ᯓ★ Rafe had been getting worse.

You noticed it before anyone said anything—before your parents started giving you those looks, before they pulled you aside and told you he couldn’t stay much longer.

Ever since his dad kicked him out, something in him shifted.

He stayed with you, yeah.

But it wasn’t easy.

One moment, he’d be wrapped around you—soft, clingy, like he needed you just to breathe.

The next?

Snapping. Yelling. Shutting you out completely over the smallest things—especially when you asked about his dad.

And the drugs—

You knew.

It wasn’t even hidden.

You tried talking to him about it, but he always brushed it off, like it wasn’t a problem.

Like you were the problem for bringing it up.

Still, you defended him.

“He’s just going through something,” you told your parents.

Even when you weren’t sure anymore.

── .✦

Then suddenly—

He was gone.

His dad let him move back in, and just like that, you didn’t hear from him again.

No texts.

No calls.

Nothing.

You didn’t know if you were supposed to be relieved or angry.

Maybe both.

You thought about going to see him—

Until everything blew up.

John B Routledge was all over the news. Accused of killing Sheriff Susan Peterkin.

Sirens filled the streets. Patrol cars everywhere.

It felt unreal.

And still—

Nothing from Rafe.

── .✦

You were on the couch, phone in hand, the house unusually quiet with your parents out helping search or whatever they were doing—

When you heard it.

A motorcycle.

You froze.

You knew that sound.

You rushed to the door and opened it—

And he was already there.

Rafe Cameron.

Before you could even react, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him as his head dropped onto your shoulder.

“Babe… can I borrow some money?” his voice came out rushed, uneven. “Please. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

You felt it then.

Warm.

Wet.

Tears.

Your heart dropped.

“Rafe, I—” your arms came up around him instinctively, but he pulled away too fast.

“I don’t have time for this—I need—” he started pacing, running a hand through his hair before dropping onto your couch.

He was shaking.

Breathing too fast.

“Hey, hey—” you sat beside him, gently wiping the sweat from his forehead. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He looked at you then.

And you’d never seen him like that before.

Terrified.

“Have you ever… done something you never thought you would?” he asked, voice barely steady. “Like something bad… really bad?”

You frowned, your stomach twisting. “What?”

You stood, moving to lock the door without thinking. “Come on—let’s go up to my room. We can talk.”

He followed you, quiet but tense, his breathing uneven the entire way.

The second your bedroom door clicked shut—

He turned to you.

“I’m fucked,” he said immediately, pacing again. “I’m so fucked—baby, I—”

“Rafe—slow down—”

“Promise you won’t hate me?” he cut in, suddenly right in front of you, hands coming up to cup your face.

Your breath caught.

“No… why would I? I wouldn’t,” you said, though your voice wasn’t as steady as you wanted it to be.

He searched your face for a second.

Then—

“I killed Sheriff Peterkin.”

The room went silent.

Your heart stopped.

A sharp gasp left you before you could stop it.

And now you stood there, frozen, his hands still holding your face—

Realizing this wasn’t just about him anymore.

This was about you too.

Because now you knew.

And knowing meant a choice.

Him—

or the truth.