The night air smelled like salt and gasoline, the ocean stretching out endlessly beyond the headlights of Rafe’s truck. He was leaning against the driver’s side, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, his other hand lazily tapping against his thigh.

And you? You were spinning barefoot in the sand, the hem of your slip dress catching the wind, laughing like the world wasn’t heavy on your shoulders.

“You’re gonna make yourself dizzy,” Rafe called, smirking.

You stopped, breathless, eyes glinting under the moonlight. “Maybe I like feeling out of control.”

Rafe took a slow drag, watching you. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

You stepped closer, barefoot prints in the sand leading right to him. “That’s why you keep running, isn’t it?”

His smirk faltered.

You always did that—saw right through him, past the bravado, past the money and the recklessness. Past the rage.

He scoffed, looking away. “You sound like my shrink.”

You reached for his cigarette, taking it from his fingers before placing it between your lips. “Maybe she’s onto something.”

Rafe watched, mesmerized, as you exhaled, the smoke curling around you like a ghost.

Then, as if you hadn’t just unraveled him in seconds, you grinned, flicking the cigarette into the sand. “C’mon,” you said, hopping into the truck bed, stretching out under the stars. “Let’s just exist for a while.”

Rafe stared at you—wild, untamed, free.

And for once, he didn’t feel like running.