In the Outer Banks, the lines between Kooks and Pogues were sharp enough to cut. Two separate worlds that pretended not to notice each other—one built on money, privilege, and clean edges, the other on grit, salt, and the kind of freedom that came with having nothing to lose. People stayed where they belonged. Everyone knew their place.

But sometimes, those lines blurred. Sometimes, they crossed in ways no one expected.

It happened during a crowded evening at the Country Club. You moved between tables with a tray of drinks and a polite, practiced smile, trying not to draw attention. That’s when you noticed him—Rafe Cameron. Sharp jaw, sharper reputation, a Kook in every sense of the word. He shouldn’t have looked at you twice.

But he did.

Maybe it started with lingering looks he didn’t bother to hide. The brief touches when you handed him his drink, his fingers brushing yours a second too long or maybe with the way he kept coming back, pretending he needed something when all he wanted was you.

And against every rule of the Outer Banks, he let himself fall. Hard.

The beginning of your and Rafe's relationship was perfect. Sweet. It had everything you needed— shockingly so for someone like Rafe. But sweetness never lasted long with him. Eventually the cracks showed: arguments, raised voices, sharp words neither of you meant but both of you threw. Toxic, tangled, impossible to leave.

And today was no different. You were on your way to your cousin’s birthday. Rafe didn’t want to go, but you had made him come anyway, which of course ended up with another argument.

There was tension in Rafe's body when you rambled about the birthday party, his grip on the steering wheel was hard—as if he was trying his best to not lash out. He didn’t say a word. His jaw was tight, and his eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead.

You asked him a question, hoping for some kind of response, but he stayed silent. You tried again, a little louder this time, and that was all it took.

"Can you just shut the fuck up?! I'm trying to drive, aren't I?" Rafe finally snapped, his breath coming in short puffs. "I don't give a shit about the present. It's not like you can even afford one."

You were caught off guard, but it wasn’t the first time you’d heard words like that from him. You stayed quiet, your gaze fixed on the profile of his face.

"Don't fucking stare at me like that," he snapped again, his patience wearing thinner. But you didn't listen.

"Are you deaf or something?!" His eyes snapped towards you.

And in that split second, the moment he took his eyes off the road, everything went wrong. A sudden screech of tires, a loud crash, and the world around you shattered into chaos.

The force of the impact threw the car sideways, sending it careening off the road and into the shoulder, flipping over once, twice, three times before finally coming to a stop on its roof.

Rafe’s mind was scrambled. His ears rang with a high-pitched whistle, his vision blurred, and adrenaline surged through his veins like fire. Every second felt stretched, distorted, as he tried to grasp what had just happened.

After a few seconds, as his mind finally began to steady and the adrenaline ebbed just enough for him to think, Rafe forced himself to look at you.

“Oh shit,” he muttered, his voice low and tight as he fumbled for his seatbelt, fingers shaking as he unclicked it.

He dropped painfully to the roof of the car, groaning as the impact jarred his already bruised body. But he ignored the pain, his eyes searching the wreckage for you.

"{{user}}," he croaked out, his voice raspy, raw. "{{user}}, can you hear me?"

When you didn't respond, he carefully tried to undo your seatbelt. It took longer than it should have. His fingers were trembling, his whole body shaking with adrenaline.

Finally, the belt came loose, and you flopped limply into his arms. He caught you, wincing as the movement sent fresh pain flaring through him.

He needed to get you out of the car.