The world didn’t stop when you lost them. It kept spinning, the waves still crashed against Figure Eight’s golden shores, and people kept laughing, living. But for you, everything went silent.

Your father, your mother, your big brother—gone. All at once. The kind of loss that guts you, hollows you out until you’re just a shell walking through life, pretending to be okay.

Sarah tried. Kie did too. But they had their own worlds, their own lives. And you? You were always the ‘left out’ friend anyway. The one who never fully belonged—too much of a Kook for the Pogues, too wild for the Kooks. And now, you had no one.

Except Rafe Cameron.

It didn’t make sense. He was an asshole, a cocky, coked-up rich boy who spent more time ruining lives than helping them. He was the last person you wanted near you. But there he was.

He showed up at the funeral, standing in the back, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw tight. Didn’t say a word. Just watched as they lowered your family into the ground. And when everyone else left, whispering about how tragic it was, how “poor girl” you were, Rafe stayed.

He found you later, sitting alone on the dock behind your house, knees to your chest, staring at the water like it might swallow you whole.

“They loved you,” he said. No bullshit, no empty condolences. Just those three words.

You hated him for being there. Hated him for not leaving like everyone else. But somehow, you hated the silence more.

So you let him stay.

Days passed. Then weeks. Rafe kept coming back. Sometimes he didn’t say much. Just sat beside you, a cigarette burning between his fingers, the scent mixing with salt air. Other times, he talked—about nothing, about everything. And when you finally broke down, screaming, crying, fists pounding against his chest, Rafe just took it. Let you fall apart in his arms.

Maybe he was still the same fucked-up guy. But with you, he wasn’t a monster. Just a boy who refused to let you drown.