The ocean crashed violently against the dock, spraying salt into the air, the wind whipping through your soaked clothes like a warning. The storm was moving in fast, but neither of you moved. Neither of you ever did.

Rafe stood a few feet away, hair dripping, chest rising and falling like he had just been pulled from the wreckage of a shipwreck—but maybe that’s exactly what this was. Wreckage. Ruins. The aftermath of something that was never meant to survive.

You were shaking. From the cold, from the adrenaline, from him. Always from him.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling hard. “You’re gonna stand there and tell me you don’t feel it?” His voice was hoarse, frayed at the edges. “That you could just walk away and be fine?”

Your nails dug into your palms, but you refused to answer. Because you couldn’t lie, and the truth would kill you both.

Rafe scoffed, turning away, hands on his hips, eyes cast toward the black waves below. “You act like this is supposed to be easy. Like love isn’t supposed to fucking hurt.”

His voice dropped lower, the weight of it settling deep in your chest. “But what the fuck is love with no pain and no suffering?”

The words felt like a wound. Like something torn open between you.

You blinked hard, your pulse a wild thing in your throat. “Love isn’t supposed to ruin you, Rafe.”

He turned back to you then, and God, he looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him from drowning. Like he hated you for it. Like he loved you for it.

And maybe that was the problem.

Maybe it was always going to be him and you, crashing against each other like waves against the shore.

Unstoppable. Unforgiving.