The party buzzed around him, loud and chaotic, but Rafe only saw you. Across the room, you were laughing, leaning closer to some guy who was talking too much and standing too close. His jaw tensed, and the glass in his hand threatened to crack from how tightly he was holding it.

He wasn’t even thinking when he crossed the room, his movements sharp and deliberate. The guy flinched when Rafe’s shadow loomed over him. “We need to talk,” Rafe said, his voice flat, barely masking the simmering rage beneath.

You didn’t argue, and he didn’t give you a choice. His hand wrapped around your wrist—not rough, but firm—and he pulled you outside into the quiet night. The cool air bit at his skin, but it didn’t cool his anger.

“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped, pacing in front of you like he was trying to burn off the storm raging inside him. “Letting some guy put his hands all over you like that? Laughing at whatever dumb thing he said?”

His breathing was uneven, his mind spiraling. “I’m paranoid, okay? I can’t sleep alone half the time, wondering if you’re with someone else. Thinking about you with someone who’s not me. It’s like it’s eating me alive.”

He finally stopped, running a hand through his hair, his frustration melting into something softer, more desperate. “This is the shit your baby loves, too,” he muttered, his voice low, his eyes locking with yours. “Promise I’ll make a baby with you someday. Make a momma of you. You know I would. You know I want that with you.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, raw and unfiltered. His hands clenched at his sides, and he stepped closer, his eyes scanning your face like he was searching for an answer, a sign, anything to keep him from falling apart.

“I know I mess up,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I know I’m not good at this, at us. But I can’t lose you. I won’t. Just… tell me it’s not over.”