The roar of the Enduro race faded as you watched Rafe push his bike past the finish line—then lose control on a sharp turn. His bike slid out from under him, throwing him to the ground. You rushed toward him, breath catching.

“Rafe, are you okay?”

He glanced at you, then grabbed your arm, pulling you aside. “I need to talk to you,” he snapped.

You hesitated. “What’s going on?”

He was seething now, eyes burning. “You left me in Barbados, and now my dad’s dead. You and Sarah—don’t think I don’t know you had something to do with it.”

Your heart sank. “Rafe, that’s not—”

“Don’t!” he interrupted, his voice harsh. “Don’t stand here and tell me you’re innocent. I’ve been trying to figure out if I hate you or if I just hate myself for ever caring about you.”