Chapter Text
Week 14 monday
By Monday morning, the heavy rain had washed over the campus, leaving the concrete walkways damp and the air smelling faintly of mud and sea salt. Mia had barely slept a full two hours since Friday night. Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in the shadowed gravel lot behind the pub, feeling the cold metal of Rafe’s truck against her back and the terrifying, desperate heat of his mouth crushing hers.
She spent the entire walk to the engineering building nauseous with anticipation, her mind running through every nightmare scenario. He’s going to pretend it didn't happen. He’s going to be cold. He’s going to laugh it off, or worse, use it against me.
The campus lab was quiet when she stepped inside, the bright fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Most students hadn't arrived yet, but as Mia walked toward the back prep room to grab her lab coat and circuit boards, her heart executed a hard, painful slam against her ribs.
Rafe was already there.
He was standing by the tall metal supply cabinets, dressed in a dark hoodie with the sleeves pulled up to his forearms. He looked as wrecked as she felt; dark smudges under his eyes, his hair slightly overgrown, his expression tense.
Mia froze in the doorway, her breath catching in her throat, her knuckles whitening around the strap of her bag. "Rafe—"
Rafe didn't say a word. He didn't offer a cold smirk, he didn't make a sarcastic comment, and he certainly didn't act like Friday night was a mistake.
The second the door swung shut behind her, Rafe moved.
He covered the distance between them in two broad strides, his shadow falling over her before she could even take a step back. His hands shot out, catching her around the waist and hauling her right into the dark nook between the supply cabinet and the heavy equipment door.
"Rafe, wait—" Mia gasped out, her hands coming up to press against his chest.
He didn't wait. He leaned down and caught her mouth in a kiss so sudden and dark it took the air right out of her lungs.
It wasn't a slow, gentle morning greeting. It was frantic, magnetic, and completely starved, as if the forty-m eight hours they had spent apart over the weekend had been physical agony. His hands slid up from her waist, fingers digging firmly into her hips through her sweater, pulling her flush against him until there wasn't an inch of space left between them.
Mia’s internal defenses collapsed instantly. Whatever speech she had rehearsed on the walk to class vanished into thin air. A soft, breathless noise escaped her throat into his mouth, her hands sliding off his chest to tangle tightly into the fabric at the back of his hoodie, pulling him down harder against her.
Rafe let out a low, rough growl against her lips, shifting his weight to pin her solidly against the wooden supply door. His mouth trailed down from her lips, biting lightly at her lower lip before tracing a burning path along her jawline to the sensitive skin right under her ear. His hands were restless, desperate, sliding down to grip her thighs, lifting her slightly as if he needed her closer, needed to anchor himself to her before the rest of the world burst through the door.
"Tell me to stop," Rafe rasped, his voice ragged, his hot breath fanning across her neck as his lips pressed hard into her pulse point. "Mia... tell me to stop right now, or I swear to God I won't."
Mia’s head rolled back against the door, her eyes closing, her pulse hammering wildly beneath his mouth. "Rafe..." she breathed out, her fingers tightening in his hair, but the words to push him away wouldn't come. She couldn't say it. She didn't want him to stop.
For three frantic minutes, the quiet supply room belonged entirely to them. The sound of their heavy, breathless gasps and the rustle of clothes filled the dark space, the physical high crashing over them like a tidal wave. His broad thumb traced her jaw, tilting her head back to capture her mouth again, deeper this time, possessive and breathless.
Then, the muffled sound of footsteps echoed from the outer hallway, accompanied by the heavy clatter of a professor's key ring.
The sound broke the spell like a bucket of ice water.
Rafe pulled back instantly, though he didn't let go of her waist. Both of them stood pinned in the dark nook, their chests heaving, their breathing ragged and loud in the quiet room.
Mia’s lips were swollen and burning, her hair slightly tangled, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs as she stared up at him. Rafe was looking down at her, his dark eyes wide, dark, and utterly unstrung, his hands trembling slightly where they held her hips.
As the physical rush slowly began to recede, a strange, heavy quiet settled over them.
The chaotic, frantic heat evaporated, leaving behind a raw, naked vulnerability that neither of them knew how to handle. Rafe didn't pull away completely, but his grip loosened, his thumb gently brushing over the fabric at her waist. He didn't make a joke. He didn't walk out. He just stood there in the quiet shadows, staring down at her with a heavy, quiet intensity that felt infinitely more dangerous than the make-out session itself.
Mia looked up at him, her throat tight, realizing with a sudden, terrifying clarity that the physical barrier was officially gone and the emotional walls keeping them apart were about to crumble right along with it.
Week 14 Wednesday
By 1:00 am, a steady, heavy rain was drumming against the roof of the pub.
Mia stepped out the back exit of The Anchor, her jacket pulled tight around her shoulders against the wet chill. She expected to see the empty, gravel parking lot. Instead, the distinct dark silhouette of Rafe’s black Raptor was sitting near the tree line, its idling engine letting out a low, steady hum.
Before she could process it, the passenger side window rolled down an inch. Rafe leaned across the console, pushing the door open from the inside.
"Get in, Vargas," Rafe called out quietly over the rain. "It’s pouring."
Mia hesitated for a single second, looking around the dark lot. She quickly hurried over and climbed inside, pulling the heavy door shut and cutting off the sound of the rain. The interior was warm, smelling faintly of leather, cedar, and the subtle trace of his cologne.
"What are you doing here?" Mia asked, shaking the rainwater from her hands and tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear.
"Just drove by," Rafe lied smoothly, though his dark eyes tracked her every move as he reached into the back seat, pulling out a clean, dry hoodie and tossing it onto her lap. "Put that on. You’re freezing."
Mia didn't argue. She pulled the oversized hoodie over her head, drowning in his scent as she settled into the leather seat.
Rafe put the truck in drive and pulled out of the pub lot, navigating the dark, winding back roads toward the Cut until he pulled off into a dark, secluded dirt overlook tucked high above the marsh. He shifted into park, leaving the engine idling and the heater blowing softly.
For a few minutes, the conversation stayed surprisingly casual, a rare, quiet normalcy settling between them in the enclosed space.
"How was your shift?" Rafe asked softly, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the leather steering wheel as he looked out at the rain streaked windshield.
"Brutal," Mia admitted, letting her head drop back against the headrest with a soft sigh. "Two tables sent their food back, a guy spilled a full pitcher of draft beer all over my sneakers, and we were short staffed half the night."
Rafe let out a low, faint chuckle, the tension around his mouth softening slightly. "Sounds charming." He paused, his dark eyes shifting sideways to look at her in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. His tone shifted, losing its casual edge as he looked at her more closely. "How are you actually doing, Mia? You look like you haven't slept in three days."
"I'm fine," Mia answered automatically, but the quick, reflexive lie sounded hollow even to her own ears. She looked over at him, noticing the heavy shadow across his jaw and the exhaustion etched deep into his forehead. "What about you? How are you doing, Rafe?"
Rafe's hand froze on the steering wheel.
Instead of brushing it off with his usual arrogant smirk, a heavy, suffocating silence filled the cab. The casual air evaporated instantly. Rafe reached over and finally turned off the ignition, killing the engine and plunging them into complete, quiet darkness save for the rain beating overhead.
"I'm losing my mind, Mia," Rafe rasped suddenly, his voice rough and stripped raw in the quiet space.
Mia turned in her seat, her pulse quickening as she watched his broad hands drop from the wheel and slam down hard against his thighs. He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, unhinged and entirely devoid of humor as he dragged both palms aggressively down his face.
"My dad's losing his mind," Rafe snapped, the words finally tumbling out. "He's forgetting things. Small things at first, keys, names, where he put files. But now? It’s getting worse. He’s showing early signs of Alzheimer’s. Early onset. The doctor called it a progressive cognitive decline, but Ward won't admit it. He just gets furious."
Rafe’s chest was heaving, his dark eyes wide and bloodshot as he turned his head to face her in the dim light. The untouchable, arrogant Kook mask was completely gone.
"He called me into his office yesterday morning and screamed at me for an hour about a marina contract we signed three months ago," Rafe spilled, his voice rising in a desperate, chaotic rush. "He swore up and down that I forged his signature, that I was trying to steal from him. Then, two hours later, he walked into the kitchen and asked me when the meeting with the investors was scheduled... the same meeting we had finished last week."
Rafe leaned his head back against the leather headrest, closing his eyes as a heavy shudder passed through his shoulders.
"He’s getting paranoid, Mia. He’s getting aggressive, and he’s terrified. So I have to handle it. I’m taking over the marina deals, I’m signing off on the property accounts, I’m covering for him every time he blanks out in front of the board, I all so nobody notices Ward Cameron is slipping. Because the second the island realizes Ward isn't in control anymore, the sharks are going to circle and rip us apart."
His voice dropped into a low, terrifyingly raw whisper that made Mia’s throat ache. "And I’m terrified I’m going to ruin it. I’m terrified I’m not smart enough, or capable enough, or good enough for him. I feel like I’m drowning every single day trying to keep my family from falling off a cliff, and my dad just looks at me like I’m a disappointment anyway."
Mia sat frozen, her heart aching in her chest.
Seeing Rafe, the guy who spent his whole life acting invincible, loud, and dangerous completely unraveling in the driver's seat, admitting his deepest, most suffocating fears, stripped away every last drop of her judgment. He wasn't a villain in that moment. He was just a terrified twenty two year old boy carrying the weight of a crumbling empire on his back.
Without thinking, Mia reached across the console, her small hand covering his shaking, calloused fingers. "Rafe..."
Rafe looked down at their joined hands, his breath hitching. He flipped his palm over, his fingers lacing tightly through hers like a lifeline.
"What about you?" Rafe murmured softly, his voice gravelly, turning his head to look at her in the dark. "You're working yourself to the bone, Vargas. Talk to me."
Mia swallowed the hard lump in her throat. She had spent weeks keeping her guard up, pretending she had everything under control. But looking at him so raw and exposed she couldn't lie anymore.
"I'm failing," Mia whispered, staring down at their intertwined fingers. "Or at least, it feels like I am. My rent check bounced on Monday. I'm working double shifts at the pub, driving the cart at the club, and trying to study for fluid mechanics in the middle of the night. If I fail my engineering finals next week, I lose my scholarship. And if I lose my scholarship..."
Her voice cracked slightly, her shoulders curling inward. "I'm stuck here forever, Rafe. I don't have a safety net. I don't have my parents money or a family house to fall back on. I have one shot to build a real life, and I am so exhausted and scared that one bad exam is going to ruin everything I've fought for."
Rafe didn't offer empty platitudes or tell her it would be fine. He just listened, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of her hand.
Slowly, deliberately, Rafe unbuckled his seatbelt. He reached over, grabbing Mia under the arms, and pulled her smoothly across the center console and into his lap.
Mia didn't pull away. She let out a long, shuddering sigh, shifting until she was sitting sideways across his legs, her cheek resting against the soft fabric of his hoodie, right over the steady, heavy thud of his heart.
For the first time between them, it wasn't about the frantic, desperate heat. It wasn't about the physical high or the forbidden thrill. It was raw, quiet emotional safety.
Rafe wrapped his broad arms tightly around her waist, burying his face into the crook of her neck. He breathed her in; the faint scent of rain, pub coffee, and vanilla. His entire body relaxing for the first time in weeks as he held her against his chest.
Mia raised her hand, her fingers gently threading into the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck, playing with it in slow, soothing motions. She felt the tension gradually bleed out of his shoulders, his breathing shifting from ragged to long, deep rhythms.
Outside, the rain continued to pour, wrapping the truck in a cocoon of quiet isolation.
Bound together by the weight of their secrets and the crushing pressure of their separate lives, neither of them moved. Within twenty minutes, wrapped in each other's warmth in the dark cab of the Raptor, they both fell fast asleep, completely unaware of the exact moment they had stopped being an accident, and became each other's only safe place on the entire island.
Week 14 Friday
Friday afternoon was humid and bright, the brutal summer sun beating down on the concrete outside the campus library building.
Mia had spent two hours trying to study in the air conditioned archives before the restlessness got to be too much. As she pushed through the heavy glass exit doors into the heat, she saw him.
Rafe was leaning against the passenger side of his Raptor, parked in the shaded back tier of the campus lot. He was dressed in a simple grey t-shirt and sunglasses, a half empty sports drink resting on the roof of his truck. He looked completely relaxed, as if he hadn't spent Wednesday night completely unspooled in her lap.
Mia walked up to him, her heart doing a familiar, nervous kick against her ribs.
"What are you doing here?" she asked softly, stepping into the shade of his truck.
Rafe pushed his sunglasses up into his dark hair, looking down at her with a calm, lazy expression. "Waiting for you," he said simply, his tone unhurried. "Thought you might want a ride."
Mia looked around the quiet lot before stepping closer, her voice dropping into a tense whisper. "Rafe... about Monday morning in the lab. And Friday night. The... the kissing."
Rafe didn't flinch. He didn't look flustered, embarrassed, or intense. He just reached out, his long fingers casually tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch light and effortless.
"What about it?" he asked smoothly, his thumb casually brushing her cheekbone before dropping his hand back to his side.
"You're acting like it was nothing," Mia said, her brow furrowing as she searched his face, trying to reconcile this nonchalant guy with the terrified, raw boy who had held her in the dark two nights ago. "We can't just... keep doing that whenever we're alone."
"Mia," Rafe said, letting out a soft, amused breath as he leaned back against the door. "We were stressed out. It happened. I'm not overthinking it, and you shouldn't either."
"You're unbelievable," Mia muttered, a small spike of irritation cutting through her anxiety.
"I'm being realistic," Rafe replied, a faint, dark smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He opened the passenger door for her, nodding toward the seat. "Get in. I'll take you back to the Cut before your shift."
He made it sound so simple, so completely under control, as if he hadn't been watching her every move for four weeks.
By 1:00 am, the heavy summer heat had settled over the marsh, thick with the sound of crickets, buzzing mosquitoes, and damp salt air.
They were parked deep in the secluded dirt pull off tucked behind the tall reeds, far out of sight from the main road.
Inside the Raptor, the air was suffocatingly hot, the windows completely fogged over from the heat of their bodies. There was nothing casual or nonchalant about Rafe now. Whatever cool, detached front he had put on outside the library earlier that afternoon had completely disintegrated the second he pulled her across the center console.
Rafe was leaning back in the driver’s seat with Mia straddling his lap, his broad hands pinned firmly under her shirt against the bare skin of her waist. He was kissing her with a quiet, desperate intensity, his mouth heavy and dark against hers, tasting like salt and sweet tobacco. Every time Mia tried to catch her breath, Rafe’s thumb would press firmly into her hip, pulling her closer, his lips tracing a hot, slow path down the column of her throat until a quiet gasp escaped her.
Mia was completely unspooled. Her fingers were tangled tight in his dark hair, her head tilted back as Rafe buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breathing heavy and ragged against her pulse point.
"Rafe..." she breathed out, her chest heaving against his crisp shirt.
"I know," he rasped low in his throat, his mouth catching hers again in a deep, possessive kiss that made her knees go weak.
Slowly, as the frantic edge of the heat began to melt away, the make out session softened. Mia was still sitting across Rafe’s lap, her forehead resting against the crook of his neck, her fingers lightly trailing through his hair at his nape. Rafe’s hands slid up her back, resting gently over her shoulder blades. They stayed like that for a long moment, listening to the hum of the night air, the atmosphere in the cab softening into a warm, surprisingly comfortable silence.
For the first time all week, the crushing weight in her chest had eased into something resembling peace.
Then, two bright beams of yellow light cut through the dark, sweeping across the tall grass and illuminating the fogged interior of the truck.
Rafe’s entire body went instantly iron rigid beneath her. His hand shot out, catching the back of her neck and firmly pushing her down toward the passenger side footwell.
"Down," he muttered in a sharp, sudden breath. "Stay down."
Mia’s heart slammed into her throat. She scrambled off his lap, pressing herself flat against the floorboards below the dash, her knees pulled tight to her chest, her breathing hitched and shallow in the dark.
Through the thin glass, the distinct, sputtering rumble of a dying muffler rattled the humid night air. It was unmistakable.
The Twinkie.
Pope was driving slow, navigating the bumpy dirt road near the marsh cut off, with JJ hanging halfway out the passenger window, shining a flashlight toward the water.
Rafe slumped low in the driver’s seat, his back pressed flat against the leather, his hand reaching out in the dark to hit the dash panel, ensuring every interior light and instrument display stayed pitch black. His dark eyes flicked to the side mirror, watching the rusted yellow van crawl past the tree line just twenty feet away.
For thirty agonizing seconds, the loud, familiar laughter of JJ echoed weakly over the crickets and the sputtering engine. If JJ’s flashlight beam shifted just two feet to the left, it would catch the massive matte grill of Cameron’s truck tucked into the brush.
Mia held her breath, her hand pressed tightly over her mouth to muffle her ragged breathing, her pulse hammering wildly in her ears. Sitting on the dusty floorboards of a Kook’s truck, hiding from the guys she grew up with, the sheer insanity of what she was doing hit her like an icy slap.
Slowly, the yellow tail lights flickered away, the rumble of the Twinkie’s engine fading into the distance until there was only the sound of the marsh at night.
Neither of them moved for a long minute.
Rafe let out a slow, heavy breath, leaning over the center console to look down at her in the footwell. He reached down, his broad hand wrapping around her wrist, pulling her back up onto the leather seat.
"They're gone," Rafe rasped softly. His voice was steady, but when his fingers brushed her jaw, Mia felt the faint, nervous tremor in his hands.
Mia sat back in the passenger seat, staring out at the dark marsh, her hands shaking as she pulled her shirt down. The casual nonchalance he had displayed earlier that afternoon felt completely shattered, replaced by a cold, suffocating paranoia.
Week 14 Sunday
By Sunday afternoon, the golden hour sun was blazing down on the Cut.
The Chateau porch was loud and alive. John B was sprawled out on the couch picking at an acoustic guitar, JJ was sitting on the wooden railing balancing a beer bottle on his knee while telling an exaggerated story about a near arrest at the marsh the night before, and Kie was sitting on the steps chopping up watermelon for the group.
Mia sat in the faded hammock under the shade of the porch overhang, her knees tucked up to her chest.
She was physically there dressed in her worn jean shorts and a faded t-shirt but mentally, she felt a million miles away. The easy laughter of the Pogues felt muffled, like she was listening to them from underwater. Every time she closed her eyes, she wasn't on the porch; she was feeling the heavy press of Rafe’s hands around her waist, hearing his raw, ruined voice spilling secrets, and remembering the terrifying thrill of hiding on his floorboards.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket for the fifth time in twenty minutes, checking the screen under her thigh.
Nothing.
She locked it, slid it away, and then three minutes later, unconsciously reached into her pocket to check it again.
"Jesus, Mia," Kie said, looking up from the cutting board with a soft, teasing laugh. "Who are you texting so much? You’ve been staring at that phone like it owes you money since you got here."
Mia’s hand froze instantly over her screen.
Across the porch, John B paused his strumming, and JJ looked over with a mischievous grin, taking a swing of his drink.
"Ooh, hold on," JJ chimed in, pointing a finger at her. "Mia has a secret? Since when? Is it a boat captain? A guy from the marina?"
Mia forced her face into a smooth, easy smile, a lie she had practiced so many times this week it almost felt natural. "Neither. It's just my engineering project partner. The professor shifted our midterm lab deadlines, and he's losing his mind over the circuit diagrams."
"Boooring," JJ groaned, dropping his head back. "Engineering nerds. I thought it was something juicy."
"Yeah, well, some of us have to pass finals," Mia said, letting out a small, lighthearted laugh that sounded terrifyingly convincing.
Kie shook her head, tossing a slice of watermelon into Mia’s lap. "You work too hard, Mia. Seriously. Take a breath."
"Yeah," Mia murmured, taking a slow bite of the melon. "I try."
She looked back out over the yard at her friends listening to John B start up a new chord progression, watching Kie laugh at JJ’s ridiculous antics, and felt a cold, sickening hollow open up in her stomach.
They loved her. They were trying to pull her in, to keep her safe in the warm, simple world of the Cut. But as Mia sat there surrounded by them, feeling the ghost of Rafe’s touch against her skin and the constant, feverish itch to check her phone, she realized the terrible truth.
She was already gone. She was trapped in the middle, slipping deeper into Rafe Cameron’s dark, chaotic world, and every lie she told made the distance between her and the Pogues an ocean wide.
Week 15 tuesday
The upper floors of the campus library archives at 10:00 pm were suffocatingly quiet. High up on the third floor, the engineering reference section felt like a forgotten tomb, dimly lit by overhead motion sensor lights that buzzed faintly and flickered off if no one moved for too long.
Mia navigated the narrow, shadowy aisles between tall, rusted steel bookshelves. Her mind was a frayed mess, her fingers trailing absently over the spines of heavy fluid mechanics texts.
Down on the main floor near the open atrium, Sarah and Kie were sitting at a study table. Mia had used the excuse of needing a restricted reference manual to slip upstairs alone, anything to get a breather from the suffocating guilt of sitting across from Ward Cameron’s daughter.
A faint, quiet heavy boot step echoed on the metal floorboard behind her.
Mia froze. She turned around at the end of the dead-end aisle, opening her mouth to tell Rafe to back off knowing instantly it was him.
Before a single sound could escape her throat, Rafe closed the distance. His broad hands shot out, gripping her waist in a tight, unyielding vise, and hauled her deep into the darkest, narrowest nook of the aisle, completely out of sight from the main walkway.
He backed her up to the small, wooden oak study desk tucked into the dead end. Without breaking stride, Rafe placed his hands firmly under her thighs, effortlessly lifting her up and setting her right onto the edge of the table.
Mia gasped, her hands instantly flying to his broad shoulders to steady herself as he stepped directly between her parted knees, pinning her against the wall behind the desk.
Without a word, Rafe captured her mouth in a dark, frantic, soundless kiss.
The physical friction was instantaneous and overwhelming, his hips grinding heavy and firm against hers, locking her flush against his chest on the high table. Because of the dead silence hanging over the library, every sharp breath and rustle of fabric sounded like a thunderclap. They couldn't make a single sound.
Rafe’s broad hands slid aggressively under her denim jacket, his warm, calloused fingers digging into the bare skin of her waist. He pulled her even closer to the edge, his mouth sliding off hers to trace a hot, agonizingly slow path down her jaw. He nipped firmly at the sensitive skin right beneath her ear, sending a sharp, shuddering wave straight down her spine.
Mia’s knuckles turned stark white as she grabbed the fabric of his dark Henley shirt, her fingers tangling into the soft knit, pulling him down harder into her space.
Rafe let out a low, vibration of a growl against her throat, his hands shifting from her waist up under her shirt, his thumbs tracing the curve of her ribs. He leaned his full weight into her, his mouth catching hers again, deeper, heavier, and completely possessive. The kiss stretched on, long and agonizing, as his lips parted hers, his tongue tasting her with a starved intensity that made her head swim and her knees strain to hold him tight against her hips.
A desperate, breathless noise hit the back of Mia's throat. She buried her face into the crook of his neck to muffle the sound, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs like a trapped bird as he continued to crush his mouth against hers, consuming her completely in the dark.
Then, heavy, familiar footsteps echoed up the metal staircase at the end of the floor.
"Yeah, I'm just looking for Mia... she's been up here for like twenty minutes," a voice called out, muffled but unmistakable.
Sarah. She was on speakerphone with John B, her voice carrying easily through the open stacks.
Above them, the motion sensor light for their specific aisle clicked on with a sharp, buzz hum, flooding the narrow row with bright fluorescent light.
Mia’s eyes blew wide with absolute, terrifying panic.
She slammed her palm flat over Rafe’s mouth, trapping him while still mounted on the desk in front of him.
Rafe didn't pull back. His dark eyes flashed in the bright light with a reckless, unhinged heat. A low, dark smirk twitched against her palm, but he stayed dead silent. His broad hands slid around her lower back, locking her flush against his chest so not even a shadow showed past his shoulders.
Sarah’s casual footsteps approached the entrance of their aisle. Her long shadow stretched across the concrete floor, passing just inches away from where they sat pinned together on the desk.
Mia stopped breathing entirely. Her eyes were locked on Rafe’s, her hand trembling over his lips, her chest heaving against his as Sarah paused at the end of the row.
"Mia?" Sarah called out softly into the quiet stacks.
A beat passed. Two. Three.
"Guess she went to the bathroom," Sarah muttered into her phone, her footsteps finally turning away and retreating toward the heavy swinging doors of the stairwell.
The heavy door clicked shut with a dull, distant thud.
They held their breath until the sound fully faded into the silence of the building.
Mia pushed him back with trembling hands, sliding herself off the wooden table as her feet hit the floorboards with a soft tap. Her chest was heaving, her lips swollen, burning, and wet, her breathing entirely ragged.
Rafe leaned back against the desk, running a hand through his messy dark hair. A heavy, breathless rasp escaped his chest as he looked down at her through dark, heavy-lidded eyes, completely unbothered by how close they had just come to destroying everything.
Mia grabbed the heavy textbook off the shelf with shaking fingers, pulled her jacket shut, and fled down the stairs without looking back, completely unstrung, terrified, and utterly powerless against the total breakdown coming for them.
Week 15 Thursday
By Thursday night, the universe seemed intent on grinding both of them down to dust.
For Mia, the day had been a relentless, suffocating catastrophe. Her morning started with an email alert from the university bursar, her rent check had officially bounced, slapping her with an overdraft fee she couldn't afford. Hours later, she sat through her fluid mechanics midterm review, watching her exam score come back a devastating 62%. One more grade like that on Friday's final, and her scholarship was gone. To top it off, her pub shift was a chaotic nightmare, she got stiffed on tips by rowdy tourists, broke two pint glasses, and worked straight through six hours without taking a single breath.
She walked out the back door of The Anchor at midnight under a thick, low ceiling of dark, overcast clouds, her head pounding, her eyes burning with unshed, furious tears of absolute exhaustion.
Across the island, Rafe’s day had been its own special kind of hell.
Ward had suffered his worst episode yet. During a high stakes morning meeting with the marina development board, Ward had completely blanked, mixing up property lines and accusing a long time partner of embezzling funds. When Rafe stepped in to smoothly redirect the conversation and salvage the deal, Ward turned on him in front of everyone, screaming that Rafe was incompetent, untrustworthy, and actively trying to undermine him. Rafe spent the rest of the afternoon swallowing pure rage, locking himself in his office to fix his father's mess before the rumors reached the press.
When Mia stepped onto the concrete loading dock behind the pub, the night air was heavy, humid, and cloudy,no stars, no moon, just suffocating grey darkness.
At the edge of the shadowed gravel lot, the black Raptor was idling under the trees. The dark tint on the windows hid the interior, but the low, rumbling vibrate of the V8 engine cut straight through the quiet lot.
Mia didn't stop to think. She didn't hesitate or look over her shoulder. She was vibrating with so much stress, anger, and panic that she couldn't breathe. She marched straight across the gravel, pulled the heavy passenger door open, and climbed inside, slamming it shut behind her.
The cab was boiling with tension.
Rafe was sitting in the driver's seat, his hands white knuckled around the leather steering wheel. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore; his tie was undone, his collar unbuttoned, and his dark hair was a ruined mess. He looked completely wrecked, drowning, unhinged, and dangerous.
Mia opened her mouth to speak, to vent, to cry, to ask him what was wrong—
"Don't," Rafe rasped. His voice was a dark, gravelly roar that cut her off instantly.
He didn't turn to look at her. He shifted the truck into reverse, backed out of the lot, and drove them deeper into the darkness behind the docks under the grey, cloudy sky. He parked the Raptor behind an abandoned, rusted fishing warehouse where no streetlights could reach and cut the engine, plunging the oversized cab into pitch black shadow.
The second the engine died, the silence inside the truck exploded.
Neither of them spoke. There was no gentle lead in, no casual checking in, no "therapy session." All the crushing weight of the week, the panic over her scholarship, his father’s mental collapse, the terrifying near miss in the library, and four weeks of agonizing restraint converted instantly into raw, desperate physical necessity.
Rafe turned in his seat and reached for her.
Mia didn't pull back. She lunged across the center console, her hands slamming into the front of his shirt, pulling him to her as his mouth came down on hers in a dark, punishing, breathtaking kiss.
It was messy, frantic, and claustrophobic. Rafe reached down, unbuckling her seatbelt in a swift, violent movement. He hooked his broad hands beneath her arms, hauling her effortlessly right over the leather console and tossing her back into the spacious back seat of the crew cab.
Before Mia could even adjust, Rafe climbed over after her, his towering frame immediately hovering over her, pinning her flat against the dark leather seats.
His mouth never left hers, tasting like bitter whiskey and smoke as his heavy hands slid under her hoodie, lifting it off her head in one quick, impatient motion and tossing it onto the floorboards. His broad, calloused hands dug hard into her waist, anchoring her down, making sure she couldn't move an inch away from him.
"Mia," he growled into her mouth, a breathless, broken sound as his lips dragged down her neck, his teeth nipping sharp against her collarbone, leaving hot, red marks in the dark.
"Rafe, please," she gasped out, her head rolling back against the leather seat, her fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt, yanking at his buttons until the linen gave way. She didn't even know what she was asking for, only that his heavy, overwhelming presence was the only thing making the deafening noise in her head stop.
Rafe took complete control. His hands were urgent, possessive, and merciless. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her shorts, stripping them off along with her underwear, tossing them into the front seat without breaking the brutal rhythm of his mouth on hers. His large palm slid up the bare, smooth skin of her inner thigh, forcing her legs apart as his fingers brushed high against her center. She was already slick, burning, and completely undone for him.
"Look at me," Rafe rasped, his voice raw and gravelly in the close space. He pushed himself up on one forearm, hovering directly over her, his dark eyes wide, bloodshot, and completely unhinged in the faint shadows. "Tell me you want this."
Mia’s chest was heaving, her hips involuntarily lifting toward his hand, her knuckles white where she gripped his broad shoulders. "I want you. Rafe, right now—please."
He didn't wait another second. Rafe unfastened his belt and shoved his pants down his thighs, positioning himself firmly between her parted knees. Looming over her, he cupped the side of her neck with one hand, pinning her head back against the leather, while his other hand guided himself to her entrance. He pushed inside her in one long, heavy, unyielding stroke.
Mia let out a sharp, breathless cry, her back arching off the leather seat as he filled her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, hot, thick, and stretch full, instantly shattering whatever remaining control she had left.
Rafe locked his jaw, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat as he held still inside her for three agonizing seconds, letting them both adapt to the sharp, intense friction. He leaned down, pressing his full, heavy weight into her, his chest flat against hers and his forehead resting against her temple as he completely dominated her space.
"God, Mia," he swore, his voice trembling near her ear. "You're wrapping around me... so fucking tight..."
Then he began to move.
The pace was urgent, heavy, and frantic. From on top, Rafe drove down into her with hard, deep, rhythmic thrusts that shook the entire back of the truck. The leather squeaked beneath them, their skin sticking together in the humid, cloudy air of the cab. Every time he bottomed out inside her, his hips hit against hers with a wet, brutal sound, his sheer strength forcing her deeper into the cushions with every stroke. Mia dug her nails into his back, leaving red scratches straight down his skin as she tried to anchor herself against his power.
He reached down, grabbing both of her wrists and pinning them flat above her head against the leather, effectively trapping her beneath him as he picked up the pace. He slammed into her with an unrelenting, possessive angle that made Mia bite her lower lip until she tasted blood just to keep from screaming out into the quiet night.
"Don't hold back," Rafe growled, leaning down to capture her mouth again, swallowing her breathless whimpers. "Let me hear you."
Mia unspooled completely. Trapped underneath his heavy, rhythmic weight, she threw her head back, letting out soft, broken sounds with every heavy plunge of his hips. The world outside, her bounced checks, her failing grades, Ward’s collapse, the Pogues, the Cut. vanished into absolute nothingness. There was only Rafe’s suffocating control, the intense heat between her legs, and the relief of being completely claimed by someone who was just as broken as she was.
Rafe’s rhythm grew faster, harder, more chaotic. His breathing was ragged, his muscles straining as he chased the edge, his dark eyes locked on her face as he worked over her. The friction reached a fever pitch, a tight coil of pleasure tightening so hard in Mia's stomach that her vision blurred.
"Rafe—I'm... I can't—" she sobbed out, her body tightening around him like a vise.
"I've got you baby," he rasped, his grip on her wrists tightening as he slammed into her one last, deep time.
The orgasm crashed over Mia like a tidal wave, her internal muscles pulsing around him in hard, rhythmic spasms that tore a high, breathless gasp from her throat. Feeling her contract under him sent Rafe straight over the edge; with a harsh, low growl, he buried himself as deep as he could go, his body shivering violently as he came inside her, spilling hot and deep into her center while keeping her completely pinned flat beneath him.
For long minutes afterward, Rafe remained collapsed on top of her, his chest heaving heavily against hers, his face buried in her neck as their ragged, desperate breathing filled the fogged up back seat of the Raptor.
The heavy, humid quiet inside the fogged up back seat had barely settled before the shift began.
Rafe was still collapsed heavy on top of her, his forehead resting in the crook of her neck, his broad chest rising and falling in deep, ragged hitches. But he didn't pull out. He didn't move away.
Mia lay beneath him in the dark, her heart still hammering against her ribs, her body tingling from the aftershocks. She opened her eyes, staring blankly up at the roof of the cab, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d roll off, clean up, and put his cold, distant armor back on.
Instead, Rafe’s hand, still pinned over her wrist, tightened its grip.
A low, heavy exhale dragged out of his throat. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his head. His dark eyes, wide and completely unhinged in the shadows, locked onto hers. The fever hadn't broken. The high hadn't quieted the storm in his head, it had only made him hungrier, angrier, more ravenous for the only thing that made the drowning stop.
"Rafe..." Mia whispered, her voice barely a thread, her chest rising sharply against his. "Rafe, we... we just—"
"I know," he rasped, his voice raw, thick, and gravelly against her skin.
He didn't give her time to think, to argue, or to let reality creep back into the truck. Rafe shifted his weight, pulling back just enough to slip out of her, the sudden loss of warmth making Mia let out a soft, involuntary gasp.
Before she could process it, Rafe’s broad hand slid down her stomach, his long, calloused fingers spreading wide over her lower abdomen before slipping lower, right between her parted thighs. He cupped her center, his thumb pressing firmly into her slick, sensitive heat.
Mia’s back arched sharply off the leather, a high, breathless whimpering noise tearing from her throat.
"Look at me," Rafe growled low into her mouth, his thumb starting a slow, merciless circular motion over her clit. "You think you're done? We're not done, Mia."
He took total, absolute control. While his thumb worked her with an agonizingly steady, heavy friction, two of his fingers slid deep inside her, stretching her filled all over again. He set up a brutal dual rhythm, his fingers pumping slick and deep inside her while his thumb pressed hard against her sensitive bundle of nerves, making her hips writhe helplessly against his palm.
"Rafe—please—" Mia sobbed out, her hands flying to his forearms, her nails digging into his skin as the intense, direct touch sent a violent, electric shock straight to her core.
"Stay still," he commanded against her lips, swallowing her breathless cries as he sped up his hand. His fingers curled upward inside her, hitting that deep, swollen spot over and over until Mia’s inner walls began to pulse frantically around his hand. "Let me feel it. Let me feel how good I make you feel."
He kept working her with his hand until she was trembling, slick, and completely on the precipice, her knees shaking against his sides. Just as she was about to snap, Rafe pulled his hand away, ignoring her soft, desperate protest.
He didn't let her hover on the edge for even a second. Rafe braced himself above her, grabbed her hips, and drove his length straight back inside her in one long, unyielding stroke, sinking all the way to the hilt.
Mia let out a broken, shattered cry, her internal muscles instantly gripping him like a vise.
This round was a slow, brutal, unyielding torture. Rafe began to move again, pulling back almost completely before driving deep, heavy, and agonizingly slow back into her center. Every stroke was deliberate and heavy, his full weight pressing her down into the cushions, making the truck squeak softly under the rhythm.
While he maintained that deep, punishing pace, Rafe reached down between them again. His thumb found her clit once more, pressing firm into her slick skin right where they joined, multiplying the intense friction tenfold.
"Rafe—oh God, Rafe!" Mia choked out, her head rolling back into the leather seat.
"You think you can just walk away after this?" Rafe rasped, his jaw tight, his muscles straining above her as his pace began to build, faster and harder now, his thumb never stopping its relentless pressure. "You think you're going back to your little life like nothing happened?"
"Rafe—" she cried out, completely helpless under the dual assault of his hand and his heavy thrusts.
"You're mine tonight," he growled against her skin, his mouth biting into the sensitive curve where her neck met her shoulder, marking her deeper this time. "Just ours. Nobody else."
The possessive force of him was suffocating. Mia unspooled all over again, completely shattered under his total control. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, pulling him down, burying her face into his neck to muffle her broken, breathless cries as the overwhelming touch of his hand and his body drove her over the cliff.
She broke under him violently, her internal walls pulsing in hard, electric spasms around him, her nails leaving deep red tracks down his back as a high, breathless scream was muffled into his shoulder.
Seeing and feeling her come undone around his thumb and his length completely undid Rafe. A harsh, guttural roar tore from his throat. Abandoning all restraint, he slammed into her with three brutal, deep strokes, pinning her flat to the leather as he came inside her again, his whole frame shivering violently over hers.
When it was over, neither of them had the strength to move.
Rafe collapsed onto his side beside her, pulling her small, trembling body flush against his broad chest. He wrapped one heavy arm tightly around her waist, burying his face into her damp hair, his chest heaving against her back in slow, heavy breaths.
Mia lay curled against him in the pitch black truck, surrounded by the smell of sweat, leather, and cedar. She was utterly exhausted, her body aching, her lips swollen and as she stared into the shadows under the cloudy sky.
Week 15 Friday
When the storm finally cleared, the silence in the back of the truck was deafening.
The windows were completely fogged over, blocking out the dark, overcast sky. Rafe was lying on his side against the leather, one heavy arm draped over her waist, his chest heaving in slow, deep hitches against her back. Mia lay curled beside him, her cheek pressed into the leather, her entire body trembling as the cold, unforgiving reality began to settle back into her bones.
Her skin was burning. Her lips were bruised, swollen, and tender. And as her mind slowly cleared from the intoxicating high, an overwhelming wave of guilt and sheer terror hit her like a physical blow.
Mia sat up slowly, slipping out from under his heavy arm. Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely pull her shirt back over her head or find her shorts on the dark floorboards. She stared down at her lap, her throat tight, a suffocating weight pressing down on her chest.
"We can't do this again," Mia whispered into the quiet, fogged cab. Her voice was raw, small, and trembling. "Rafe... this was a one time thing."
Rafe didn't move immediately. A long, agonizing beat passed before he shifted, sitting up against the seat and resting his elbows on his knees. He ran both hands aggressively through his dark, messy hair, dragging his palms down his face.
When he looked at her through the dark, his heavy lidded eyes were dark, unreadable, and completely stripped of the wild heat from minutes before. He looked hollowed out, the Kook armor slowly sliding back into place over the wrecked boy underneath.
"Yeah," Rafe rasped out, his voice thick, gravelly, and flat. "One time."
It was the most transparent, fragile lie either of them had ever told, a desperate attempt to build a paper wall against the wildfire they had just started.
Rafe climbed back into the driver's seat, pulling his clothes back on in hard, clipped movements, while Mia scrambled into the front passenger seat.
The ride back to her apartment building was conducted in total, suffocating silence under the low, dark grey clouds hanging over the island.
The truck's heater blew softly against their ankles, but the air inside the Raptor felt ice cold. Neither of them looked at each other. Rafe kept both hands glued to the steering wheel, his jaw set in a hard, rigid line, his dark eyes fixed strictly on the empty, winding roads of the Cut.
He pulled up to the curb outside her rotting wooden staircase at 2:00 am, shifting the truck into park but leaving the V8 engine idling with a low, steady rumble.
He didn't turn off the ignition. He didn't offer to walk her up the stairs.
Mia grabbed her backpack from the floorboard, her fingers hovering over the cold metal of the door handle. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her heart hammering against her ribs, before turning her head slightly to look at him one last time.
Rafe turned his head, his dark eyes meeting hers in the dim, amber glow of the dashboard lights. He looked exhausted, dangerous, and distant, already retreating behind the high, cold walls of his world in Figure Eight.
He gave her one lingering, unblinking look, a silent, heavy acknowledgment of the ruin they had just shared, before flicking his gaze back to the empty street ahead.
Mia opened the door, stepped out into the muggy, heavy night air under the dark clouds, and shut it behind her with a dull thud.
She stood on the rotting porch of her building, shivering in the humid heat, watching the bright red tail lights of the Raptor disappear down the road until the rumble of his engine was completely swallowed by the night.
Mia unlocked the door, stepped into the cold, quiet darkness of her room, and sank right down against the wooden door, pulling her knees tight to her chest. She felt dirty, used, and utterly terrified by the explosive secret now burning beneath her skin.
Yet as she sat there in the dark, her bruised lips still stinging and her pulse still hammering, she knew with sickening certainty that the lie wouldn't hold, and that she was already completely, hopelessly addicted to the ruin he offered.
The low, heavy gray clouds still blanketed the island when Mia woke up on the floor of her bedroom.
She was still curled in a tight ball against her front door, wrapped in a blanket she had blindly pulled off her bed at 3:00 am. Her entire body ached with a deep, dull throb, her lips were tender and bruised, her wrists bore faint red pressure marks, and every breath she took smelled faintly of cedar and cold leather.
The low, heavy gray clouds still blanketed the island when Mia woke up on the floor of her apartment.
Her phone vibrated sharply on the floorboards beside her, the buzzing sound echoing like a gunshots in the quiet room.
Mia flinched, her heart instantly shooting into her throat. She reached out with a trembling hand and picked it up.
It wasn't Rafe.
Kie: Hey, you up? John B's making coffee at the Chateau. Come over before your final exam.
Pope: Don't forget fluid mechanics starts at 11:00 am sharp in Hall B. Good luck today Mia, you're gonna crush it.
Mia stared at the glowing screen, her chest tightening until she could barely draw air into her lungs. The sheer contrast between the warm, grounded reality of her friends and the dark, intoxicating violence of what she had spent hours doing in the back of Rafe Cameron's truck made her physically sick.
Mia: Ya, dont got work for once today, took it off for finals :)
When she looked in the mirror, she barely recognized the girl staring back at her. Her hair was a wild, tangled knot, her eyes were dark and bloodshot, and right along the curve of her collarbone, partially hidden by her tank top, was a dark, purplish mark left by Rafe.
She turned on the shower, scrubbing her skin until it was raw, trying to wash away the feeling of his hands, his mouth, and the possessive weight of his body pinning her to the leather. But no matter how hard she scrubbed, the ghost of his touch remained burned into her skin.
The fluorescent lights of the engineering lecture hall buzzed with an unbearable, grating hum.
Mia sat three rows from the back, her fluid mechanics final exam lying face up on the desk in front of her. She had spent weeks terrified of this test, terrified that one bad grade would cost her scholarship and trap her in the Cut forever.
Now, staring down at the complex equations and circuit layouts, her mind was a completely blank canvas.
She couldn't concentrate. Every time she looked at a diagram, her mind flashed back to the dark aisle in the library stacks, Rafe lifting her effortlessly onto the study table, his hands under her jacket, his mouth smothering her gasps while Sarah walked past just inches away. Every time she tried to calculate a pressure differential, she felt the heavy, unyielding force of him driving into her in the fogged cab of the Raptor.
She barely managed to fill in the answers, her handwriting shaky and uncharacteristically messy. When the professor called time, Mia slid her paper onto the stack at the front of the room, feeling completely hollowed out.
As she pushed through the heavy wooden doors into the crowded hallway, she nearly collided with a tall frame.
Mia gasped, taking a sharp step back, her hands flying up to protect her chest.
It was Topper.
He was holding a stack of fraternity flyers, dressed in a crisp polo shirt. He blinked at her, surprised by her violent reaction.
"Whoa, easy Mia," Topper said, holding his hands up with a slight, half amused frown. "Didn't mean to jump scare you. You good?"
"I'm fine," Mia rasped out, her voice flat, her eyes darting nervously down the hall as if expecting Rafe to materialize out of the shadows. "Just... tired."
"Yeah, you look like death," Topper observed, not unkindly, but with that classic Kook detachment. He glanced down at his phone as it buzzed. "Have you seen Rafe today? He was supposed to meet me at the club driving range twenty minutes ago, but his phone's going straight to voicemail."
Mia’s breath hitched. She tightened her grip on her backpack strap so hard her knuckles turned white.
"No," Mia lied smoothly, her voice dropping into that hollow, practiced calm. "Haven't seen him."
Topper shrugged, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Classic Rafe. He's probably hungover or fighting with Ward again. See ya, Mia."
Mia watched Topper walk away, her pulse hammering against her ribs.
She pulled her own phone out of her pocket and opened her messages. There was no text from Rafe. No missed calls. Just complete, absolute radio silence, exactly like they had agreed. A one time thing.
Except as Mia walked down the concrete steps of the campus building into the muggy afternoon air, her phone vibrated sharply in her palm.
A single notification popped up from a restricted number.
Restricted: I know you're not at the Chateau yet. Come to the marina dock standard entrance. Now.
Mia stood frozen at the bottom of the steps, the heavy, dark gray clouds hanging low over the island, realizing with a chilling, sickening certainty that the paper wall they built had already collapsed, and the lie was officially over.
The air at the marina was thick and stagnant under the heavy, low slung grey sky. The smell of diesel, salt water, and decaying marsh grass hung heavily over the wooden docks.
Mia stood at the top of the ramp leading down to the private slips, her hand gripped tightly around her phone. Her pulse was hammering in her ears, each heartbeat echoing the dull throb between her thighs. She looked around nervously, half-expecting to see John B’s rusted van or Pope’s scooter pulled up near the bait shop.
Down at Slip 4, the My Druthers sat idling quietly.
Rafe was leaning casually against the teak gunwale on the back deck, dressed in his standard Figure Eight uniform, a pale blue linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, dark shorts, boat shoes, and dark sunglasses resting on his nose. He was holding a half empty bottle of sparkling water, lazily watching the water lap against the hull. He looked completely unbothered, as if he hadn't spent hours completely unraveled in the back of his truck just before dawn.
He didn't even look up until her sneakers clicked onto the wooden decking of the boat.
Rafe slowly lowered his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose, looking at her over the dark lenses with a calm, lazy smirk.
"Look who showed up," he said smoothly, his tone unhurried and light. His eyes flicked casually down to her neck, lingering for a fraction of a second on the high collar of her denim jacket, the one she was wearing despite the muggy heat to hide his marks before returning to her face.
"I had an exam, Rafe," Mia said in a harsh whisper, her eyes darting nervously around the empty dock behind her. "I told you we couldn't do this. You texted me from a restricted number, if any of the guys saw me coming down here—"
"Nobody saw you, Mia," Rafe cut in calmly. He took a slow sip of his water, taking his sweet time before setting the bottle down on the ledge. He pushed himself off the gunwale, stepping into her space with an easy, effortless grace. "Relax. You're vibrating."
"Relax?" Mia snapped quietly, her composure cracking under his breezy attitude. "My entire life depends on that test! I couldn't even think straight today because of—because of last night, and you're standing here acting like it was just another Thursday!"
Rafe let out a soft, amused hum. He reached out, his long fingers casually tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed her cheekbone, light and maddeningly cool.
"It was a wild night," Rafe murmured, his voice dropping into a low, smooth purr. "No need to stress yourself out over it. I called you down here because I felt like seeing you before I took the boat out. Simple as that."
Mia stared up at him, her chest heaving as she searched his handsome, relaxed face. The total, nonchalant control he was projecting felt like a slap in the face, especially when her own body was still aching from the possessive, unhinged way he had claimed her just hours ago.
"You're unbelievable," Mia whispered, taking a half-step back, though her skin still burned where his fingers had touched her. "We are going to get caught, Rafe. It's not a matter of if. It's when."
Rafe pushed his sunglasses back up onto his head, locking dark, heavy lidded eyes with hers. The lazy smirk faded just enough to reveal the cold, arrogant certainty underneath.
"Then let them catch us," Rafe said with a soft, dismissive shrug, his tone completely unbothered by the threat. "What are they gonna do? Cry about it?"
He stepped closer again, his fingers lightly resting on her hip, his touch casual yet entirely possessive. "You're down here now, Vargas. Stop overthinking."
Before Mia could bite back a response, the loud, distinct sound of an outboard motor began chugging near the channel entrance approaching the marina slips fast.
The sputtering choke of the two stroke engine grew louder, echoing off the wooden pilings of the dock.
Mia’s head snapped toward the channel entrance. Her blood went instantly cold. She recognized that ragged, uneven idle anywhere.
Heyward’s delivery skiff.
"Rafe, move!" Mia panicked in a sharp, desperate whisper. She shoved at his chest, trying to put distance between them, but Rafe barely budged, his hand staying firmly anchored to her hip for an agonizing second longer than it should have before he casually let go.
"Chill out, Vargas," Rafe said softly, his voice sickeningly smooth. He didn't rush. He didn't dive for cover or panic. He simply stepped back, casually leaning one elbow against the boat’s console, resting his hand near the throttle like he was just waiting on the tide.
Pope steered the rusted skiff around the corner of Slip 3, a wooden crate of fresh iced fish sitting in the bow. He cut the engine, coasting toward the fuel dock just twenty feet away.
As the skiff glided past the stern of My Druthers, Pope looked up, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. His eyes locked onto Mia standing on the teak deck of Ward Cameron’s yacht.
Pope froze, his hands tightening on the tiller. His eyes flicked from Mia’s flushed, pale face down to her heavy denim jacket completely absurd for the humid, ninety degree heat and then over to Rafe Cameron, who was staring right back at him with a cool, unblinking indifference.
Silence stretched over the water, heavy and suffocating.
"Mia?" Pope called out over the lap of the waves, his brow furrowing in deep, instant confusion. "What are you... what are you doing on Cameron's boat?"
Mia felt like the dock was tilting beneath her feet. Her hands were shaking violently inside her jacket pockets. She forced her throat to work, swallowing down the bile rising in her chest.
"I—I was just..." Mia started, her voice cracking before she caught herself, forcing a rigid, stiff smile onto her face. "Professor Ward sent me down. For the engineering internship? I was checking the fuel flow meters on the marine engines for my extra credit project."
It was a lie. A terrible, hastily thrown together lie that barely made sense.
Pope stared at her, his eyes searching her face, clearly not buying it. He looked back at Rafe, his jaw setting into a tight line of pure, instinctual distrust. "Since when does Rafe Cameron give a damn about engineering projects?"
Rafe didn't even flinch. He slowly reached down, picked up his bottle of sparkling water, and took a casual sip, looking at Pope like he was an annoying bug hovering near his boat.
"She's doing a job, Heyward," Rafe said lazily, his tone dripping with bored, Kook condescension. "Which is what you're supposed to be doing with those fish before they rot in the sun. Unless you want me to call your dad and tell him why you're idling in the slip?"
Pope’s face flushed dark with anger. He glared at Rafe, his knuckles white on the tiller, before looking back at Mia. The disappointment and suspicion in Pope's eyes cut straight through her like a serrated blade.
"John B and Kie are waiting at the Chateau, Mia," Pope said quietly, his voice hard and flat. "We were looking for you after your final. Are you coming back, or what?"
"Yeah," Mia choked out, her voice barely audible. She didn't look at Rafe. She couldn't. "Yeah, Pope. I'm coming right now."
She grabbed her backpack, stepping off the boat deck onto the wooden dock with trembling legs. She didn't look back at Rafe as she walked toward Pope’s skiff, but she could feel his dark, heavy gaze burning into the back of her neck the entire way.
Rafe watched her walk away, a faint, dark smirk touching the corner of his lips as he pushed his sunglasses back down over his eyes, entirely unbothered by the fire he had just started.
Week 15 Sunday
The Sunday night air at the Chateau was thick with the scent of campfire smoke, damp salt water, and low tide marsh. A crackling fire pit lit up the backyard, casting long, dancing shadows across the grass where John B and JJ were arguing over a game of ring toss, their loud banter echoing out over the dark water.
Mia was sitting on the edge of the weathered porch steps, her knees pulled tight into her chest.
She was drowning inside an oversized, faded grey hoodie thick, heavyweight cotton with silver aglets on the drawstrings and a faint, embroidered crest near the left cuff. It was way too big for her frame, the sleeves falling well past her knuckles.
She hadn't meant to wear it. She’d grabbed it off her passenger seat in a haze of pure exhaustion after running out of her apartment, needing something, anything, to block out the cool ocean breeze. But as she sat there, every rise and fall of her chest brought the subtle, suffocating scent of dark cedar, expensive bergamot, and faint tobacco straight to her lungs.
It was Rafe’s. She knew it. The ghost of his presence clung to the heavy fleece like a silent, dangerous shadow.
The screen door squeaked open, and Sarah stepped out onto the porch holding two cold bottles of soda. She walked over, her bare feet soft against the wooden planks, and slid down onto the step right beside Mia.
"Hey," Sarah said softly, nudging Mia’s shoulder with hers and handing over one of the bottles. "You've been super quiet all night. You doing okay after that fluid mechanics final?"
"Yeah," Mia murmured, forcing a small, tight smile as she took the drink. Her fingers twitched inside the long sleeves of the hoodie, quickly pulling them over her hands to hide her trembling fingers. "Just... completely brain dead. The whole week took it out of me."
Sarah took a sip of her drink, leaning back against the porch railing. Her eyes casually swept over Mia, taking in her exhausted posture, her bruised, slightly swollen lips, and the drown-out fit of the dark fleece sweater.
Suddenly, Sarah leaned in closer, her nose twitching slightly as her golden brown eyes narrowed with instant, sharp curiosity.
"Wait a second," Sarah said, a bright, playful grin breaking across her face. "What is that?"
Mia froze, her pulse taking a violent, sickening plunge into her stomach. "What's what?"
"That scent," Sarah teased, leaning even closer to sniff near Mia’s collarbone before bursting into a quiet laugh. "Mia, you smell like an overpriced Figure Eight country club locker room. That is definitely not John B's sea salt body spray or JJ's cheap cologne."
Mia’s throat locked up. She instinctively pulled the collar of the hoodie higher around her neck, her mind frantically racing for an exit, a cover story, a lie, anything. "It's... it's nothing. I just washed my laundry with a new detergent."
"Detergent?" Sarah scoffed playfully, bumping her shoulder again with a wide, mischievous smirk. "Mia, please. That's cologne. High end, ridiculously expensive cologne."
Sarah’s eyes dropped down to the oversized hoodie, her gaze lingering on the heavyweight fabric and the distinct cut of the shoulders.
"And whose sweater is that?" Sarah asked, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial, excited whisper. "Because that is a hundred percent a guy's hoodie. A rich guy's hoodie."
"Yo! Are we getting tequlia or what?" JJ shouted from the yard, tossing a wooden ring onto the grass and jogging up the porch steps, sweat glistening on his neck. Kie followed right behind him, carrying a bowl of popcorn, while Pope walked up brushing dirt off his shorts.
JJ stopped at the top of the steps, squinting down at Mia with his classic, unfiltered grin. "Whoa, Mia. Look at you swaddled up like an oversized burrito. What, is the Chateau AC too cold for you?"
"Leave her alone, JJ," Kie said, sliding onto the porch railing and tossing a piece of popcorn at him. She looked down at Mia with a softer, protective look. "She’s been working double shifts at the pub and dying over exams all week. She’s allowed to be exhausted."
"Yeah, well, she’s not just exhausted, Kie," Sarah chimed in, her voice dripping with playful drama as she gestured wildly at Mia. "She's hiding things! Look at this sweater! She won't tell me whose it is."
Pope leaned against the doorframe, taking a slow sip of his soda. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Mia in the oversized grey fleece, the same watchful, suspicious glint from the marina docks lingering behind his glasses.
"That's definitely not yours," Pope noted dryly, pointing a finger at the silver aglets. "Those drawstrings cost more than my entire outfit. Where'd you pull that from, Mia?"
"I found it in the back of my car, okay?" Mia blurted out, her voice a little too loud, a little too defensive. She felt five sets of eyes lock onto her, the air around the porch turning suffocatingly thin. "It’s just an old gym hoodie."
"An old gym hoodie?" JJ laughed, dropping onto the step below her and tugging playfully on the oversized sleeve. "Damnnn, Vargas! Who you riding around with? This fabric feels like cash. Did you rob a Kook or something?"
"JJ, stop," Kie warned, though she was smiling now too, looking at Mia with amused curiosity. "Come on, Mia. You can tell us. Is there some guy from school? Some pre-med major you've been secretly study dating?"
"Oh, it's definitely a secret guy," Sarah giggled, wrapping an arm around Mia's shoulders and giving her a tight squeeze. "Look at her face! She’s turning bright red. Spill, Mia! When do we get to meet him?"
John B walked up the steps, carrying two fresh logs for the fire. He stopped, looking between Sarah's eager face and Mia's completely terrified expression.
"Wait, Mia’s got a boyfriend?" John B asked, cracking a grin. "Is he gonna help us fix the HMS Pogue or is he another country club softie?"
"He's not a boyfriend!" Mia choked out, pushing Sarah's arm off her shoulder as gently as she could, her chest heaving as she stood up off the steps. "There is no guy, guys! I swear. I'm just tired, and I really need to get home and sleep."
JJ held his hands up in mock surrender, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. "Alright, alright, keep your secrets, Vargas. But if he's a Kook, he better buy us the good beer next time."
"He's not anyone," Mia repeated, her voice trembling slightly as she grabbed her bag from the porch table. She forced a rigid, tight smile across her face, looking at the group, the people who would tear Figure Eight apart if they ever found out who had really left that sweater in her passenger seat. "I'll... I'll see you guys tomorrow at the marsh, okay?"
"Text us when you get home!" Sarah called out warmly, completely oblivious to the panic vibrating through Mia's veins. "And I'm not dropping this, Vargas! We will get his name!"
Mia didn't answer. She turned and practically ran down the wooden steps, pulling Rafe’s heavy hoodie tight around her waist as she hurried into the dark, cloudy night, the echoes of their laughter following her all the way to her car.