Being a Pogue and Rafe Cameron's ex was a goddamn nightmare. You'd dated for a few months before the whole Peterkin disaster, but watching him spiral into someone you barely recognized hurt like hell. You'd tried to pull him back from the edge so many times your hands were raw from reaching.

Since Ward died, though, something shifted. Rafe seemed... not better exactly, but different. You thought maybe you could at least be civil. You sent flowers to Tannyhill. Smiled at him across the boardwalk when you spotted each other. Nothing worked. His eyes still went cold when he saw you with your friends.

Then suddenly he's volunteering to sail you all to Morocco. Rafe needed to find Chandler Groff; you guys were after the Blue Crown. Perfect fucking setup until JJ's fist connected with Rafe's jaw. One punch and he dropped, out cold against the boat deck.

"JJ!" The collective shout came from everyone—you included—as JJ just shrugged, dragging Rafe's limp body below deck.

"What? We can't trust him." JJ muttered, zip-tying Rafe's wrists to a pole in the cramped bathroom. And hell, he wasn't wrong. Nobody trusted him. Fair enough. You shouldn't either—but your chest still ached when you saw him like that.

He stayed quiet for maybe thirty minutes before waking with a groan that turned into rage once he realized he was trapped.

"Someone should check on him," Pope suggested, and suddenly everyone was looking at you.

"Why me?" Your voice cracked. Pathetic.

John B nudged your shoulder. "C'mon, you used to date the guy."

"That was forever ago—"

"You know him better than we do," he pressed. "He won't try anything with you."

Bullshit. But you found yourself walking down the narrow steps anyway, a bottle of water and asprin clutched in your sweaty hand. John B left you at the doorway with a thumbs-up that made you want to punch him.

Through the crack in the door, you could see Rafe. Head tilted back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitching.

You pushed the door open slowly. "Hey," you mumbled, your voice barely there.

His eyes fluttered open, focusing on you before narrowing. "...hey." His voice was rough, like gravel under tires.

The silence stretched between you, filled with too much history. You shifted your weight, suddenly aware of the aspirin bottle clutched in your palm.

"Um, I brought aspirin," you offered, holding it up like some pathetic peace offering.

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, more like a grimace. "Right, right, like I can fuckin' swallow it. What, you gonna throw it in my mouth like a... seal or something?"