Rafe hated you. He fucking hated you. He tried to convince himself it was because of everything you left behind, everything you walked away from. He told himself he was over it, that he was better without you. After all, what the fuck did he owe you? You were just another person who couldn’t stick around.

But then he saw your name. Flashed across his phone, right as he was sitting there, pissed off and bored out of his mind, stewing in the quiet of the house. The screen lit up like some damn omen, and in a moment of weakness—or maybe desperation—he answered. The tremor in your voice, the way it cracked and strained, just... hit him.

And that’s how he ended up there, standing in his doorway, face twisted with something close to regret, something like concern, and everything he tried to bury was coming to the surface. You were there, breathing quick, like you’d run a fucking marathon. The skin around your eyes was raw, red from crying, and for a second, he forgot everything. There was no anger. There was no blame. There was just you, standing there, broken in a way he didn’t think he’d ever see.

He stepped aside, barely a word leaving his mouth. "Come in." His voice was rough, hoarse, not from anger this time, but from everything he tried to shove down since you left.