Rafe Cameron never said goodbye—he disappeared.

She knew better than to wait, but she did anyway. One missed call turned into weeks of silence, and by the time she stopped checking her phone, he was just a ghost in the places they used to go.

She moved on. Or tried to.

But Rafe didn’t forget. Not the way she looked at him like he was more than what the town whispered. Not the way she believed in the version of him he couldn’t quite reach.

He messed up. Again. And again.

But when he hit bottom, it wasn’t his father’s voice in his head, or his sister’s, or his own—it was hers. Soft, certain, saying, “You’re not beyond saving, Rafe.”

So he packed a bag, left the Outer Banks, and drove until the signs started looking familiar again. Her town. Her street. Her light still on.

He stood at her door, heart in his throat, trying to find the right words.

It was her who spoke first. “What are you doing here?”

He met her eyes—worn down but still full of that fire.

“Now, pretty baby,” he said, voice cracking like a promise, “I’m running back home to you.”

And this time, he meant to stay.