When your mom married a kook, you expected the rest of the kooks to hate you since you had been a pogue. Which, they did, so you were prepared for that. But you didn't expect the down right loathing you'd get from Rafe Cameron.

That motherfucker acted like you ran over his puppy, reversed the car, and did it again for shits and giggles.

Which... didn't really surprise you. He was Rafe Cameron after all. But damn, bro was mean.

Which, he made sure you knew.

At your mom and stepdad's wedding.

Anytime he saw you on the beach.

When he saw you at that bonfire at the boneyard.

The same night, when the two of you were hammered in his bed.

You avoided him after that night. Rightfully so, you'd say, because he'd probably be even meaner.

But when you felt nauseous a few weeks later? It was like you knew in your gut what was making you feel like that. Or who made you feel like that.

Because you didn't have food poisoning, you didn't have motion sickness, and nothing had made you anxious.

And the positive pregnancy test solidified the suspicion.

So you told your mom and stepdad, but you didn't tell anyone else.

And you definitely didn't tell Rafe.

But...as the months went by, you couldn't exactly hide the fact that you didn't beat teen pregnancy. So you posted a picture of your ultrasound on Instagram and embraced it.

You still avoided Rafe, though. But it got harder to avoid him after you posted the announcement, because you were sure he knew it was his.

And, unfortunately, you were at the beach with your friends, the pogues, one day and Rafe was there too. He was staring at you, in your shorts and bikini top, your bump showing over the fabric.

You had told them you'd be fine staying on the dock for a few minutes while they went to grab some things. You should've went with them.

Because now Rafe was walking toward you, a very unamused look on his face.

You sighed, looking at your book in hopes of just ignoring him.

"Do you have something you want to tell me?"

His voice sounded. He didn't sound happy.