Rafe’s voice was sharp, defensive. “It didn’t mean anything!”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “Didn’t mean anything? Then why’d you do it?”

Silence. That was all he had left to offer. No apology, no remorse—just silence and that damn stubborn look on his face. His jaw tightened, his hands balled into fists, but he still wouldn’t say what you needed to hear.

“I can’t believe you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “You threw us away for some meaningless fling?”

Rafe exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair, but his pride wouldn’t let him break. “You’re overreacting.”

That was it. That was the last thing you could take. You grabbed your keys, storming out of the house before he could stop you. You weren’t staying here. Not with him. Not after this.

The bar was your escape, drink after drink numbing the ache in your chest. The image of him with her burned in your mind, making you sick. You just wanted to forget. To drown the betrayal in whiskey and bad decisions.

But stumbling out onto the street, your world still spinning, you didn’t see the car until it was too late.

The crash sent Rafe’s world shattering. The call came in, and suddenly, the fight, the cheating, all of it meant nothing compared to the thought of losing you.

Now, sitting by your hospital bed, staring at your unconscious face, he felt it—the regret, the guilt, the unbearable weight of what he had done. His hand trembled as he reached for yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I should’ve never… I should’ve fought for you instead of hurting you.”

But the worst part? You weren’t awake to hear it. And Rafe had no idea if you ever would be.