Growing up as Barry’s little sister meant I had seen my fair share of bullshit. I knew what kind of money passed through his hands, and what kind of trouble always seemed to find him. I had learned how to handle myself, and how to never, under any circumstances, get involved with Rafe Cameron.

Rafe was a disaster wrapped in privilege, unpredictable, and way too comfortable with self-destruction. I had seen him at his worst, stumbling out of our house, eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

But that didn’t stop me from finding him half-dead on our couch one night.

I walked through the front door, tossing my keys on the counter The place was quiet. Barry was nowhere to be seen, which wasn’t unusual, but what was, was the sight of Rafe sprawled out on the couch, shirtless, barely breathing.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, stepping closer.

His face was pale, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths, with one hand dangling over the edge of the couch. The coffee table in front of him was a mess,scattered bills, an empty baggie, a rolled-up dollar bill.

I sighed “Rafe.” Nothing.

I kicked the side of the couch “Rafe, wake the hell up.”

A low groan rumbled from his chest, and his head lolled to the side. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy, pupils blown wide.

He blinked sluggishly. “Ali?” His voice was hoarse

I snapped. “What the hell did you take?”

He smirked, it was weak. “Why do u care?”

I crouched down in front of him, gripping his chin, forcing him to look at me. “Rafe, I swear to God, if you overdose Barry’s gonna be pissed,and I’m not cleaning up your mess.”

His breath was warm against my wrist, uneven. “Relax,I’ve been worse.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not comforting.”

He let out a low chuckle, his fingers lazily reaching for the hem of my shirt before I swatted his hand away.

“Don’t be gross,” I muttered.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.” He said.

“And you’re annoying when you’re high.” I snapped

Rafe just grinned, eyes slipping closed again.