QUIET STORMS

rafe cameron was a storm—chaotic, intense, and impossible to ignore. loving him wasn’t easy, but you never wanted easy. you wanted him.

one quiet night, the two of you sat on the hood of his truck, parked on a lonely backroad. he stared into the dark, cigarette in hand, his jaw tight. “do you ever feel stuck?” he asked, his voice low.

“stuck how?” you pressed gently, moving closer.

“by everything,” he muttered. “my family, this town… myself.” his voice cracked, and he shook his head. “i drag you down.”

you stepped in, wrapping your arms around him. “you don’t drag me down, rafe. i’m here because i want to be. because i love you.”

he looked at you, vulnerable for once, before leaning in to kiss you. it was desperate, like he was holding on for dear life. when he pulled back, his voice was raw. “you’re the only thing that keeps me sane.”

“then let me,” you whispered. “you don’t have to do this alone.”

and for the first time, rafe let himself believe you.