The sun was hot, the air thick with lazy summer ease, and the four of you were stretched out across loungers by the country club pool.

Kelce cracked another dumb joke, something about a lifeguard and a martini, and you laughed—bright, carefree. Rafe’s jaw tensed around his water bottle.

He watched the way you nudged Topper’s shoulder when he teased you back, how your smile lingered longer than it should’ve. You were supposed to be here with him. Best friends, sure, but lately that word felt more like a leash choking him.

“You good, man?” Kelce asked, glancing over.

“Peachy.” Rafe’s voice was sharp, careless. “Just enjoying the comedy show.”

You turned to him, blinking against the sun, a little crease forming between your brows. “What’s your problem?”

“No problem,” he said coolly, slipping his sunglasses on. “Didn’t realize I had to audition for your attention.”

Kelce and Topper exchanged looks but wisely stayed out of it.

You rolled your eyes, brushing your wet hair back. “God, Rafe. We’re just hanging out.”

“Right. Just hanging out,” he echoed, his voice a little too flat, a little too bitter.

Silence settled, awkward and tight.

Then, after a beat, you stood, water dripping from your body, and tossed your towel over your shoulder. “I’m getting a drink. You coming, Cameron, or are you too busy sulking?”

Without answering, he pushed himself up and followed you, leaving Kelce and Topper behind, watching the two of you go with smirks of their own.