The soft hum of music echoed from Rafe’s car speakers as you sat parked by the marina, the salty breeze drifting through the open windows. The world outside was quiet, but inside the car, tension filled the space—thick, heavy, and unspoken.

You sat there, tracing invisible lines on your jeans, your throat tight with thoughts you couldn’t voice. Rafe, gripping the steering wheel, tapped his fingers restlessly before breaking the silence.

“You’re quiet,” he muttered, though there was a softness in his tone.

You hesitated. “Do you… do you actually mean the things you say? Or do you just—say them because you know I’ll believe them?”

His head snapped toward you, blue eyes narrowing in disbelief. “What the hell does that mean?”

You chewed your lip, heart racing. “I just—sometimes it feels like you say what I wanna hear. Like you’re scared of… the truth.”

He was silent for a beat. Then he scoffed, but it was hollow. “You think I’m lying to you?”

“Rafe, I don’t know! I—” your voice cracked. “It feels too perfect sometimes. Like you’re just telling me what I want so I don’t leave.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding into his features, but beneath it—something vulnerable. “I don’t lie to you,” he growled, then softer, “I lie to myself.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest.

“I tell myself I’m good for you. That I can actually be the guy you deserve.” He let out a bitter laugh. “But deep down? I know I’m not. I just… I need you to believe it. Because if you do, maybe I can too.”

You blinked against the sting in your eyes, the ache of understanding cutting deep.

And though it hurt, you reached for his hand—because even in the lies, there was a desperate kind of truth.