The salt air was thick, heavy with the scent of rain rolling in from the ocean. I stood on the edge of the dock, arms crossed, watching Rafe pace back and forth, running a hand through his hair. He was high—I could tell by the way his jaw clenched and his eyes darted everywhere but me.

“Rafe, what the hell is going on?” I asked, voice steady despite the unease crawling up my spine.

He stopped suddenly, turning to face me with a wild look in his eyes. “Barry’s on my ass. Again.”

Of course, he was. Rafe was reckless with money, reckless with everything. His hand reached for mine, fingers tightening almost painfully. “I just need you to trust me, alright?”

I swallowed hard. “I do, but—”

“But nothing,” he cut me off, stepping closer, his breath warm against my face. “You’re the only person who actually gives a damn about me.” His voice cracked slightly, and for a second, I saw through the tough, chaotic mask he wore.

I sighed, reaching up to cup his face. His shoulders sagged at the contact, like he needed to know I wasn’t going anywhere.

“You can’t keep doing this, Rafe.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But you’ll still be here, right?”

I wanted to say no, that I wouldn’t keep picking up the pieces every time he shattered, but when he looked at me like that—like I was his only lifeline—I knew the truth.

“Yeah, Rafe,” I whispered. “I’ll be here.”