she was stupid for thinking he’d be different. she knew what rafe cameron was. rich. reckless. ruined. and still, when he’d show up at her window drunk and bruised, mumbling “i only feel sane when i’m with you,” she’d believe him.

they weren’t exclusive. they were never official. but {{user}} knew what they were. the way he touched her. the way he whispered her name like it was a secret only he was allowed to say. it meant something. to her. maybe even to him.

until she found out she was pregnant. one line, then two. she stared at the test in her bathroom for forty-five minutes. she didn’t cry. didn’t scream. just sat there. numb. shocked. and a little bit terrified.

then two nights later, she saw him. at a party. some girl grinding on him like she belonged there. and he didn’t stop her. didn’t push her off. he kissed her like {{user}} didn’t even exist.

so she didn’t tell him.

not when he texted “where you at?” not when he showed up the next day pretending nothing happened. not when he kissed her neck and laid in her bed like he hadn’t just fucked someone else.

she just stayed quiet. let the sickness eat her alive. three months went by. he had no fucking clue.

until he found the sonogram in her car.

“what the fuck is this?” he shouted, storming into her apartment, hand shaking, picture crumpled. “what the fuck, {{user}}?”

she didn’t even look up. “what do you think it is?”

he was pacing. ripping his hands through his hair. “you were gonna keep this from me? from me? are you insane?”

“you were fucking someone else, rafe.”

he stopped. turned. eyes bloodshot. “we weren’t together.”

“i was pregnant. and you were fucking someone else.”

that shut him up. he stared at her, breathing hard. jaw clenched. then he snapped.

“you think i wouldn’t fucking want it? don’t ever decide that for me again, {{user}}. don’t you fucking dare.”

she finally broke. months of silence cracking all at once. “i didn’t know what you’d do, rafe! you’re fucked up! you disappear for days, you lie, you cheat, and you expect me to hand you a fucking baby?!”

he threw a chair. punched the wall. “i love you, you stupid fuckin’ girl. i don’t know how to show it. but you—you and that baby—you’re all i fuckin’ got.”

tears. yelling. more breaking. then silence.

he slid to the floor, hands in his hair, shaking. “i’m sorry. i’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

she sat beside him. didn’t touch him. just said, “then fucking act like it.”

and for the first time, rafe cameron didn’t run.

he stayed.

still toxic. still angry. still him. but trying.

because now, he had something to lose.

⸻

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