You never thought you’d see Rafe Cameron like this. He was always the guy who seemed untouchable, the one who wore his anger like armor and hid behind his arrogance. But there he was, crumpled on the ground, eyes red and glazed from something darker than anger. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by a raw vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

Your heart twisted. You hated him, sure. He was a mess—reckless, violent, and as selfish as they come. But seeing him like this, it was hard not to feel something. Something that made your chest ache. You knelt down beside him, your knees hitting the cold ground as you reached out without thinking.

At first, he pulled away, eyes wide with that familiar mix of anger and confusion. But then he collapsed, and before you knew it, he was in your arms, his body shaking with a pain you couldn’t ignore. You felt the weight of him, the same weight that you carried around yourself.

You didn’t know why you didn’t push him away. Maybe it was because you recognized that hurt, the same kind of brokenness that had shaped you. Your dad, always there but never really there, had done the same to you. Gave your mom everything except the one thing she needed—his love—and left you picking up the pieces. Rafe had his own version of that. A father who was more like a ghost, a man who created him, then abandoned him, leaving him with nothing but anger and emptiness.

Tears slid down your cheeks, mixing with his. You didn’t speak. There was no need for words. You both had your own scars, but in that moment, you understood each other. You didn’t hate him.

You were him. He was you.

So you held him, not because you owed him anything, but because for the first time, neither of you had to pretend. You shared the same pain, the same loneliness. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to make you both feel a little less broken.