The air smelled like salt and static, thick with the tension of an approaching storm—though none of it compared to the storm that had erupted between you and Rafe just three days ago. Words had been thrown like knives, silence sharper than anything spoken. Neither of you had called. Neither of you would. Pride was a stubborn thing.

You didn’t mean to end up on the beach that evening, not when the sky was bruising over with clouds and the wind started tugging at your clothes like it had something to say. But there you were—too angry to go home, too heartbroken to care.

And of course, that’s when you saw him.

Rafe stood a few yards away, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw clenched like he hadn’t relaxed since the fight. He looked like he wanted to turn around, like he hated that fate had pulled you both here. But he didn’t move.

Neither did you.

Then the first raindrop hit.

It fell hard, cold, and then the sky cracked open with a sudden clap of thunder. Rain began to pour, soaking through your shirt in seconds. Still, you didn’t move. Maybe you were being stubborn. Maybe you hoped he’d leave.

He didn’t.

Instead, you saw him hesitate—just for a second—before he pulled off his jacket and walked toward you.

Wordlessly, he held it out.

You hesitated, but your body betrayed you with a shiver. You took it.

As you slid your arms into the sleeves, Rafe looked away, wiping water from his face. “I hate this,” he muttered.

“Hate what?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the storm.

“This,” he said, finally meeting your eyes. “Not talking. Not being near you.”

You stayed quiet, the sound of rain filling the silence between you.

He stepped closer, heart in his throat. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he blurted. “Even when I’m pissed. Even when I’m trying to forget.”

And just like that, the walls you both built cracked—like lightning slicing the sky.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

Because in the next second, Rafe was kissing you. Desperate. Drenched. Hands cupping your face like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

And there, in the middle of a Carolina thunderstorm, pride finally drowned.

Only the truth remained.