually, I’m secretly dating Rafe Cameron and it’s making me feel insane.
Actually, the guy I’m in love with keeps asking me to hide like I’m something fragile or embarrassing, and I don’t know if that hurts because I understand it or because I do.
Actually, I’m scared to go to a party because if I see another girl too close to him, I might come apart right there in public.
I swallow all of it down.
Nobody gets that part of my life. Nobody.
I let out a breath. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Y/n.”
The way he says my name makes guilt press at my ribs.
I drag a hand down my face and stare at the dark shape of my TV across the room. “It’s just... I don’t really feel like dealing with a bunch of people tonight.”
“Okay,” he says, easy and immediate. “That’s fair. People are the worst. Present company excluded, obviously. I’m delightful.”
“Debatable.”
“Rude.”
A small silence settles between us.
Then he keeps going, gentler this time. “You don’t have to go be all sparkly for anybody, you know. You could literally just come hang with me. That’s it. We’ll sit somewhere dumb and make fun of everyone together. Minimal effort.”
I pick at the thread on my pillow again until it comes loose in my fingers. “I just...”
My throat tightens before I can finish.
JJ waits.
He doesn’t jump in. Doesn’t crowd the silence. He just lets me have it.
And somehow that makes the words slip out easier.
“I hate feeling stupid,” I say.
The room goes so quiet around me that I can hear the hum of the AC kicking on.
On the other end of the line, JJ doesn’t joke right away.
He just says, more carefully, “What do you mean?”
I stare at the ceiling again, blinking hard. “I don’t know. Forget it.”
“Nope.”
His answer comes fast this time.
“JJ...”
“No, seriously, don’t do that.” His voice turns firm, but not mean. “You can’t just say something real and then try to snatch it back like I didn’t hear it. That’s shady behavior. Probably illegal. Morally, at least.”
A laugh slips out of me, but it hurts. It feels like pressing on a bruise just to prove it’s still there.
“I just don’t want to go somewhere and feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t get the joke,” I say.
That lands between us.
I can hear him breathing on the other end. Hear him thinking.
“Okay,” he says after a moment. “Then don’t.”
I frown. “What?”
“Don’t be the one who doesn’t get the joke.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does in my head, give me a second.” I hear him shift around, like he’s climbing into the truck. “I’m saying if people are being weird, then they’re the weird ones. Not you. If something feels off, that doesn’t automatically mean you did something wrong. Sometimes people just suck. Rich people especially. You know that.”
A smile flickers at the corner of my mouth. “That is an incredibly biased opinion.”
“It’s also correct.”
He pauses. “And for the record, if anybody at that party makes you feel stupid, I’ll ruin their night.”
I let out a tiny laugh. “How noble of you.”
“Thank you. I’m basically a community service program.”
Then, quieter, “I mean it, though.”
Something in my chest loosens a little.
I sit up and pull my knees in, resting my forehead against them. “Why are you so determined to drag me out of my house?”
JJ exhales, and I can hear the truth before he even says it.
“Because you’ve been hiding,” he says simply. “And when you hide, you get all up in your head. Then you start blaming yourself for stuff that’s not even yours. Then you stop sleeping, then you get quiet, and then when I suggest food you look at me like I just keyed your car.”
I let my eyes close.
He knows me too well.
Not all of me. Not the part with Rafe. Not the part I keep tucked away behind locked doors and late-night texts and whispered promises.
But enough.
Enough to notice when I’m not right. Enough to keep reaching anyway.
“You deserve one night where you’re not in your room spiraling,” he says. His tone is lighter again, but there’s something steady underneath it. “That’s all I’m asking. One dumb party. You don’t have to talk to anybody you don’t want to talk to. You don’t have to drink. You don’t have to dance. Hell, you don’t even have to smile if you don’t feel like it. Just come be there with us.”
Us.
Me, John B, Kiara, Pope. JJ.
Something clean and uncomplicated. Something that doesn’t ask me to hide.
I swallow and look down at the thread wound around my finger. “What if it’s weird?”
JJ lets out a short laugh. “It’s a Kook party. It’s absolutely gonna be weird. That’s basically the theme. But we’ll be there. I’ll stick with you.”
“You don’t have to babysit me.”
“Babysit?” He sounds offended. “Please. I’d never disrespect you like that. I’m saying I’ll be your emotional support menace.”
I laugh a little harder at that.
“Seriously,” he says. “You can hang with me. With all of us. Nobody’s making you go off and mingle with random sweaty dudes named Connor.”
“What if his name is Tyler?”
“Worse. Even more reason to stay by me.”
I smile into my knees.
I can picture it for a second. Standing off to the side with JJ, his shoulder bumping mine, both of us watching the chaos like we’re above it even when we’re not. Him making low comments under his breath until I laugh hard enough to forget why I was upset in the first place.
Then another image pushes in.
Rafe seeing me there. Rafe seeing me with JJ. Rafe going still in that way he does when he’s trying not to react.
My chest goes tight and strange.
“Look,” JJ says, filling the silence before it can get too heavy, “if it sucks, we leave. Immediately. No dramatic suffering. No martyr act. We bail. I’ll steal a couple beers, maybe some chips if they’ve got the good ones, and we’ll go sit on the dock and talk trash about rich people until you feel human again. Deal?”
I bite my lip.
On his end I can hear voices now, laughter, the slam of another car door, music in the distance. Night starting up.
“Where is it?” I ask, even though part of me already knows.
“Cameron place,” he says. “Big house, big dock, big creepy energy. You know the one.”
My heart drops so fast it feels physical.
Of course.
Of course it’s there.
Of course the universe looked at my fragile mental state and said, yeah, let’s make this worse.
I can see it too clearly.
Rafe leaning back like he owns every square inch of the island. A girl pressed too close to his side. His hand on somebody else’s hip when it should be on mine.
And me standing there like a stranger who only ever imagined she mattered.
“Yeah,” I say, barely above a murmur. “I know it.”
Going there feels like walking straight into something waiting to hurt me. Like stepping into a test I didn’t study for, except the subject is my own self-respect.
One wrong look, one wrong pause, one second too long with my eyes on his, and somebody might start putting the pieces together. Why Rafe goes quiet when I walk by. Why his attention shifts even when he pretends it doesn’t. Why it always feels like there’s something unsaid vibrating in the air between us.
JJ hears the hesitation but misreads it.
“I know, I know,” he says quickly. “But hey, free food probably. Maybe not good food, but free. And those stupid little lights they string up everywhere? Great for brooding. Real cinematic if you want to stare at the water and act mysterious.”
“I’m not mysterious.”
He snorts. “Please. You absolutely are. Half the time you look like you know something everybody else doesn’t.”
If only he knew.
I almost tell him then.
Almost.
JJ, I can’t go to that house because the boy I love is gonna be there pretending I don’t exist.
The confession rises so fast it scares me.
I bury it.
Instead I say, “What if I just come for a little while?”
“Yes.”
He answers so fast I can hear the grin in it.
“That’s literally all I’m asking. One appearance. You show up, we act normal about it for, like, two seconds, then I make an embarrassing scene because I’m happy you came, and after that you can stay however long you want. Ten minutes. An hour. Whatever. I just want you out of your room.”
I look at my reflection in the TV screen across from me.
My hair is a mess. My eyes look tired. I still look like someone who’s been holding too much in for too long.
And then, like she’s right there in my room with me, I hear Caroline’s voice in my head telling me to get up, put on something cute, and stop letting boys decide which rooms I’m allowed to walk into.
I let out a breath.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go.”
JJ whoops loud enough that I yank the phone away from my ear.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he says. I can hear him slap something, probably the steering wheel. “Okay, get ready. I’m coming to get you in like thirty.”
I straighten up so fast my pillow falls off the bed. “Thirty minutes? JJ, that is not enough time.”
“It is absolutely enough time.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You look good already.”
“You haven’t even seen me.”
“Don’t need to. I know what I know.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not how that works.”
“It kind of is, actually.” He laughs, then adds, “Also, if I give you more than thirty minutes, you’re gonna overthink it and fake some tragic illness. I’m protecting the mission.”
“I do not fake tragic illnesses.”
“Really? Because last time you didn’t want to go somewhere you texted me ‘I think I have a nineteenth-century wasting disease.’”
I drop my head into my hand, laughing despite myself. “That was one time.”
“And it was art.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“Yeah,” he says, pleased. “But I’m your annoying. Big difference.”
The word friend doesn’t need to be said for me to feel it.
Steady. Easy. Real.
Not sharp like the thing with Rafe. Not hidden. Not made of conditions.
I lean back against the wall and let the quiet settle for a second.
Then JJ says my name again.
This time softer.
“Y/n?”
“Yeah?”
There’s less joking in his voice now. “You’re gonna be okay.”
I blink at the ceiling.
Whatever smart answer I could’ve given disappears before it gets there.
He keeps going, like he knows that.
“Whatever’s got you all twisted up right now, it’s not bigger than you. It just feels bigger because you’ve been sitting with it alone.”
The words hit somewhere sore. Somewhere deep.
I swallow past the sudden tightness in my throat. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoes. Then, lighter, “Now go put on whatever outfit says ‘I’m emotionally unavailable but still hot.’ I’ll be outside soon.”
I laugh under my breath. “Bye, JJ.”
“Later, pretty girl.”
We hang up, and the room goes still all over again.
Too still.
I stare at my reflection in the black TV screen for another second, then push myself off the bed.
I still don’t want to see Rafe with those girls. I still don’t want to feel stupid. I still don’t want to walk into his house and act like I belong there when half the time he makes me feel like I only belong to him in private.
But JJ’s right about one thing.
I can’t keep hiding in here like four walls and a locked door are gonna save me from getting my heart broken.
If I stay, I’m hiding. If I go, I’m volunteering to watch the boy who swears he loves me pretend I’m nobody.
Some choice.
I stand and walk to my closet, fingers trailing over hangers, fabrics brushing softly against my skin.
This is what I signed up for, right? Late-night promises. Early-morning distance. His hands on me in empty rooms. His eyes sliding right past me in crowded ones. Girlfriend when it’s just us. Ghost when it’s everyone else.
I’m the one who said yes to this. I remind myself of that all the time, like it’s supposed to make the hurt feel more reasonable. Like choosing pain somehow means I should know how to carry it better.
I push hangers aside one by one.
Too soft. Too plain. Too much like I’m asking to be chosen.
I don’t want to look soft tonight. I don’t want to look like somebody waiting.
I want armor.
Something that says I’m here. Something that says you don’t get to look through me. Something that says if you’re gonna make me stand in the light alone, at least look me in the eye while you do it.
I pull out a top, then change my mind. Then a dress. Then no.
I can already picture Rafe seeing me. Really seeing me. Standing next to JJ and the others. Out in the open. Untouchable in all the ways he made me be hidden.
I wonder if he’ll flinch. If he’ll look away. If he’ll stare too long and give us both up.
By the time my phone buzzes again with a text from JJ that reads outside :), my pulse is already jumping hard enough to make my hands shake.
I take one last breath, slow and steady, and slide my phone into my pocket.
Then I head for the door.
I pull it shut behind me and hype myself up the whole walk out.
Yeah, I’m going to this party for me. For JJ. For my friends.
That’s the story I tell myself, anyway.
But underneath the cute outfit and the lip gloss and the way I keep pretending I’m not nervous, there’s the truth.
The truth is ugly. Small. Aching.
I’m going because I need to know.
I need to know if Rafe Cameron still looks at me like I’m his. Like I’m his secret. Like I’m something he doesn’t want anybody else to know about, but still can’t stand the thought of losing.
----
JJ’s truck sounds like it’s held together by spite and duct tape, rattling loud enough that I hear it before I even make it to the porch. Music leaks through the cracked windows, all fuzzy bass and beach air, and the night wraps around me the second I step outside. It’s warm in that heavy, sticky Outer Banks way, the kind of heat that settles on your skin and makes everything feel slower than it is.
JJ leans over the console and grins at me through the open passenger window. His eyes go wide, dramatic as ever. "Oh, hell no," he says, dragging the words out. "Look at you. Absolutely not. You can't just come out here lookin' like that and expect the rest of us to compete."
I roll my eyes, but the stupid smile threatening at the corner of my mouth gives me away. It helps, that easy way he looks at me like nothing’s wrong, like I’m not one bad thought away from turning around and going back inside.
"Shut up," I mutter, tugging at the hem of my top. "You said thirty minutes. If I had more warning, maybe I would've dressed worse on purpose."
"Yeah, and thank God you didn't." He gestures at me like I’m a masterpiece he personally commissioned. "This is huge for me, actually. I get to be right and pretty at the same time."
"You are not pretty."
He gasps. "Wow. That was mean. I open my truck, offer emotional support, risk my life driving this fine vehicle over unsafe roads, and this is how you treat me?"
I snort and climb in. The seat’s still warm from the day, and the whole truck smells like old fries, saltwater, sunscreen, and JJ’s cologne. Weirdly comforting. Familiar in the kind of way that lets my shoulders drop half an inch.
He glances at me as he throws the truck into drive. "You good?"
Not even close.
"Yep," I lie.
JJ huffs like he hears the lie for what it is, but he lets it sit there. "Cool. Same. I’m also super mentally stable and making excellent choices tonight."
I laugh under my breath. "That’s the biggest lie I’ve heard all day."
"Thank you," he says, pleased with himself. "Means a lot."
The Cameron place glows from halfway down the road, lights strung along the dock and backyard so perfectly it looks fake, like somebody built a party set and dropped it on the water. Music pounds low and steady from the lawn, bass carrying over the breeze before we even park. Cars line the road, people already spilling toward the back of the house in loud little groups, red cups in hand, laughter floating through the humid air.
JJ kills the engine and looks over at me. Not joking this time. Really looking.
"You sure?" he asks quietly.
The truth rises up so fast it nearly chokes me.
No.
But I nod anyway. "Yeah. If it sucks, we leave. That was the deal."
He points at me. "Exactly. We Irish goodbye the hell outta here. No guilt, no speeches. We vanish into the night like hot, emotionally damaged bandits."
"That is weirdly specific."
"It's because I care."
When I step out of the truck, the night hits all at once. Salt in the air. Bonfire smoke from somewhere downshore. Music so loud it vibrates faintly in my chest. I smooth my hands over my clothes like I can iron the nerves back out of myself if I just keep moving.
JJ falls into step beside me as we head down the narrow path toward the back of the house. The closer we get, the louder everything becomes. Voices blur together. Someone whoops near the water. A burst of laughter carries from the dock. I can already see silhouettes moving under the string lights, bodies swaying, people crowding the lawn and railings.
JJ bumps my shoulder with his. "Alright, scale of one to throwing up in a decorative plant?"
"Like... seven and a half."
"Strong number. Respectable. We can work with that. Get some water in you, maybe a snack. Bring you down to a solid four."
"You say that like you're an EMT for social disasters."
"I am," he says. "Self-appointed. Very underfunded."
That gets a real laugh out of me, small but real, and I cling to it as we round the corner of the house.
The backyard opens up in front of us in one bright, chaotic sweep. Golden lights strung through the trees. Music pounding hard enough to shake the dock boards. Kooks draped over patio chairs and leaning against each other like they’ve got nowhere else in the world to be. Somebody launches themselves off the dock to a chorus of drunken yelling and disappears into the black water below.
And there he is.
Rafe stands near the end of the dock, one hand around a drink, the other shoved in the pocket of his shorts. He’s half in shadow, half in that soft gold light, and somehow even from here he looks exactly like himself. Sharp. Unreachable. Like the whole party bends around him without him having to do anything at all. His shoulders are loose in that lazy, arrogant way he gets when he knows people are watching. His laugh cuts through the noise, low and rough and instantly familiar.
My heart stumbles so hard it almost hurts.
Before he sees me, my eyes snag on her.
She’s standing too close. Close enough that her hand brushes his arm like it belongs there. She’s smiling up at him with that polished, easy confidence Kook girls seem born with, glossy hair, perfect makeup, the kind of expression that says she already assumes she’s welcome in his space.
It feels like something cold drops straight through my stomach.
JJ follows my stare and lets out a quiet, low whistle. "Yikes," he mutters. "Okay. Didn't love that."
I tear my eyes away before Rafe can catch me looking. The last thing I need is to stand here staring at him like some pathetic girl in a sad song.
"Hey!" Kiara’s voice cuts through the music a second before she appears in front of us, hair already frizzing from the humidity, cheeks flushed. "You made it."
She hugs me before I can answer, and I cling for a second longer than I mean to. She smells like coconut sunscreen and beer and something comforting I can’t name.
"Yeah," I say when I pull back. "I made it."
John B appears behind her with that easy grin of his, lifting his cup in greeting. Pope’s right there too, quieter but warm, giving me a once-over like he’s checking whether I’m actually okay.
"Well, look who left the house," Pope says. "I was startin' to think we'd need a search party."
"Aw," I say. "You do care."
"Let's not get carried away," he replies.
JJ throws an arm around my shoulders and yanks me into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "I told you idiots," he says to the group. "Did I not say she was gonna show up lookin' dangerous? I said, and I quote, she's gonna have everybody spiraling."
Kiara snorts. "Nobody asked for your live commentary."
"No, but you're getting it anyway. That's friendship."
I try to focus on them, on the easy rhythm of the group, on how normal this should feel. But then I feel it, sharp as a touch, the unmistakable heat of somebody watching me.
I know before I look.
Still, I look.
Rafe’s staring straight at me.
Not generally in my direction. Not casually scanning the yard. At me.
His gaze is fixed and unreadable from this far, but I know his face too well. The set of his jaw is too tight. His grip around the cup looks wrong, fingers flexing once like he has to remind himself not to crush it. The girl beside him says something and laughs, but his response comes late, distracted, like he didn’t hear a word.
Our eyes lock.
Everything around me fuzzes at the edges. Music, voices, laughter, all of it dropping away for one suspended second.
I catch it there in his face. First surprise. Then something darker settling in behind it.
Possessive. Irritated. Like some part of him actually thought I wouldn’t come.
Then he looks away first.
Of course he does.
"Beer?" John B asks, already turning toward the cooler.
"Water," I say quickly. "If there is any."
JJ points at me proudly. "Hydration. Personal growth. We love to see it."
"I'll get it," Kiara says. "And if JJ vanishes, don't follow him."
JJ looks offended. "That happened one time."
"Three," Pope corrects.
"Okay, wow. You guys never let me grow."
Their bickering washes over me, grounding me for a second in something that isn’t the pull of Rafe Cameron standing twenty yards away pretending not to look at me.
JJ dips his head toward mine. "You okay?"
No.
"Yeah," I say for what has to be the fifth time tonight.
He narrows his eyes but just squeezes my shoulder once. "Remember the plan. If this goes to hell, we're gone."
"Okay."
Time starts slipping after that.
I end up perched on the railing near the back steps with Kiara and Pope, half listening to Kiara roast people’s outfits while Pope keeps track of how many drunk guys trip over the same patch of ground. I laugh in the right places. I even mean it a couple times.
But my attention keeps drifting back to the dock like it’s tied there by a string.
Rafe moves through the crowd the way he always does, like he doesn’t belong to the room so much as the room belongs to him. He doesn’t do much, just shifts from one conversation to another, murmurs something to Topper, knocks shoulders with Kelce, takes a drink, glances out over the water. But people move around him. Adjust to him. Watch him.
And every so often, his hand lands lightly at that girl’s back to guide her around somebody else.
Every time it happens, something in my chest pulls tight.
I know he doesn’t touch her the way he touches me. I know that. There’s nothing intimate about it, nothing careful or consuming. It’s casual. Thoughtless. Almost performative.
But nobody else here knows that.
To everyone watching, she’s the one next to him.
She’s the one who gets seen.
I’m halfway through Kiara’s story about one of her dad’s nightmare yacht clients when JJ materializes in front of me, slightly flushed, hair somehow messier than before.
"Dance break," he announces, holding out his hand like he's asking me to join him onstage.
I stare at him. "I don't dance."
"False. Everybody dances. Some people are just cowards about it."
"I'm not a coward."
"Great," he says immediately. "Then c'mon."
Kiara smirks into her drink. "Go. He’s gonna harass you until you do."
Pope nods. "He's like a labradoodle with a nicotine addiction."
JJ puts a hand to his chest. "That is wildly accurate and deeply hurtful."
I laugh despite myself and slide off the railing. "One song."
He brightens like I handed him a winning lottery ticket. "That's all I need, sweetheart."
He laces his fingers through mine and pulls me toward the dance floor, if the patch of packed grass and dock boards full of sweaty drunk teenagers counts as a dance floor. The music’s louder here, bass rattling my ribs. Colored lights flash over faces, over red cups, over the water.
JJ spins once just to be obnoxious, making me stumble into a laugh.
"See?" he yells over the music. "You're already having fun."
"This is blackmail somehow," I yell back.
"No, this is enrichment."
He dances like he lives in a world where embarrassment doesn’t exist, all loose limbs and stupid confidence and zero self-preservation, and it’s impossible not to loosen up a little around him. I let the music drag me along. Not really dancing, not fully, just moving enough to stop thinking.
His hands land at my waist for a second when somebody stumbles into me, steadying me before dropping away.
And then I feel it.
That sharp, burning awareness crawling over my skin.
I turn before I can stop myself.
Rafe’s closer now, only a few yards away. The girl is off talking to somebody else, but he isn’t watching her. He isn’t watching anybody else.
He’s watching me.
His eyes drop once to where JJ’s hands had been, and something ugly flashes through his face. Anger. Jealousy. That mean, simmering kind of territorial rage he tries to hide until he can’t.
For one second, he looks like he might actually come over here and make a scene.
My heart lodges in my throat.
JJ notices me go stiff. He leans in close so I can hear him. "Hey. Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere," I say too quickly.
He studies my face, brows pulling together. "You look like you're about to either cry or commit a felony. I support both. Just need a heads up."
A shaky laugh slips out of me before I can help it. "You're insane."
"Yeah," he says easily. "But I’m fun in a crisis."
He squeezes my hand once, then glances toward the coolers. "Stay here. I'm getting you water before you pass out or murder somebody."
"JJ."
"What? I'm nurturing."
I shake my head, and he grins, backing away into the crowd. "Don't disappear," he calls. "I just got you socially functional."
The second he’s gone, everything feels too loud again.
I turn, meaning to head back toward Kiara and Pope, toward safety, toward anything that isn’t standing exposed under all these lights.
Instead, I walk straight into somebody.
A solid chest. Warm hands closing around my arms before I can stumble backward.
I know the smell before I even look up. Salt. Smoke. That expensive cologne he always wears like it’s part of his skin.
My pulse stutters.
"Careful," Rafe mutters, voice low and rough, meant for me and nobody else.
I look up at him.
He’s too close. Close enough that I can see the tension in his face, the way his jaw is locked down so hard it looks painful. His eyes are bright, intense, a little wild around the edges in that way I’ve come to recognize before he says something he probably shouldn’t.
"Sorry," I say automatically.
His fingers tighten around my arms for one heartbeat, then he lets go like the contact burned him.
"What're you doing?" he asks.
It doesn't sound like a question. It sounds like he’s already angry at whatever answer I give.
I blink at him. "At a party? Existing publicly? Thought I'd try it out."
A muscle jumps in his cheek. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
He flicks a glance past me, toward wherever JJ disappeared, then looks back at me, eyes hardening. "You know what."
I let out a short, humorless laugh. "You're gonna have to be more specific, Rafe. Apparently I'm doing a lot wrong lately."
His jaw works. I can practically see him trying to keep a lid on himself. "You know I don't like seeing him with his hands on you."
I stare at him for a second, stunned by the nerve of it.
"You told me to be cool tonight."
The words land hard. I see them hit.
His eyes flash. "That's not what I meant."
"No?" My voice stays low, but I can feel it shaking anyway. "You said, 'Be cool tonight, alright?' So that's what I’m doing. I'm here. I'm not making a scene. I'm not acting like your girlfriend. Isn’t that what you wanted?"
His mouth goes flat. Around us, the party keeps roaring, oblivious.
"I didn't say you had to throw yourself all over Maybank either," he says through his teeth.
I actually blink. "Throw myself all over him? Are you serious?"
He glances toward the crowd again, restless, agitated, then back at me. "You think I didn't see him? Been all over you all night, laughing in your face, touching you every two seconds like he's got some claim."
"He was dancing with me."
"Yeah, I saw that."
"And what exactly were you doing with her?" I shoot back.
That shuts him up for half a second.
His nostrils flare. "You know that's different."
"How?"
"Because it just is."
A disbelieving laugh escapes me. "Wow. Great answer. Really convincing."
"Don't start." His voice drops lower, more dangerous for how quiet it is. "You know what this is."
"Do I?" I ask. "Because from where I'm standing, it kinda looks like you get to do whatever you want in public and I’m supposed to stand here and smile about it."
He steps closer, enough that I have to tilt my chin up. I can see the anger in him, yes, but underneath it there’s something messier. Panic. Desperation. That Season 2 kind of unraveling he hides behind all that sharpness.
"You know why this can't be a thing out here," he says, glancing around like the dark itself might be listening. "You know that."
"Then say it," I whisper. "Go ahead. Say why."
He looks away for a split second, hand dragging through his hair. "Jesus Christ."
"Is it your dad?"
He says nothing.
"Your friends?"
Still nothing.
"Her?"
That one gets a reaction. His eyes snap back to mine, darker now. "You don't know anything about that."
I flinch before I can stop myself.
The second he sees it, regret cuts across his face. He curses under his breath and looks away, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" My throat tightens around the words. "Because all I know is you keep telling me she's nothing, and then I come here and she's glued to your side while I get treated like some dirty little secret."
His face twists. He actually looks hurt by that, which would matter more if I wasn't already bleeding out from the truth of it.
"You are not a secret like that," he says fiercely.
"Then what am I?"
There it is.
The question that's been sitting in my chest for weeks, rotting there.
His lips part.
For one second, I really think he might say it. Might finally do something reckless and honest and real.
I see the impulse in his face. The want of it.
Then JJ’s voice cuts through from a few feet away.
"Hey, I got your water."
Rafe’s head turns. He sees JJ making his way back through the crowd, two cups in hand, expression open and easy in a way Rafe's never been a day in his life.
And I watch the walls go back up in real time.
Panic flashes across his face, quick and sharp.
"Later," he mutters, already stepping back. "We'll talk later."
"Rafe."
But he's gone.
He turns and heads back toward the dock, toward his friends, toward the girl waiting for him, sliding into that role like it never fit wrong in the first place.
I stand there staring after him, the word later bouncing around my skull like a bad joke.
Later.
Later.
Later.
Promises made in the dark that never survive under actual light.
JJ reaches me and holds out a cup. "Here." Then he sees my face properly and his expression changes. Not joking now. Not teasing. "Okay. Who am I fighting?"
I take the water just so I have something to do with my hands. The plastic is cold and damp, the ice already melting. "No one."
He squints. "That sounds fake."
"I just needed air."
JJ looks around at the open yard, the dock, the water, then back at me. "We are literally outside."
Despite everything, I let out a weak laugh. "You know what I mean."
He watches me for another second, then jerks his chin toward the far end of the dock, where it's darker and quieter. "C'mon. Let's go sit somewhere away from all the finance majors and spray tans."
I don't argue. I just follow.
As we pass the place where Rafe’s standing with Topper and Kelce, I can feel his eyes drag over us again. Heavy. Burning. Possessive in a way that would almost feel good if it wasn't so useless.
I don't look back.
The far end of the dock is quieter, the music dulled by distance and water. JJ drops down first, legs hanging over the edge, and pats the space beside him.
"Sit. Brood. Hydrate."
I lower myself next to him, gripping the cup like it’s the only thing holding me together.
For a minute, neither of us says anything. The water laps softly against the pilings below. Somewhere behind us, somebody shrieks with laughter. The party keeps going like the world didn't just split open inside my chest.
JJ bumps his shoulder into mine. "So. You wanna talk about it, or do you want me to start ranking everybody here by who'd survive longest in the wilderness? Because honestly, Topper's out first. Soft hands."
A cracked laugh slips out of me.
"There she is," he says quietly.
I stare out over the black water. "I don't even know how to explain it."
"You don't have to explain it good," he says. "You can explain it bad. That's what I'm here for."
I swallow hard. "I thought if I came tonight, maybe it'd feel different. Maybe if I just... saw it, dealt with it, I don't know. Maybe it wouldn't hurt as much."
JJ is quiet for a beat. "And?"
"I'm still collecting data," I say, voice thin.
He snorts softly. "Yeah. That sounds about right."
We sit in silence again, but it doesn't press on me. It just stays there, steady and warm and patient.
Eventually he says, "I know you're not telling me everything."
I glance at him.
He keeps his eyes on the water. "And I'm not gonna make you. But I am gonna say this. If some guy is making you feel like crap, whether he's doing it on purpose or just because he's too screwed up to do any better, that's on him. Not you."
My throat burns instantly.
"I feel stupid," I admit, hating how small my voice sounds.
That gets his attention. He turns to look at me fully, blue eyes sharp and serious in a way people always forget he can be.
"Hey," he says. "No. You're not stupid."
I look down at the cup in my hands. "Feels like it."
"No," he says again, firmer this time. "You're hopeful. Big difference. Stupid is, like, me trying to jump a dirt bike over a drainage ditch when I was twelve. Hopeful is just... wanting someone to be better than they are."
That hits me hard enough I have to blink fast.
He notices, of course he does, but he's kind enough not to call it out. He just nudges my shoulder again. "For the record, if a dude's got you crying at a party, he's automatically on my enemy list. That's policy."
A shaky breath leaves me. "That's a dramatic policy."
"I am a dramatic person."
I let the night air fill my lungs, cool and salty and easier to breathe than anything back there under the lights.
"I just wish," I say quietly, "people meant what they say when nobody's watching."
JJ's face shifts, something softer coming over it. He looks back out at the water and nods once. "Yeah," he says. "Me too."
Behind us, the party roars on. Somewhere in that noise, Rafe Cameron is laughing at something he probably didn't hear, standing next to a girl he keeps insisting means nothing, pretending he's fine because that's easier than being honest.
Out here, on the edge of his dock, I sit beside the boy who came to get me when I couldn't drag myself out of my room, who keeps making me laugh without asking for anything back, who doesn't know the whole story but still somehow knows exactly where it hurts.
I press my lips together, the words I can't say crowding up behind my teeth.
JJ nudges me again, lighter this time. "Hey. Lights are on, yeah?"
I look at him.
"And you're still here," he says. "That counts for something."
I let that settle.
Because he's right.
I'm still here.
Even if Rafe won't choose me where people can see.
Even if I'm the thing he keeps hidden instead of the girl he stands beside.
I'm still here.
And maybe for tonight, that has to be enough.
Back near the center of the dock, Rafe stands half in shadow, drink untouched in his hand, jaw locked so hard it looks vicious. Topper says something to him and laughs, but Rafe barely hears it.
All he can see is me sitting at the end of the dock with JJ. The way my shoulder leans into his. The way my head tips toward him when he talks. The way I look calmer with Maybank at my side than I have looked with Rafe all damn night.
His grip tightens on the cup until the plastic buckles inward with a soft crack.
"Yo, Rafe." Topper knocks his shoulder. "You good, man?"
Rafe drags his gaze away from the end of the dock and forces his shoulders loose. Forces his mouth into something like a smirk.
"Yeah," he says, too fast. "I'm good."
It's a lie and he knows it.
Because when his eyes cut back to me one more time, something ugly twists under his ribs.
Not just jealousy.
Not just anger.
Fear.
Real fear.
Because for the first time, watching me sit with somebody else on the edge of his dock, Rafe isn't so sure I'm still gonna be there later. Not waiting for him in the dark. Not making it easy for him to come find me once everybody's gone home and the lights are off and he can pretend this isn't real.
And that thought lands harder than anything else has all night.
