Always broken, like an old toy left on the shelf, no one wanted to play with it, so why would it be fixed? Rafe was empty of anything that anyone would see as good. But, you saw the good in him, in some way that he never got it.

And, no, it wasn't a story about ignoring his flaws and enjoying it, enjoying the thrill—you, genuinely, saw everything he didn't want to show, but you still cared to ask if he wanted to talk, even when he was freaking out.

No one did it for him, and if you hadn't spent so much time inside his house babysitting Wheezie, you wouldn't have either—but, you were there, all the time, observing and learning how to approach him, trying to tame the beast.

For someone with trust issues, realizing that he could truly open up to you was a terrifying relief, a relief he'd never had before—and when you had to go, it hurt more than he could handle.

Rafe didn't fall into the trap again, but being without you and his little sister felt heavy, even heavier when he knew every twist and turn why—and blamed himself. He had to act, forget, live, 'cause he had no one to live for besides himself.

Then, Sofia came, she stayed for a while, she made him happy—and if it weren't for lies, maybe she'd still be with him, or maybe he would've done the same 'cause who was he trying to kid? Being with someone and thinking about you wasn't an escape valve, was bullshit.

He was so done with his own bullshit.

Things could be different now, things could be better for Sarah's baby—and he didn't want that child to be stuck in a dysfunctional family, like he and she had been. No, it was going to work this time, and it could only start working if he didn't screw it up again.

Rafe didn't even notice when he typed and called your phone number, as if he wasn't in Morocco and you were, well, far away. “I need to get straight to the point,” he said, no greetings, nothing, you'd recognize his voice anyway. “If I wasn't the way I am, would you have stayed? Like, for real, with me?”