The party at Tannyhill was loud, full of people we didn’t know but somehow always ended up here. Rafe stood on the balcony, gripping the whiskey bottle like a lifeline, his jaw tight, eyes dark. He had that look—the one that meant trouble.

“Rafe,” I warned, stepping beside him. “What’s going on?”

He turned, smirking, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing, babe. Just thinking.”

That never meant anything good.

I grabbed the bottle from his hand, taking a sip. “Thinking or spiraling?”

His fingers ghosted over my jaw, tilting my face toward him. “What do you think?”

I sighed, resting my forehead against his. “Rafe, don’t do anything stupid tonight.”

His laugh was bitter. “Come on, sweetheart. That’s kind of my thing.”

I loved him, but Rafe Cameron was chaos wrapped in privilege. He thrived on recklessness, on pushing limits. And I—well, I had my own demons. My mother was never around, more concerned with charity events than raising a daughter. Maybe that’s why Rafe and I worked. Two broken people clinging to each other, pretending we weren’t.

“Let’s leave,” I suggested. “Go to the beach, just us.”

He exhaled, eyes scanning the party. His father was inside somewhere, probably criticizing him to anyone who’d listen. The weight of Ward Cameron’s disappointment was heavy, and Rafe carried it like a curse.

His hand slid into mine, grip tight. “Let’s go.”

We snuck out the back, his bike roaring to life beneath us. The wind whipped through my hair as I wrapped my arms around him. Rafe drove like he had nothing to lose. Maybe he didn’t.

At the beach, we collapsed onto the sand, the waves crashing in the distance. He pulled me into his lap, his hands gripping my waist like he was scared I’d disappear.

“You ever think we’re just—too messed up?” I whispered.

He smirked, but his eyes were sad. “Nah, babe. We’re perfect. Just in the worst way.”

And somehow, that was enough.