Rafe Cameron had a way of disappearing.

He’d go off the grid for days, drowning in liquor, bad decisions, and whatever rage was eating him alive that week. No calls, no texts. Just gone.

But he always came back to you.

Tonight was no different.

You were curled up on your couch when you heard the knock—slow, heavy. You sighed, already knowing who it was. When you opened the door, Rafe was standing there, hoodie pulled up, jaw tight, the smell of cigarettes and whiskey clinging to him like a second skin.

“Seriously?” you muttered, arms crossing. “Again?”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

You hated how those words made your chest tighten. How no matter how much of a mess he was, you always let him in.

“Jesus, Rafe,” you sighed, stepping aside.

He walked in without another word, collapsing onto your couch, elbows on his knees, head hanging low.

You watched him for a moment—watched the way his fingers tapped against his thigh, restless. The way his shoulders were tense like he was bracing for impact.

“Are you gonna tell me what happened?” you asked, softer this time.

He didn’t look at you, just shook his head. “Not tonight.”

You sighed, sitting beside him, resting your hand over his. He flinched at first but didn’t pull away.

“Do you even realize what you do to me?” you whispered.

Rafe turned to you then, his blue eyes dark, searching. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Same thing you do to me.”

And then his hand slid to your thigh, his lips ghosting over your skin, and suddenly, it didn’t matter where he had been.

Because right now, he was here.

Right now, he was yours.