Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kiara can’t sleep, but she’s no stranger to late nights. 

The rest of the Pogues are scattered across Cleo and Pope’s small living room, exhausted from tonight’s gathering, from the hours of reminiscing and remembrance. Bottles litter the small room, evidence of their communal attempt to numb the pain with alcohol, if only for a little while. Sarah and John B hired a sitter for the night, knowing long ago that they all needed to be together on JJ’s birthday.

Especially on this one, so soon after the anniversary of his death.

Kiara knew it would sting to see her friends coupled up and draped over each other tonight, knew it would be a sharp reminder of what she used to have and lost. And it did. Of course it did.

But something she’d learned the hard way over the past year is that the alternative hurt much worse. She had tried pushing her friends away, had tried keeping her distance and drowning her grief in alcohol and drugs, had stayed in an isolated haze for as long as she could until she crumbled under the weight of her own misery.

And when she’d fallen apart, the Pogues helped put her back together even as they struggled through their own grief. They’d healed together - slowly, painfully, and imperfectly, with pieces missing and out of place. Kiara wasn’t whole, maybe never would be again, but at least she was still standing. Still breathing. There was a time when she didn’t think that would be the case.

But that still doesn’t mean that’s she’s able to sleep. Kiara pushes herself up from the couch with a soft sigh, moving slowly to avoid waking Pope, who’s sprawled on the other end with his mouth open. The room still smells of stale beer and smoke, but Kiara already itches for something to take the edge off. Maybe it’s not healthy, but sometimes it helps her get through the day without breaking down. Especially a day like today. 

She snatches a rolled joint from the messy coffee table and creeps towards the small covered porch connected to the room. Kiara sits in the still darkness, inhaling acrid air from the joint, trying and failing to keep her mind empty as she gazes out over the small yard and listens to the call of crickets. She leans forward for a peek at the night sky, hoping to distract herself by picking out familiar constellations.

“Bad luck if you can’t see the stars, you know.” JJ had one arm slung lazily across Kiara’s shoulders, and he pulled her closer despite the muggy summer air that enveloped them. He had been peering up at the night sky from the dock of their new house, the place they built together from the skeleton of the old Maybank house. 

“Yeah? Where’d you learn that? Reddit?” Kiara nudged his side playfully, but JJ’s usually mischievous features looked uncommonly serious for once.

“Nah, it’s something Big John told me and John B when we were young. And I feel like if anyone knew about bad luck, it was that guy.” JJ tapped nervously on his beer bottle, avoiding her eyes. “Something bad must be coming.”

“Don’t say that Jayj, you’ll jinx us.” Kiara tried to joke, but she struggled to swallow down the fear that clogged her throat. “You worried about this? Me and you?” She knew it was a big change - living together, sharing a bed, even after over a decade of friendship. She knew how JJ could get, how he could panic.

“Never.” JJ turned and really looked at her then, his blue eyes tender and clear, and Kiara released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. 

“The shop?”

“A little. I don’t know. It’s just a bad feeling.” Kiara nestled under JJ’s arm again, trying to comfort him with her warmth, her solidity.

“Hey, it’s going to be fine. As long as we’re all together, we can get through anything.”

“You really believe that?” JJ was shaking as he asked, just barely, and Kiara ached to soothe his worries, like she always did. 

“Of course I do.” And she had believed it then with her whole heart, hadn’t known how wrong she was.

JJ had leaned over then and pressed his face into her hair, his lips lingering as he whispered delicate words in her ear. “I love you, Kie. You know that, right?”

“Obviously. I love you too, dummy. Please don’t worry.” And she felt him melt at her words, felt the way the tension left his body as he relaxed into her.

“If it were clear tonight, I could show you the star I named after you. It’s right next to the Big Dipper.” JJ’s voice was light again, his cheery demeanor back like it never left, and Kiara felt relief course through her body.

“You’re so full of shit.” And they had laughed together, the heaviness and worries dissipating as quickly as they came. How light everything had felt then, how manageable the world felt with him by her side.

Kiara blinks back tears at the memory and searches the night sky for the Big Dipper now, but it’s so cloudy that she can’t see a single star. Kiara sighs in frustration before taking another deep drag of the joint, trying to ignore the gnawing anxiety in the pit of her stomach. Not a single star tonight. An omen - something bad is coming. Hadn’t JJ been right about that last time?

To stop herself from giving into the anxiety, from spiraling out of control, Kiara focuses on the deep, familiar rage instead. The one that always sits just under her skin, ready to rise to the surface at a moment’s notice. She thinks about the fact that JJ would be 21 now, if his brutal murder hadn’t happened just a few weeks before his 20th birthday. The intertwining of the two dates is just another cruel reminder of the way JJ was ripped from the world too soon, before he was even out of his teens, before his life had even really begun. Kiara curls her hands into fists and tries to remember how to breathe.

There was a time when Kiara wished she could be sad instead of angry, that she could cry instead of wanting to slam her fist through the wall, to rip Groff limb from limb, or to finish what JJ started and burn Kildaire the ground. But eventually she accepted the constant anger as a new part of her, knowing if she didn’t make peace with it, it would scorch her from the inside out. So instead of fighting it, she started to channel her anger into one clear objective, one goal. One person. 

When Kiara’s phone starts vibrating against her leg, her hands are shaking so badly that she almost drops it. She nearly ignores the call when she sees the contact name, but she decides to pick up just as it’s about to go to voicemail. He never calls, because he hates talking on the phone (unlike JJ, who would always FaceTime with no warning, something Kiara used to hate but now misses immensely). It must be important. Kiara accepts the call without a word, listening to the crackling silence on the other end as she waits for him to speak.

“Hey,” Rafe Cameron’s voice is deep and a little raspy, like he just woke up. They haven’t talked in over a month, but it’s a voice she knows well. A voice that reminds her of late nights, of smoke-filled rooms, of barely contained rage.

“I thought you were in London.” No greeting, no pleasantries. Kiara’s seen enough of Rafe in the past year to dull the sharp edges of her hostility, enough for her to begrudgingly agree to work with him and his considerable resources to find Groff when none of the Pogues thought it was a good idea to pursue him after Morocco. They share a common enemy but they’re not friends, so she doesn’t feel the need to be friendly to Rafe. Wouldn’t even know how to be anything more than civil, after everything.

“I was. I just got in.” Rafe’s voice is softer than she’s used to, almost hesitant. “I have something I think you should see.” Weird. Something she should see? She expected an update on Groff, maybe some new information on his whereabouts or latest illegal escapades. But something she should see? She’s caught off guard, almost enough to be interested. But still-

“It’s 3 in the morning, Rafe. Can it wait?”

A pause; a long one. He’s thinking, considering. Weighing his options - the wrath he could face now versus the wrath he could face if he waits to show her. “I think you’re going to want to see it now.”

Kiara sighs, the air pulled from deep in her chest, and runs a hand through her tangled hair. “Alright. I’ll head over. You better not be asleep once I get there.” She muddles her way through the last sentence, the weed fogging her mind and slowing her tongue. Rafe must notice, because he makes a small noise of dissent.

“Nah, you sound like you’ve been smoking. I’ll come.” And then he hangs up without waiting for a reply, without even asking where she is. Kiara hates that Rafe’s short stint in rehab and his dedication to being what he calls ‘Carolina sober’ (only weed and beer, no hard drugs or hard alcohol) make him feel confident enough to assess her, to pick her apart. She hates that he’s also right. She shouldn’t be driving. 

20 minutes later, Kiara has smoked her joint down to the roach, and she watches with glassy eyes as Rafe pulls up in his obnoxious Range Rover. “Rich people,” she mutters to herself as she pads down the steps of Cleo and Pope’s place, throwing open the car door and plopping into the passenger seat without a word. As she buckles her seatbelt and stares ahead blankly, waiting for Rafe to put the car in drive, Kiara can feel his exacting eyes on her, judging her. She hates the feeling.

“God, you reek,” Rafe scoffs, pulling out of the driveway with a huff. “Gonna take forever to get the smell out of my car.”

“Shut up,” Kiara hisses. “I’m really not in the mood.” A pause. The silence just makes Kiara more angry. “And you don’t need to baby me. I would have been fine to drive.” She finally looks over at Rafe in the driver’s seat and watches with satisfaction as his body coils with tension. She can see it in the stiffness of his shoulders, in the way that his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, in the sharp line of his clenched jaw. His hair is shorter than the last time she saw it, buzzed close to the skull, similar to the way it was in Morocco. Kiara grips the seat tightly to keep memories from that place at bay.

“If you don’t want to be treated like a baby, don’t act like one,” Rafe retorts, anger springing easily from his tense body like Kiara knew it would. Her mouth lifts slightly in triumph as he lashes out, but she’s disappointed when he takes a deep breath to calm himself, his eyes softening slightly as they flick in her direction. He must see something in her slumped figure, because his next question is unexpected, his voice gentler. “You good?”

“Like you care?” Kiara doesn’t want to hear the pity in his voice, would much rather hear anger or the icy disdain she’s accustomed to. Rafe’s hot temper is useful to her; the fire of his anger is able to spark her own, stoking the rage and keeping the sadness at bay. He’s not supposed to act nice. That’s not what they do.

“You can drop the tough guy act. I’m just trying to do you a solid. And I…I know what day it is, Kie.” Kiara feels bile rise quickly up her throat, threatening to choke her. She’s not going to talk about this, not now. Not with Rafe.

“You don’t know shit.” She crosses her arms over her chest, shutting the conversation down definitively.

“Alright, Kiara.” Rafe sighs in resignation. They sit in silence for the rest of the drive, as Kiara stares into the misty darkness out her window, willing herself not to cry.

———————————————————————

When they pull up to Tannyhill, Rafe stalks out of the car without waiting for Kiara. But she doesn’t hurry to catch up, just saunters up the wide steps of the extravagant house and through the open front door. Rafe stands against the doorframe that leads into the office down the hall, eyeing her warily, almost nervously. Rafe never looks nervous. What the hell is going on?

She must say the words out loud, because Rafe rolls his eyes and jerks his shoulder in the direction of the office. “Come and see. Hurry your ass up.” But his voice is lacking its usual bite, and Kiara eyes him skeptically as she dips into the office. He’s definitely acting weird in his own subtle way, but his angular face is cool and passive as ever, giving nothing away. 

Every thought or question is wiped from her mind when she sees what’s sitting on the solid oak desk inside the room. A twist of muslin cloth that’s sickeningly familiar, the sight of which makes Kiara so viscerally nauseous that it sends her world spinning. But she inches closer despite wanting to run out of the room, drawn by her own morbid curiosity.

“Rafe…what the fuck? Is this what I think it is?” Kiara asks without looking away from the vaguely circular shape, her eye caught by a flash of deep blue peeking out from under the torn fabric. And then she sees the few drops of blood that stain the dirty fabric, blood she knows belongs to JJ. Kiara drops to her knees by the desk, emptying the contents of her stomach into a small trashcan as memories surge into her consciousness with such painful intensity that it feels like her chest is cracking open. The look on Groff’s face as he stabbed his own son. The feeling of JJ’s body going limp and cold in her arms as the life drained out of him. Kiara can’t think about anything else except the blood-stained memories, can’t feel anything except her unending pain. She can’t breathe. She senses without really seeing that Rafe is hovering behind her uncertainly, probably caught off guard by her reaction. Remember the anger, remember the rage, she tells herself to keep from falling apart on his floor. Remember who stole JJ’s life. Who ruined yours.

“Kie…fuck. Shit. I should have taken the fabric off, I just didn’t want to touch it before-“

“Shut up. I’m fine.” Kiara wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and stands up on unsteady legs. She avoids Rafe’s gaze as she stares down at the bundle in shock. “How did you get this?” Rafe hesitates a beat before answering, leaning over to grab a water bottle from a side table and handing it to Kiara. She takes it begrudgingly, if only to get the taste of her own stomach acid out of her mouth.

“Long story. Illegal elements to it. But I heard rumors that Groff was spotted in London, so that’s why I went. And my people had this waiting for me when I arrived.” Kiara doesn’t ask for any more details on his ‘people’ or how they found it, because she doesn’t really care. All she cares about is the person who had it last.

“And Groff?” Kiara grips the edge of the desk to ground herself.

“No sign of him, but if this thing isn’t in his grasp anymore…we can only hope that means he’s dead.” Rafe takes a step forward, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

“You don’t mean that, though. You want to do it yourself.” Rafe’s silence is the only response she needs. “Why are you showing this to me? Don’t you have your own shit to wish for? Your $500,000 back, maybe? Isn’t that why you’re even tracking him down in the first place?” But even as she says it, Kiara knows that’s not really why Rafe is pursuing Groff. It’s not about the money now, and they both know it.

“Nah. All I really want is to make Groff pay for what he did. And I’m not letting some stupid crown take that satisfaction away from me. But before we try to sell it, I thought…” Kiara feels a lump form in her throat against her will. Rafe is giving her this opportunity, no matter how far-fetched it might be. Her of all people - not his sister, not one of his actual friends. He’s not using the Blue Crown to wish for his dad back, to fix things with his ex-girlfriend (ex-fiancée actually, if what Kiara heard is true), to undo any of his own mistakes. Even though she might not understand why, Kiara knows she should thank him, but the foreign words die on her tongue before she can spit them out. “I’ll give you a minute.” Rafe disappears around the corner before Kiara can react.

As she stands alone in the office, Kiara is just high enough to indulge the fantasy that this crown actually is magic, that JJ died in the pursuit of some mystical power that can actually change things. She grips a small stretch of exposed metal and pulls the crown out of the bundle, refusing to touch the cursed fabric. Kiara runs a tentative finger over the ancient crown, wondering if she can actually force herself to say the ludicrous words out loud. It feels so pointless, so embarrassing - but still. It’s here, and what if it actually works? Is she really willing to give up her one chance to make things right, even if it’s a long shot? And what else does she really have to lose?

Kiara takes a deep breath and steels herself to say the words, the words that have haunted her for more than a year now, the words that rattle around in her brain from the second she opens her eyes in the morning to the moment she closes them at night. “I wish that JJ never died. I wish I could undo it, make it so we’re living in a world where he’s still alive. If there’s any power in this thing, please. Bring him back.” Her words are barely above a whisper, but they carry enough in the still, echoey house for Rafe to hear them from where he’s perched on the stairs. His eyebrows draw together briefly and his fingers dig into the plush carpet of the steps, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move a muscle.

Kiara stares at the dull metal ring, almost laughing at herself as hot tears spring into her eyes. But the sound dies in her throat when the crown shifts slightly on the desk of its own accord. She gapes open-mouthed as it starts emitting a low hum. The blue jewels embedded in the metal glow with a warm, gorgeous light that seems to come from within, throwing shadows on the table below it. Holy shit. Kiara holds her breath, not quite believing what she’s seeing, but she’s filled with fragile hope nonetheless. The thing is moving. It’s glowing. 

But then the light is gone as quick as it arrived, and the crown looks even duller than it did before. Lifeless. Cheap. And Kiara can feel in her bones that nothing has changed - JJ isn’t back. Her life is just as fucked up as ever. Her heartfelt, desperate wish didn’t do anything. If there is a God, Kiara would bet anything that they’re up there laughing at her. As the crown sits there like the very embodiment of false hope and broken promises, Kiara feels something collapse inside her chest, like she was clinging to that last shred of hope with enough pressure to hold herself together. A hope that the crown has now obliterated once and for all, sending everything crashing down.

Before she’s even conscious of the movement, Kiara tries to flip over the sturdy desk the crown is lying on, yelling in frustration when she can’t lift the solid wood. Instead, she picks up the useless relic and chucks it at the wall, sending a framed map tumbling to the ground with it. She scatters papers from the desk, smashes a glass within her reach, but it’s not enough. Sobs tear through her as she stalks around the room, trying to find something that will break the way she wants it to. Maybe she’ll have to break it all. Maybe that still won’t be enough. As she raises a closed fist to the nearest wall, planning to leave an indent similar to the one Rafe made ages ago in a fit of anger, she feels rough fingertips on her bicep, pulling her back. She tries to spin around, planning to hit him with her closed hand, but Rafe wraps his toned arms across her chest before she can, caging her in against his body.

“Jesus, Kie!” Rafe exclaims, but he doesn’t sound angry. His breath is loud in her ear, and his chest is warm through his shirt.

“Don’t touch me, Rafe! Get your fucking hands off me!” Kiara thrashes against Rafe’s tight hold like a wild animal, trying to get enough space between them so she can headbutt him. But Rafe holds firm, pulling her off the ground and into his chest even as she continues to struggle, carrying her out into the living room and away from the mess despite her protests. “Cut it out! What the fuck are you doing??”

“Trying to make sure you don’t kill yourself,” Rafe snaps, wrestling her down onto the couch without releasing her from his grip. Kiara flushes at the way she’s basically sitting in his lap like a toddler, and momentarily struggles harder to protest the indignity. When all she manages to do is grind even more firmly into his lap, Kiara finally stops struggling. “You done?” Rafe’s warm breath ghosts over her ear, and Kiara barely suppresses a shudder. She’s too warm everywhere, so she relents with a terse nod to get him to let go. He releases her from his vise grip and she scrambles to her feet, wheeling around to shoot him the dirtiest look she can muster.

“Take me home,” Kiara demands, barely even noticing the tears still cascading down her face. Rafe takes one look at her tear-streaked cheeks, at the manic gleam in her eyes, and shakes his head.

“No.” His voice is firm, final.

“What do you mean, no? You can’t fucking keep me here!” Kiara turns towards the door to illustrate her point, but she’s startled by Rafe’s sudden yell that pierces the stillness of the house. His voice reverberates against every wall in the big room, making her jump.

“KIARA!” Rafe grimaces at his own outburst, and he takes a deep breath before speaking again. His voice is calmer, more controlled, but Kiara can still hear the undercurrent of tension in it. “I’m exhausted, and you already tore up half the house. You’ll wake everyone up if you go back now. Just…rest. Please. I’ll take you home tomorrow, I promise.”

Kiara stares at him for several long seconds, considering. Part of her wants to argue with him, but a larger part is suddenly exhausted down to her bones, like a toddler after they throw a fit. She doesn’t even know if she could make it to the car like this. So she sits on the part of the couch farthest away from Rafe with a huff, folding her arms over her chest as the tears finally dry against her cheeks. Rafe mutters something to himself but doesn’t say anything else to Kiara. He just makes himself comfy in the far corner of the sectional without sparing a glance in her direction. 

Right before she shuts her swollen eyes, there’s a flutter of movement in Kiara’s peripheral vision as Rafe tosses her a blanket without a word. She begrudgingly covers herself and nestles under it, succumbing to her aching exhaustion, trying not think about the fact that any relief from her pain will only last as long as she’s asleep. She listens as Rafe’s breathing evens out almost immediately, and it doesn’t take long for Kiara to follow. They fall asleep just as dawn creeps over the horizon, unaware that everything will be different the next time they open their eyes.

Chapter Text

Before she even opens her eyes, Kiara knows something isn’t right. The light pulling at her eyelids is too bright, the sound of someone else’s breathing too close, the weight of her body much heavier than usual. Kiara shifts on the couch as her eyes crack open, trying to shake off her sluggishness. Is she really that hung over?

When she blinks the sleep from her eyes and looks down, the sight of an unfamiliar arm draped across Kiara’s stomach makes her yelp. She smacks the arm off and scrambles to sit upright, startling both the owner of the arm and the two other people sprawled on the large sectional with them. She watches with wide, alarmed eyes as Sarah and Topper untangle from each other with a groan, as Kelce shifts away from her so fast that he almost rolls off the couch. Snuggling with Kelce?? She hasn’t seen that man in years. Kiara squeezes her eyes shut and reopens them several times, willing herself to wake up from this nightmare. Nothing.

“Yo, what the fuck Kie? It’s too early for this shit,” Topper groans, his voice as grating as ever. Sarah just sits in sullen silence, looking sleep deprived or hungover. Maybe both.

“It’s actually almost noon, so rise and shine, degenerates!” A cheery voice calls from the entrance of the living room. Kiara does a double take when she realizes who’s speaking. It’s Rafe, looking so different from last night that he’s almost unrecognizable. His hair is longer and parted in the middle, like it was when Kiara was still in high school. He’s wearing a button up and khakis, an ensemble Kiara hasn’t seen him wear in years. And his face looks…different. Kiara can’t quite put her finger on it, but something in his eyes looks less haunted. Less broken. Like he shed the regret and self-loathing that he always wore like a second skin, leaving him shiny and new underneath. “Get your asses up and get out of my house. Sofia will be back soon from visiting family, and you know how she feels about these gatherings. Clean up your shit, too. I’m not picking up after you.”

Rafe surveys them with his oddly unburdened eyes, easily returning Sarah’s middle finger as he heads towards the front door. But as his eyes flicker over Kiara he freezes momentarily, and she swears something deeper than casual recognition flashes across his face. Like he’s fighting against some repressed memory, some buried feeling at the sight of her. Like the Rafe she knows is lurking just under the surface of this new, shiny Rafe 2.0. Like he didn’t shed his old self after all, but buried him somewhere just out of reach. But then that look is gone, and he flashes her a warm smile that looks foreign on his cruelly handsome face.

“I’m on my way to the office. Kie….do you need a ride to work?” Kiara is still sitting in stunned silence, unable to form words, and Rafe’s light tone and friendliness don’t help lessen her shock.

“I got her, dude,” Kelce says gruffly, stretching his arms over his head. Kiara bristles at the way he answers for her.

“Fine, whatever. Remember what I said. Clean up your shit!” And then he’s gone, leaving Kiara feeling even more unanchored than before. She feels like she’s floating above her body, untethered to reality.

“Sarah…where’s John B?” The bewildered words leave Kiara before she can think better of it, but she can instantly tell this was the wrong thing to say. Topper’s body tenses and anger flashes across the taut lines of his face, so quickly that it seems like he was just waiting for a reason to get mad.

“John B….Topper’s deckhand? The one that hates my guts? How should I know?” Sarah looks at her like she’s stupid, leaning over to take a swig of a seltzer that’s open on the coffee table.

“Why the fuck is she asking about the deckhand, Sarah??” Topper’s eyes narrow to beady slits, and Kiara can feel the distrust and tension radiating from his body. She must have unknowingly pressed a very sore spot.

“I don’t know, Topper! Relax. Why don’t you ask her, she’s right there.” As Sarah gestures in Kiara’s direction, Topper grabs her wrist so hard that it makes Sarah wince.

“Stop fucking drinking Sarah, we haven’t even gotten to midday yet. Jesus.” Sarah pulls away with a huff, yanking her wrist from him and downing the rest of the drink. Topper rolls his eyes, and they start arguing again in more hushed tones.

Normally Kiara would spring into action after seeing Topper’s possessive, controlling behavior towards Sarah, but she’s so confused that she barely has control over her own actions. Kiara doesn’t understand why Sarah’s acting so weird, doesn’t understand why they’re waking up at Tannyhill with these Kooks when it was only Rafe by her side last night. If this isn’t a dream (she’s still not convinced), then what is it? Did the stupid crown cause her to time travel or something? Kiara scrambles for her phone, pausing for a moment when she realizes her background is different. It’s no longer a picture of her and the five other Pogues, taken a few months before JJ’s death. It’s just a photo of her and Sarah at some party, tongues out and middle fingers up. But when she opens the calendar app, she sees that it’s the date it should be - April 15, 2025.

It’s finally happening. I’m losing my goddamn mind.

Kiara scrambles to her feet without really knowing what she’s doing. She just needs to get out of here, to get her head on straight. Needs to get away from the prying glances of these people that seem to know a version of herself that Kiara doesn’t recognize.

“Kie, you good? Did you like, have a nightmare or something?” Sarah asks, pausing her argument with Topper to look at her quizzically.

“Yeah uh…I just realized that I’m going to be late for work. And my parents are already pissed at me.” Kiara freezes for a second, hoping her parents still own a restaurant. Hoping she still has parents, at this point.

“Your parents are always mad,” Topper scoffs. “Sticking us with the cleanup, I see. Not cool, Kie.”

“It’s mostly our mess, anyway,” Sarah acknowledges, her words followed by a loud sniff as she snorts the remnants of some coke spread haphazardly on the table from last night.

“Jesus Christ Sarah-“

“I’ll take you now if you want,” Kelce offers, standing and raising his voice so she can hear him over Topper’s scolding.

“Thanks,” Kiara mutters, heading for the door without another word. Kelce eyes her warily as they make their way to his obnoxious truck, but the look on her face keeps him from asking questions, at least for a little while.

Kiara stares out the window numbly until they pass the place where Poguelandia should be, the home she and her friends built together from the broken pieces of a troubled past. But in its place is the old Maybank place, looking slightly less dilapidated than it did in Kiara’s memory. She does a double take when she sees a toned, sun-kissed young man mowing the lawn in front of the house, his shirt off and hat on backwards. She nearly snaps her neck trying to get a glimpse of him, almost rolling down the window and sticking her head out to get a better angle. They pass too quickly for Kiara to know for sure, but the sight of that messy blonde hair makes her ache in that specific way, the intense longing that only one person could ever make her feel. The heart that still hammers out his name has all the confirmation it needs. She knows it was him. JJ. She feels lightheaded as joy and confusion squeeze the breath from her lungs, as the impossibility of what she saw and her desperation for it to be true clash inside her skull so intensely that she thinks she might pass out.

“You okay? You look like you saw a ghost,” Kelce teases, but his words send chills through Kiara’s entire body. Is that what this is? Did she die and go to heaven? If it is, why the hell is she with Kelce instead of JJ?

“Just thought I saw, uh…someone I know,” Kiara replies lamely, because I think I saw my dead boyfriend might earn her a one-way ticket to the mental hospital. Kelce glances in the rearview mirror, scoffing as he eyes the Maybank house.

“Who, the Maybank kid? JJ, isn’t it? I guess it has been a while, but he’s back from juvie now. On probation. That’s what I heard, at least.”

“Juvie?” Kiara’s head snaps towards Kelce and she really looks at him for the first time, her eyes searching and intense. He seems caught off guard by the weight of her full attention.

“Yeah, you don’t remember? He was busted for small time drug dealing, illegal arms possession too. Typical Pogue shit. If you ask me, though, his dad had something to do with it, too. That guy has the least trustworthy face I’ve ever seen.” Kelce tries to laugh, but the sound dies as he notices the sharp line of Kiara’s clenched jaw, the subtle flaring of her nostrils. The tension leaks out from Kiara and fills the small space inside the car, settling between them like a third person.

Kiara sits rigidly in the passenger seat for the rest of the ride, her body locked but her mind spinning. Pieces of information bump against each other without quite fitting together, preventing her from forming a coherent picture out of the scattered details. JJ alive, but fresh out of juvie. John B a deckhand, Sarah with Topper. No baby. Rafe seemingly non-psychopathic, smiling and making jokes. None of it makes any sense.

Kiara is so caught up in her own thoughts that she doesn’t notice that they’ve pulled up to The Wreck until Kelce clears his throat awkwardly. She has no idea how long they’ve been sitting in silence, but she also doesn’t really care. As she reaches for the door handle, Kelce stops her with a hand on her forearm, his skin cool but clammy. She resists the urge to slap his hand away even as her stomach churns from the contact.

“You alright, Kie? You’ve been really off today.” He says the right words, but Kiara can sense the apathy underneath. He doesn’t really care about the answer; he just wants her to stop acting weird.

“I’m fine. Just have a lot on my mind,” Kiara forces a fake smile onto her lips, one that doesn’t touch her eyes. Kelce must take her weak performance as an invitation, because Kiara watches in horror as he leans in, like he’s going to try and kiss her. She throws open the door and catapults out of the car, scampering towards the front entrance to The Wreck without looking back.

“BYE! Thanks for the ride! See you around!” Kiara shouts over her shoulder, ignoring Kelce’s attempt to call after her. She barrels through the door and leans on it after it swings shut, trying to catch her breath. Her dad is standing behind the bar, and he doesn’t even spare her a glance as he tosses an apron in her direction.

“You’re late, Kie. Again.”

Kiara mumbles an apology as she ties the apron around her waist, grateful to be able to pour herself into working for once. Nothing else makes sense in her life right now, but The Wreck is familiar, solid. Not swirling and blurry around the edges like everything else she’s experienced today. Kiara takes orders and handles trays of food with practiced ease, the muscle memory comforting and grounding as she goes through the motions. She tries to empty her mind and focus on her immediate surroundings, on the things she can see and touch and hear, instead of ruminating on all the questions she can’t answer and the things she doesn’t understand. Maybe she’s just confused, after all. Maybe she hit her head. Maybe the things she thinks she remembers are all fragments from some very vivid dreams.

Just when she starts to relax into the idea that this must be her life, that thinking anything else is literally nuts, her temporary sense of calm is shattered by the arrival of Mr. Heyward, coming in to grab food on his lunch break. Kiara’s heart is in her throat as she preps his takeout order, trying to battle back the tide of unwanted memories? Hallucinations? That come with seeing his face. He doesn’t greet her apart from a polite nod and smile, and Kiara knows she shouldn’t say anything to him. But as he reaches for the bag, she can’t help but ask. She needs to know that she’s not completely losing it.

“Mr. Heyward, how are Pope and Cleo?” Kiara holds her breath as she waits for a response, but the look on Heyward’s face fills her with dread. He looks surprised.

“You know my son? I didn’t think your paths crossed much.” Kiara’s heart drops into her stomach. “But he’s doing fine, thanks for asking. He’s enlisting in the army here in a few weeks.” He pauses for a second, tilts his head to the side. “But I don’t know anyone in this town named Cleo. Are you sure you have the name right?” His voice fades away as Kiara fights a dull ringing in her ears. Sick realization slams into her, making her stomach clench. Oh god. She’s a Kook here. And not just by birth. Everyone thinks she’s a Kook, as bad as Topper or Rafe. And what about Cleo? There’s no way she made a whole person up? Right? But if she’s not crazy, then what? The whole town has lost its mind?

Kiara’s body reacts before her mind can catch up. She unties her apron, throws it down on the bar in a crumpled heap. She starts to jog towards the exit without a clear destination in mind, just a goal. She needs proof either way - proof that she’s not crazy, or proof that she is. She just needs to know.

“Kiara, where are you going??” Mike calls after her, sounding exhausted and exasperated. Kiara feels a twinge of guilt, but she still picks up the pace before he can come after her.

“I’m sorry, I have to go! I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll see you guys back at the house!”

If she doesn’t lose her damn mind first.

———————————————————————

Kiara drums on the steering wheel as she sits outside the old Crain house in her parked car, trying to muster the nerve to approach the place. Even though it doesn’t look nearly as haunted and menacing as it did in her memory, Kiara feels exposed and vulnerable without all her friends beside her for moral support. She takes a deep breath and steps out of the car, the smooth asphalt warm under her sneakers. Her friends. That’s why she’s doing this. To figure out what the hell’s going on. To get back to them.

But as she approaches the wrought iron gate to the house, she realizes that all her worrying was in vain. The gate is thrown wide open, revealing a path to the house that’s well-maintained, surrounded by lush, sweet-smelling flowers in every color of the rainbow. The house is welcoming and bright, scrubbed clean of all the grime and misery Kiara remembers from the time they broke into it, years ago. When they’d nearly died at the hands of a blind widower with a sawed off shotgun. A few people mill about the grounds of the house, oblivious to Kiara’s inner turmoil as she gapes at the scene. She notices a shiny gold plaque next to the open gate, and she draws closer so she can read it.

Designated as a Historical Site by the State of North Carolina in 2023, the Crain House was the site of the 2020 discovery of the famed Royal Merchant gold. The gold, which was brought to America in the 19th century by Denmark Tanny, was rumored to be worth $400 million in today’s currency. It was discovered by ‘Big John’ Routledge, a Kildare native, but it was Big John’s sudden death and the subsequent disappearance of the gold that brought the subject to international attention. The gold remains missing to this day, but the remnants of its majesty are embedded in the foundation of the Crain House, as is the memory of Big John. May he rest in peace forever.

Kiara re-reads the plaque three times, like if she looks at them hard enough the words are going to shift into an order that actually makes sense. If this plaque is true, then the Pogues never found the gold at all. Big John had…before he died? How did he die? Was it the same way she remembered? Deep in the jungle, on the way back from El Dorado? Kiara has a sneaking suspicion that she can throw any knowledge she thinks she has out the window. That she can’t trust herself anymore.

But still. She remembers, and she remembers viscerally. She remembers lowering John B into the well underneath this very house, remembers pulling him out as they fought for their lives against the blind Mrs. Crain. She remembers the journey down to South America, how she’d seen the gunshot wound in Big John’s abdomen and felt raw panic like she’d never known before, as she realized someone was about to die right in front of her. It was the first time she’d felt that panic, but it wasn’t the last. These things happened - she knows it in her gut. In her bones. But everything she can see and touch is contradicting what her body knows to be true. Kiara feels like her head is splitting open, like the two versions of reality are playing tug of war with her mind. It’s only a matter of time before it splits her in half. Before she loses it entirely.

Kiara backs towards her car, almost falling to the ground as she trips over her own feet. She’s breathing hard as she turns her key in the ignition, like she’s just finished running a marathon. It’s probably a bad idea to go to her next destination, will probably just send her spiraling further, but fuck it. How could it get any worse?

Kiara spends the 30 minute drive to the secluded area trying to control her breathing, which still comes out in ragged gasps. Mindless Top 40 music does nothing to distract her, so eventually she switches it off. The arrival of dusk has turned the sky a tranquil blue, and Kiara tries to channel that color into a feeling, something to cling to so her sanity doesn’t slip away completely. But then she notices that she can’t see a single star in the rapidly increasing darkness, and her heart rate and breathing spike even higher than before.

The old church sits unlit and abandoned as she drives up the narrow path, gravel crunching under her tires. The ancient building looks overgrown and sinister, but its appearance is familiar. That’s something, at least. Kiara looks around to make sure she’s alone before approaching the solitary building, shining her phone flashlight on the front door. She frowns when she sees that it’s both padlocked and boarded up. Seems like overkill. Most of the windows are boarded up as well, but one of them has loose, rotted planks that have fallen away from the rusty nails holding them up. She picks up a hefty rock from the grass nearby and launches it through the exposed window, listening to the satisfying twinkle of broken glass as it falls to the ground inside the church. She uses a loose plank of wood to clear any remaining glass from the window, before setting a sweatshirt down on the windowsill to keep from cutting herself. Then she wiggles through the gaping hole, careful not to slice herself on any rusty nails.

Kiara swings her body down from the windowsill and lands somewhat clumsily on her feet, crunching on slivers of multi-colored glass. The sound feels incredibly loud in the still, solemn space. The inside of the church is damp and dusty, with the pungent smell of rotting wood permeating everything. As her eyes adjust to the darkness, Kiara sees that besides the age-related wear and tear and the normal disrepair expected from years of neglect, nothing is out of place in the church. Not like it was after she came here with her friends, when they tore the place apart looking for the Cross of Santo Domingo. The beams high above her head are untouched, the pews completely intact, straight as soldiers in their neat lines. No sign that the Pogues were ever here. No sign that anyone has found the cross at all. Kiara curls in on herself, sinking onto her haunches and wrapping her arms around her bent legs. She tries to slow her breathing, but she can’t. She feels panic claw at her insides, forcing its way up her throat and out into the suffocating silence.

“WHAT THE FUCK???” Kiara screams into the still air, her voice reverberating dully in the closed-off space. She’s startled by the sudden flap of what sounds like hundreds of wings, as her scream disturbs the bats that hang from the rafters of the neglected church. Kiara screams again in response, scrambling towards the busted window to make her escape before the bats can come after her. There’s nothing here, anyway.

She lifts herself up and climbs over the windowsill, wincing as a jagged piece of glass nicks her forearm. But as she pushes her head out of the humid church and into the cool April night air, she nearly topples backwards when a blinding light shines directly in her sensitive, still-adjusting eyes.

“What the hell, bro??” Kiara cries, covering her eyes with one hand as she drops down from the window, stumbling forward when she lands unevenly on her heels.

“What the hell indeed, Ms. Carrera,” Shoupe replies with a sigh, reaching out to steady Kiara and keep her from tumbling to the ground. “We got a call from the groundskeeper around here. What the hell are you doing?” Kiara’s heart leaps into her throat as her eyes adjust, taking in Shoupe’s perplexed and disapproving expression.

“I uh….I don’t know. There was something I needed to see, I guess.” Kiara replies sheepishly, looking down at her shoes. What was she doing? What did she think she would find here?

“Well, I hope it was worth it. I’m going to have to take you in for breaking and entering and property damage. It might not look like it, but this is private property, and the owners don’t take this kind of thing lightly. You’re going to have to come with me.” He jerks his head towards the patrol car parked nearby, eyebrows raised like he’s expecting her to contradict him. “We’ll come back for your car. A deputy will bring it to your house.”

Kiara opens her mouth to argue, but part of her is a little relieved. Going to the police station means she doesn’t have to go home. Doesn’t have to face her parents yet. Doesn’t have to pretend everything is okay when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Maybe she’ll be safer in custody, since she’s apparently losing her mind. She climbs into the Shoupe’s car and presses her temple to the window, trying not to look at the church as they drive away, as it slips out of view along with the rest of her sanity.

The next few hours are a blur - Kiara stares at the wall in a small room while she waits to be processed, before Shoupe asks her some pretty basic questions about breaking into the church. He looks at her funny when she’s barely able to form words, then tests her blood alcohol content like that will provide an answer. When he finds out that she’s in the clear, he tells her with a sigh that he doesn’t know what to do with the kids in this town. She half listens as he tells her that the owner of the property won’t press charges if she pays restitution and does some community service, just nods along numbly as her entire world fractures and crumbles around her.

“Ms. Carrera. KIARA. Did you hear me? You can call your parents now, or whoever you’d like. You’re an adult, so we can’t notify them without your consent, but you can call someone to come pick you up. We can sort out the restitution later.”

“Thanks,” Kiara mumbles as she walks in a daze to the phone down the hall, trying to shake the fog from her thoughts enough to make a decision. What is she going to do now? Kiara considers calling her parents, but she doesn’t think she has it in her to explain what she’s been up to, not when she doesn’t even have the slightest clue of what’s going on herself.

And then she remembers the brief flicker across Rafe’s face when he saw her earlier, the only true recognition she got from anyone all day. Barely there, but enough. Enough to cling onto. Her fingers hover above the keypad for a moment, before she turns to look at the cop hovering nearby.

“Would you happen to have a number on file for Rafe Cameron?”

Chapter Text

Kiara must nod off at some point as she’s slumped on a bench in the police station’s lobby. Her eyes flutter open as soft footsteps draw closer, her body stiff and sore. 

“Wake up, troublemaker,” Rafe says with a smirk, standing over her with his arms crossed. “You were drooling.” He tries to keep his tone light, but Kiara sees the flint in his cool blue eyes. She waits for the familiar anger to crack through his calm facade, but that anger doesn’t come. He just offers her a hand, raising an eyebrow at her extended silence.

“Was not.” Kiara stands with a huff, ignoring his outstretched hand.

“A lot of attitude directed at the person who just swooped in and saved your ass,” Rafe quips, adjusting to the rejection smoothly.

“Spare me the white knight bullshit,” Kiara groans. “I never would have called if I knew you were going to be so smug about it.” The ghost of a smile tugs at Rafe’s lips, and Kiara can’t help but wonder what their relationship is normally like here. Is she acting completely out of character, or is he used to this?

“Sorry, Shoupe,” Kiara calls sheepishly on the way out. “I’ll get the money to you as soon as possible.”

He gives her a weird look from behind his desk, like she’s telling a joke that he doesn’t fully understand. “It’s already taken care of.” Kiara whips towards Rafe as he pushes open the door, her mouth dropping open.

“Like I said,” he smirks, that annoying smugness radiating off him, “saved your ass.” Kiara bites the inside of her cheek as she climbs into his black Range Rover, knowing she should thank him but not sure how to bring herself to say the words.

She sucks in a deep breath and buckles her seatbelt. “Rafe….you didn’t have to do that. I’ll pay you back.” Not exactly a thank you, but oh well.

Rafe assesses her out of the corner of his eye. He has one hand slung over the steering wheel, the other loosely covering the gear shift. “It’s nothing, Kie. Not even a drop in the bucket.”

“It’s like, thousands of dollars Rafe.”

“Like I said, not even a drop in the bucket.” God, that smirk again. Is it the only expression his face can make?

“Rich people are so annoying,” Kiara mumbles, blowing a rogue strand of hair out of her face. “But I’m sorry if…I interrupted anything. Thank you for…uh…coming to get me.”

Rafe coughs out a laugh at the pained look on her face. “Jesus, you look like you’re going to choke. Is thanking me really that hard for you?” His face pulls into something resembling an actual smile instead of a smirk. “It’s fine though Kie, seriously. I was honestly glad to get the call. Felt like…felt like maybe you finally agreed. That it’s time to bury the hatchet. To try and be…friends again.” His shoulders tense slightly even as his voice stays level, like he’s trying to appear more calm than he feels.

“Plus, it was a good reminder that I should go visit Ward soon,” he adds, like it’s a fun little afterthought. Like they have casual conversations like this all the time. Like Kiara has any idea what he’s talking about. Visit as in Ward’s alive, but he’s somewhere else? Or visit as in he’s dead like Kiara remembers, and Rafe’s visiting him at the cemetery?

“Right,” she forces out through pursed lips, nodding like she has a clue.

“He’s still waiting on sentencing up at Central, and I know it’s gotta be hard on him. I don’t think he did it, but everyone else seems to think he killed Big John.” He runs a hand through his neat hair. “It just doesn’t make sense to me. We’ve always had more than enough money. There was no reason for him to do something like that, even for the gold. He loved Big John like a brother. They were working together.”

Kiara gapes at him before quickly shutting her mouth, trying to disguise her shock as Rafe’s face briefly crumples. Pieces slowly click together in the chaos of Kiara’s mind. The plaque outside the Crain House that said Big John died and the gold disappeared. The deckhand that hates my guts? Sarah had asked when Kiara brought up John B. Looks like Ward is a murderer in every reality, except this time it was her best friend’s dad. Kiara grips the edge of her seat and tries not to react.

“Sorry to word vomit like this. Sarah never wants to talk about it,” Rafe says after he recovers, a fake smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Kiara squints at him in the gathering darkness, trying to tell if he’s serious or not. No way that there’s any universe where Rafe is the Cameron sibling that’s more in touch with their feelings. But his face stays pinched and strained, like he wants to crawl out of his skin, like he needs a break from being in his own body. Kiara knows that feeling all too well, so she tries to comfort this weird, Rafe Cameron replicant against her better judgment.

“It’s okay. It must be…hard, to feel like you’re handling it alone,” Kiara replies slowly. And she’s sure it would be, if any of this were real and not just a figment of her imagination. 

“Thanks,” Rafe mutters, his mind clearly somewhere else. Then he shakes himself back to reality and shoots her a sly grin. His eyes glint in the low light of the car. “Anyway, I thought you would’ve called Kelce to pick you up.”

Kiara groans, burying her face in her hands to hide her mortification. “I think I’ve had enough Kelce for the day.”

Rafe laughs then, a sound higher and lighter than Kiara would’ve thought. Has she ever heard Rafe laugh before? “Fair enough.” When Kiara lifts her head from her hands, she stares out at the poorly lit stretch of road in front of them and realizes she doesn’t know where they’re going. 

“Where are you taking me?” It comes out like an accusation, and Rafe frowns.

“Your place, right? That’s where I was headed, at least.”

Kiara’s hands start shaking, and she presses them against her thighs in an effort to still the motion. “Can we just…go somewhere else for a while? I don’t want to go home. Not yet.” She hates the desperation that leaks into her voice, the way that she’s practically begging. But she can’t stand the thought of being alone in a silent house, feeling like the walls are closing in as she tries parse out what’s real and what’s fake, as she attempts to grapple with the dual realities that are ripping up her mind and shredding her nerves.

Rafe looks like he wants to argue, but something in Kiara’s face makes him pause. He swallows twice, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he considers, and then his face softens. “Yeah, okay. Sofia’s not home yet anyway, and I heard about some bonfire at The Break tonight. That work for you?”

Kiara breathes a sigh of relief. “Sounds good.” Anything to keep from being alone with her thoughts. 

———————————————————————

When they pull up to the Break, the party is already in full swing, and for once Kiara is grateful. She can’t say that she’s been to many parties in the past year. She couldn’t stand the thought of being surrounded by people that lived in a world where JJ’s death didn’t matter, like it didn’t cause Kiara’s whole universe to cave in on itself like a catastrophic supernova. But tonight Kiara’s thankful for the sea of bodies, for the noise that pulses in the air like the island itself is breathing. She’s grateful for the distraction, for the opportunity to drown her confusion in cheap liquor and shitty beer. She takes a deep, appreciative breath, inhaling smoky night air as they approach the bonfire, while Rafe wrinkles his nose and looks incredibly out of place in his Patagonia jacket.

“This place is crawling with Pogues,” he shouts over the music. Kiara rolls her eyes. This Rafe might be an upgrade from the previous model, but his programming is still Kook to the core.

“Well whose party is it?”

“Dunno. I think it might be the Maybank kid’s, the one that just got back from juvie.” Kiara’s head snaps in Rafe’s direction, her eyes widening in what he misidentifies as alarm. “Don’t give me that look, Kie! You didn’t give me much time to come up with alternatives. I’m going to go grab a drink, try to make this tolerable. I’ll be back.”

Kiara opens her mouth to tell him to wait, but he’s already gone, pulled into the crowd of shifting, drunken bodies. Fuck. 

Kiara searches the crowd for a familiar face, someone to cling to in the shifting sands of her confusing life. Ideally Sarah if she can find her, even though the person she saw this morning was barely recognizable as her best friend. Kiara weaves idly through the crowd, shoes in her hand, feeling the cool sand press up between her toes. The feeling is grounding, familiar. Safe. She snags a beer bottle from a cooler and continues to walk, downing half the bottle to try and keep her creeping anxieties at bay. This all feels so familiar, but in a head-splitting way she’s starting to associate with memories from another time, another place. Pieces of information that don’t fit in the puzzle of this reality.

Kiara stands close to the fire as she drinks the rest of her beer, letting the heat from the fire seep into her skin and envelop her mind, hoping to numb some of her icy panic. But it’s not enough. As she reaches for another beer from a nearby cooler, her eye lands on two people sitting on a log across the fire, laughing conspiratorially, ignoring the rest of the party.

Pope. John B. Her heart lifts at the sight of her friends. Everything might be different here, everything strange and confusing, but seeing their familiar faces brings Kiara a comfort she can’t even put into words. Her feet start to move in their direction, but she freezes in place when Pope’s dark eyes find her own. There’s a flicker of recognition, sure, but Kiara realizes with a sinking feeling that Pope’s not happy to see her. His face is hesitant, skeptical. Kiara thinks she might even see a flash of disdain.

He finally snaps the tension with a curt nod before turning back to John B. A clear dismissal. Kiara’s chest feels hollowed out after Pope turns away, and her head spins with memories that she can’t trust. She clutches her beer with shaky hands, feeling the condensation drip down the inside of her wrist, and decides to try and find Rafe again. He may not be the Rafe she remembers, but maybe that’s for the best. At least he doesn’t cringe at the sight of her. 

As she shoulders her way through drunken bodies, Kiara watches numbly as the crowd shifts, forming a loose circle around one person. The clearly tipsy figure steps on a cooler and pulls himself above everyone else, and Kiara’s heart lurches to a stop. The messy, sun-bleached hair tucked under a backwards hat. The same mischievous blue eyes she’d recognize anywhere, glinting fiercely in the light from the bonfire. He raises a beer can and clears his throat, trying to get the attention of the people clustered around the fire.

“Thanks for coming, motherfuckers! Let’s burn this beach to the ground!!” He shotguns the beer as his friends cheer him on. He finishes with a whoop, hopping down from the cooler and grabbing another beer. 

Kiara stands frozen in place, drinking in the sight of him, feeling like he’s an oasis in the desert after months without water. His clothing is a little darker, his voice a little rougher, and he’s surrounded by questionable people like Barry instead of the Pogues, but it’s him. JJ. Solid, breathing, alive.

And suddenly Kiara doesn’t care if she’s crazy, if she’s losing it entirely. If losing her mind is the price of bringing JJ back, of being able to see him again, she’d take that deal over and over. It’s worth it just to see him standing in front of her, like he never went anywhere at all. Maybe her Hail Mary wish really was the way to erase all the pain, to make the past year of grieving feel like a distant memory, a long-forgotten nightmare. Maybe things are different here, but the one thing that matters most has been fixed.

Kiara heart throbs painfully from her spot several feet away, watching as JJ throws an arm around Barry. She wants to run up to him, to throw her arms around him, to confess all the things she’s had to swallow down for the past year into the warm skin of his neck. I miss you so much that it’s tearing me apart at the seams. I love you. I don’t know how to be a person without you here. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.

But before she can get her legs to move, JJ turns in her direction, and his eyes meet hers as he brings a beer can to his lips. Kiara braces herself to not be remembered, to feel the stinging disappointment of realizing she’s a stranger to him. He’s not hanging out with John B and Pope, so maybe they’ve never really known each other at all here. But the lack of recognition she’s expecting never comes. Instead, he just looks…indifferent. His eyes pass over her without a second glance, without any shred of warmth or consideration. 

And that slices Kiara to the core more than she thought it would, sending pain shooting through her chest like he just took a sledgehammer to it. She’s never seen that look on JJ’s face directed at her, but she knows what it means. She doesn’t matter to him here. He knows who she is, but he doesn’t care about her more than any other random Kook. Not even enough to nod hello, to smile in her direction. And although Kiara thought she was prepared to be a stranger to him, she wasn’t prepared for the devastation of being nobody to him. It feels like losing him all over again, even as he’s standing just out of reach.

Kiara stumbles backwards like she’s been shoved, her mind reeling as she lets her feet carry her down the beach, away from the fire and the teeming sea of bodies. She’s running from the disdain in Pope’s eyes, the coldness in JJ’s gaze, but she can’t shake the images from her mind. This was a huge mistake. So much for being distracted.

Kiara slumps down onto a lone piece of driftwood and presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. Her two realities press in on her as she tries to forget the look on JJ’s face, as she battles back flashes of tangled limbs and forehead kisses, of early morning surf outings and late nights under the stars. She remembers how JJ’s face looked in the pre-dawn light, soft with love and adoration, and she can’t reconcile it with the boy she just saw by the bonfire. 

“Hey.” Rafe’s voice is barely louder than the gentle crash of the waves on the shore, but it still makes Kiara jump. He sits down tentatively on the driftwood next to her, so close that their shoulders are almost touching. “I was looking for you. I brought you a beer and a shot. You look like you need it.” The right side of his mouth lifts, but there’s worry in his eyes. “Sorry if it’s nasty. Best I could do at a Pogue party.”

Kiara grounds herself with a shaky breath, taking the cup from him. “Beer’s beer,” she shrugs, tapping his cup with her own. But the vile liquid hits the back of her throat and burns like acid, making her splitter and cough. Rafe shakes with laughter as she doubles over, trying to keep from throwing up. “Nevermind, I take that back. Whatever that is, it has no business calling itself beer. Are you trying to poison me??”

“I’m drinking it too, so it’s mutually assured destruction,” Rafe laughs, setting down his cup and picking up the other two he brought over. Kiara assumes they’re the shots he mentioned, and she can only begin to imagine how vile those will be. 

“Aren’t you a little old to be doing shots?” Kiara teases as she takes the cup, raising an eyebrow at Rafe without really looking at him.

“Aren’t you a little young to be brooding by yourself?” His voice is light and teasing, but Kiara can hear the undercurrent of concern. Doesn’t know what to do with it, so she ignores it.

“I’m not that much younger than you.”

“Could have fooled me.” Rafe grins at Kiara’s outraged scoff, the smile lighting up his eyes and making him look years younger. Kiara turns and really considers him, taking in his relaxed posture, the confident way he moves in the world. He’s miles away from the Rafe she knows, the one crushed under the weight of the past, the one exhausted from carrying the burden of his own misery. She doesn’t know how to handle this version of him.

“You do have your shit together. A house. A fiancée. A whole ass real estate empire.” There’s grudging admiration in Kiara’s voice as she considers the state of her own life, every version of it. 

Rafe meets her gaze, his eyes soft and understanding. “And I’m a college dropout, my dad’s in prison, and my sister hates my guts. You’re doing fine, Kie. It’s all relative.” His smile is small but real, and Kiara has to swallow down the emotion rising in her throat.

She hates how comfortable she feels sitting next to him, this Rafe who’s funny and charming, even borderline sweet. She thinks of JJ back at the bonfire and feels sick to her stomach. She knows she should pull away. But she also doesn’t want to feel, doesn’t want to think about the apathy on JJ’s face. So she stays put, her shoulder almost brushing Rafe’s, knowing that she’s flirting but not doing anything to stop it. Like a goddamn traitor.

“Although you could do way better than Kelce.” Rafe’s piercing eyes flit to Kiara’s lips for a moment, so quick that she almost misses it.

Kiara clears her throat, a flush creeping up her neck. “That’s not even a thing, Rafe.” 

“Not to you.” And his attention is so intoxicating, so mind numbing, that Kiara submits to the buzz flooding her veins and asks the question that’s been on her mind since the car ride from the police station.

“Have we done this before?”

Rafe swallows nervously, trying to cover his apprehension with a joke. “Drank together? More times than I can count.”

“No, this,” Kiara shakes her head, gesturing between them. “It feels so…familiar…” she trails off as Rafe’s shoulders tense, feeling like she said the wrong thing. He runs a hand through his long hair, brushing his bangs out of his face.

“Kie…I’m engaged now. I know we...and I know it didn’t end well. And I’m sorry for that. But it was a long time ago, and it was just the one time, before I started dating Sofia. Before we got serious.” He avoids her eyes and looks down at his cup, his breathing shallow. Controlling himself.

Kiara feels a flash of heat run through her body as she struggles in vain against hazy memories that warp and blend together; one of Rafe entering her from behind, his nails on her back, her face pressed against a desk as she cried out in pleasure. The other is much more tender - the weight of Rafe above her, whispers pressed into her skin, her hair in a halo on a dewy patch of grass. Kiara can’t look him in the eye as she fights the images. “You’re right,” she mutters. “Sorry.”

“It’s cool, Kie. Don’t worry. Now how about that shot?” When Kiara looks up, Rafe’s smile is relaxed again. He nods at her cup, and she knows he’s trying to distract them both. She welcomes the distraction, wanting the buzzing in her body to spread to her mind, rendering everything else a pleasant static. “Cheers,” he says with a grin, tapping her cup and throwing his shot back.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Kiara mutters under her breath, taking the cup and bringing it to her lips. She winces as the burning liquid moves down her throat like lava, making her eyes water and her nose run. The tears in her eyes obstruct her vision, so at first she doesn’t notice the way her words strike Rafe like a lightning bolt, his back going rigid and the cup falling out of his hand. But as he sucks in a sharp breath and Kiara turns to look at him, she sees something flicker across his consciousness, like Rafe is battling back a suppressed memory or a weirdly strong sense of deja vu. She doesn’t know that for a second he sees a flash of another place, of a dim and dank boat, of rope around his hands and water bracketing his ankles. And then the memory is gone, but the feeling of unease weighs heavy on his chest.

“What did you just say?” Rafe’s eyes are too bright as they search Kiara’s face, his breathing too fast.

“What? Nothing! I didn’t say anything.” Kiara watches anxiously as something churns behind Rafe’s bewildered expression. Something dark. Something a little too familiar. She realizes that she wants this version of Rafe to stick around, and she tries to remove herself before she makes this any worse. “On second thought, I really should be getting home so-“

“Kiara, wait-“ Rafe stands with her, and his fingers close around her forearm for a brief moment, the first time they’ve touched all day. The contact scorches her skin like the nearby bonfire, and Rafe drops her arm like he’s been burned. He stumbles backwards, off-balance and confused, and Kiara watches with dread as pieces click into place behind his eyes, as a thousand memories assault him in quick succession. And then the shock is gone, and Rafe’s face shifts so violently that he looks like a completely different person, like in that book Kiara had to read for school. Dr. Jekyll was here for a while, and now she’s about to get Mr. Hyde. Gone is the polished exterior of Rafe 2.0 - the Rafe Kiara has known for years is back, and he looks pissed.

“Kie…what the fuck? What the fuck did you just do to me?” Even his voice sounds different, rough around the edges and deeper. And even though he’s glowering at her, Kiara feels a rush of relief so intense that it makes her light-headed. She’s not alone in this anymore.

“Oh my god. I’m not nuts,” Kiara breathes, as Rafe stares at her darkly. “You remember. You do, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rafe lies, but she can see the panic in his eyes. The real recognition that stems from years of painful history.

“Rafe…” She takes a tentative step forward, but he backs away, holding his head between his hands.

“No, no, no!” He shouts, pacing around in a small circle. “This can’t be happening.” Then he wheels on her, making her jump. “Take it back, Kiara! Undo it!”

Indignation flares in Kiara. He’s the one that touched her. He’s the one that kept seeking her out. Of course he would blame this on her. “What do you want me to do, Rafe? Whip out that little mind wiping device like in Men in Black?? I can’t just undo it.”

“Well why not?? We’re in a fucking alternate universe that YOU created!” Rafe points an accusatory finger at her. “Seems like you should be able to undo it!”

“HAH! So you admit that you remember.” Kiara shouts, hands coming to her hips defiantly.

Rafe groans, his face crumpling. “This can’t be happening. I like my life here, Kie. Things are good. All that fucked up shit I did back then…back there…wherEVER the fuck, I didn’t do here. Sofia and I are good. The business is good. I don’t want this shit like, clouding my mind.”

“And you think I do?? I’ve spent the past day thinking I’m losing my mind, Rafe. But it’s also…it’s also the truth, I think. The other stuff we remember, that stuff actually happened too. Can’t you feel that?”

“No, that’s not true. I have memories here, I remember the last year and half…” but he trails off, and Kiara knows he doesn’t know what to believe.

“Maybe you do, but it’s all…thin. I know you know what I mean, Rafe. And things might be good for you here, but what about for everyone else? Ward is in prison for murdering John B’s dad. Sarah is in a downward spiral, suffering in a shitty relationship with Topper. JJ was in juvie…The Pogues….” Shattered. Fractured. But JJ is alive, Kiara reminds herself, and that makes everything worth it. She just has to figure out how to get them all back together again. “It’s not all about you, Rafe.”

He starts to back away, his wild eyes shining like a caged animal. “I don’t see how any of that is my problem. I’m going to go back to my house now, to my fiancee-“ But Kiara sees him wince as he remembers Sofia’s betrayal, as he thinks about the months of heartbreak and devastation that turned him inside out when he was just starting to believe he could be someone different, someone better. The pain that trying to find Groff distracted him from.

“Go ahead. Try to act like it doesn’t matter. Good luck with that!” Kiara calls after him, trying to swallow her panic as he walks away.

“Fuck off, Kie!” He shouts over his shoulder as he stalks back to his car, colliding directly with John B while he’s not paying attention.

———————————————————————

This can’t end well, Kiara thinks to herself as she watches from a distance. She thinks of Rafe’s words, how this really isn’t her problem. But still. She can see the rage in the set of John B’s shoulders, and she doesn’t want the only person who can prove she’s not crazy to be down for the count. So she follows Rafe with a deep sigh, the sound of angry voices drifting closer on the gentle sea breeze.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, Cameron,” John B spits, the venom in his voice unmistakable as he shoves Rafe away.

“Jesus man, what’s your problem?” This Rafe, the one Kiara remembers, the one who speaks the language of anger fluently, doesn’t back down from the challenge. In fact, he probably welcomes the distraction from his uncertainty and confusion, from the maelstrom raging in his mind. Because this, he knows how to do - to wield his anger like a weapon. To fight.

“What’s MY problem? What do you think is my fucking problem, Rafe?” John B steps closer, his eyes blazing.

“That has nothing to do with me, man.” But Rafe doesn’t walk away. He just keeps his body very still, watching every twitch of John B’s tense muscles.

“It has everything to do with you.” John B shoves Rafe again and then braces his body, expecting a blow in retaliation. Kiara watches as Rafe nearly smiles, sick satisfaction contorting his features as he prepares to escalate the fight, and she knows she has to do something.

“Rafe, don’t do this! Walk away!” A few heads turn in Kiara’s direction, including Rafe’s. His eyes flit away from her to the surrounding crowd, then back to her again. Like he’s just remembered where he is, how many people are watching. He takes a deep breath before turning back to John B.

“Need someone else to fight your battles for you?” John B says mockingly, still itching for a fight. Rafe clenches his hands into tight fists, trying to stay in control.

“Look I get that you hate me, but we don’t need to make a scene-“

Kiara’s startled when Sarah appears out of the crowd, stepping forward and pointing a shaky finger at Rafe. “No, you don’t get it. You never have. Why are you always such an asshole, Rafe?” John B blinks at Sarah in surprise.

“He’s the one that pushed me!” Rafe’s voice raises in outrage. “Why are you defending him?”

“Why are you always defending Ward?” Sarah fires back, and Kiara watches all the blood drain out of Rafe’s face. Watches his jaw flex and his fingers twitch. Before he can open his mouth or do something incredibly stupid, Kiara moves closer, her voice sharp and firm.

“Rafe. Walk away.” Rafe’s nostrils flare as he whips around to face her, but she keeps her gaze steady. The fight drains out of him in one fell swoop, and he backs away with a shake of his head.

“Fuck this shit,” he mutters, shoulders sagging, before heading towards his car without another glance in her direction.

“Wait, Rafe-“ Kiara starts, but she’s interrupted by the sound of sirens in the distance, growing closer by the second.

“Oh shit!” Kiara hears JJ’s voice cut through the chaos. “Party’s over people! Scatter!”

Kiara watches from afar as Sarah and John B stare at each other for several long moments, like they’re really seeing each other for the first time. She thinks Sarah might say something before she’s dragged in the opposite direction by Topper, who’s yelling at her to hurry up. Kiara stands frozen in place as people dart around her, snuffing the fire out and grabbing any alcohol within arm’s reach, before sprinting in the opposite direction as the approaching sound of sirens. She knows she needs to move, that Shoupe probably wouldn’t be so understanding about two arrests in one day, but she doesn’t know where to go. Doesn’t know who to turn to. Doesn’t know who she can turn to.

“Hop in!” A familiar voice calls from the curb, cutting through Kiara’s trance. She blinks in surprise when Pope gestures her towards his dad’s beat up truck, while John B watches skeptically from the passenger seat.

“Dude, isn’t she the Rafe whisperer?” He hisses, leaning over to get a better look at her. Pope ignores him, raising his eyebrows as Kiara gapes at him. 

“Would you like to stand there and get arrested, or are you going to get in the car?” This finally snaps Kiara out of her paralysis, and she jogs to the truck and hops into the backseat just as Pope starts to pull away.

“Thanks.” Kiara pants, glancing over her shoulder as the lights and sirens fade into the distance.

“Rafe left you high and dry, huh? He’ll do that.” John B flashes Kiara a reptilian grin, his eyes still full of rage and restlessness. She swallows in a throat that’s suddenly too dry. She’s never seen John B like this, so angry and malicious.

“Stop looking for a fight, John B,” Pope scolds, but he doesn’t return Kiara’s tentative smile. When his eyes meet hers in the rearview mirror, they’re cautious, discerning. Uncertain. “My dad said you asked about me when he stopped by the Wreck earlier. That true?”

“Uh….yeah?” Kiara licks her lips nervously.

“Thought that was weird given the fact that we haven’t spoken since the summer before freshman year. And we only heard from you once since then, when Big John died.”

Kiara winces as John B sinks further down in his seat, but she’s grateful that alternate her at least had the decency to text him about that. At least she’s not completely heartless. Low bar, Kiara.

“Yeah I guess I just…” she trails off, not sure what to say, the truth sticking to her tongue.

“You heard I was joining up soon, right?” Pope presses, his eyes flicking up to her before returning to the road.

Kiara picks at a loose hem on her shorts, thankful for the easy out but unable to meet Pope’s probing eyes. “Yeah, my parents told me you were.”

“Bit late to act like you give a shit, isn’t it?” John B throws over his shoulder, and Kiara flushes.

“It is. I guess I just miss the way things used to be, sometimes.” It’s as close to the truth as Kiara can get, and the words catch in her throat. If only they knew how much she meant them.

Pope regards her in thoughtful silence before turning his eyes back to the road. “Parents still live in the same spot?”

“Yep,” Kiara answers, her response barely a whisper. At this point she doesn’t even care if her parents have moved. She doesn’t have the mental capacity to consider it at the end of the longest day of her life.

They ride in silence down the familiar stretch of road, and Kiara tries to act like she doesn’t notice the way that John B glares at her in the rearview mirror, his expression a mix of distrust and betrayal. She’s relieved when they finally pull up to her parent’s place, the house dark but familiar, the same cars she’s always known parked in the driveway. She mutters her thanks and shuts the car door, but Pope’s voice out a rolled down window stops her.

“Maybe we’ll see you around, before I leave.”John B shoots him a scathing look that Pope pretends not to see. Kiara swallows once, twice, trying to shove down the traitorous hope that blooms in her chest.

“I’d like that. Come into the Wreck sometime,” she says finally, clearing her throat.

“Only if you’re paying.” There’s a ghost of a smile on Pope’s lips as he rolls up the window and drives away. Kiara stands under a flickering streetlight and watches their car disappear. She knows she should feel happy and relieved at the olive branch he just offered, but instead she just feels bone-deep exhaustion. She’s seen too much, felt too much. She still has so much to figure out. 

But as she fishes for the spare key under the familiar potted plant and makes her way through the dark house, Kiara reminds herself that things aren’t as fucked up as they feel. Sure, her best friends hate her and think she’s a selfish, asshole Kook. Sure, Sarah’s gone off the deep end. Sure, Rafe may never speak to her again. 

But as Kiara flops down on her childhood bed and stares at the ceiling, the thing that keeps replaying in her head is the image of JJ’s face. No matter the expression on it, no matter how indifferent he was towards her, he was here, and she can work with that. There might be lots of things to fix, mountains to climb, relationships to mend. But as she drifts off into a dreamless sleep, Kiara takes comfort in the fact that the person she loves is alive to fix things with. She tucks that knowledge against her heart, feeling more complete than she has in over a year. 

Chapter Text

“Kiara, what are you doing here?” Warm morning sunlight peeks through the gaps in the blinds and tickles Kiara’s face. For a second she can’t place where she is or who’s speaking. “Kie, wake up.”

Her eyelids flutter open with effort, her body fighting to keep her under, wanting to stay longer where things are simple and uncomplicated. Kiara’s mother is standing over her bed, looking surprised but not unhappy. Kiara sits up, rubbing her eyes, and she flushes when she realizes she never removed her shoes. She was so exhausted that she fell asleep immediately after hitting the mattress last night. “Is everything okay?” Anna’s red hair glows like a fiery halo in the morning sun. “I usually have to beg you to stay over. We didn’t expect you.”

Kiara blinks rapidly, her sluggish brain struggling to make sense of her mom’s words. “Uh…yeah, I’m sorry. Had a long night and I felt like I needed to come home.” She swallows in a mouth that’s too dry. Something shifts in Anna’s expression, softens. Like this is what she’s been waiting to hear for a long time.

“Oh honey,” she says, sitting down on the edge of the bed and running a gentle hand through Kiara’s tangled hair. “You can always come here whenever you need. Do you want to talk about what’s going on?”

Kiara stares at her mom, not bothering to hide her surprise. “No that’s…that’s okay.” Her parents never talk to her like this; she can’t even remember the last time they had a normal conversation that didn’t take the form of a fight or an intervention.

Anna claps her hands together suddenly, startling Kiara and making her jump. “I know what we should do today. We’ll have a girl’s day out, do all your favorite things. Get your mind off of whatever’s bothering you.” Girl’s day out? Kiara barely manages not to wrinkle her nose at the words. An excuse forms on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it down when her mom stares at her expectantly. Even though the idea of a ‘girl’s day’ makes her want to hurl, Kiara figures it might be a good way to get more information about what the hell is going on in this version of Kildaire. And to keep her mind off of everything happening here that she doesn’t want to think about. And , she has to admit, it’s nice to feel like her mom cares about her life for once.

“Sure, sounds great. Just let me get dressed and brush my teeth.” Anna flashes a brilliant, white-toothed smile and slips into the hall, leaving Kiara alone in her old room. In the light of day she can tell that she hasn’t lived here in a while, maybe even years; none of her posters or paintings are on the walls, the sheets are crisp and new, and the only pictures in sight are of her and her parents. The state of the room begs an important question - where the hell does she live now? She rubs her temples and squeezes her eyes shut, trying to conjure up some image or memory that might give her a clue. There’s a flash of haphazardly stacked boxes, of a plush rug and a small balcony full of plants, but they fade as fast as they appear. Just add this to the list of all my other problems, she thinks as she swings her legs over the bed and stands up. Kiara rifles through the mostly empty drawers, trying to cobble together an acceptable outfit, eventually settling for an old, oversized tie dye shirt and jean shorts that are a little too tight.

When she walks down the stairs she spots Mike sitting in his chair in the living room, coffee in one hand and a book in the other. Kiara feels sheepish, partially due to her outfit but mostly because of the way she left things with him yesterday. Running out in the middle of the shift without explanation, not coming home until the middle of the night. But there’s no trace of tension or anger on Mike’s face as he looks up from his book, and he shoots her an easy smile as she enters the living room.

“Hey kid. Pleasant surprise to see you around this morning. You want some coffee?” Kiara shakes her head, folding her legs beneath her as she settles onto the couch.

“No thanks. I think mom and I are heading out soon.” She hesitates for a moment, tapping on her legs as she tries to decide how much to say. “I’m sorry for yesterday, for just running out like that. I was having a rough day, but that’s not an excuse.” Mike looks up with mild surprise, like he’s already forgotten what she’s talking about.

“It’s alright, Kie. I shouldn’t have put so much pressure on you while you’re still finishing up school. Don’t worry about it. We can manage just fine without you.” Kiara gapes at him. Her dad drilled the importance of responsibility and accountability into her head from a young age, droning on and on about the value of working hard and earning her place in the world. He never wanted her to grow up entitled and spoiled like the rest of her peers, the ones that took their wealth and privilege for granted. But this Mike seems to have a more relaxed stance on the matter.

“But you guys need help at the Wreck. I shouldn’t have bailed.” Kiara presses him, almost wanting him to get mad. At least that would be familiar, would make sense. She searches for some hint of the man she knows in his calm face, but she comes up empty-handed. He may as well be a different person entirely, and this realization makes Kiara’s heart rate quicken, her palms get sweaty.

“Not really your responsibility, Kiara. We just want to make things as easy as possible for our girl.” Kiara opens her mouth to argue, but her mom pads down the stairs before she can speak, swinging her purse excitedly.

“You ready??”

“As I’ll ever be,” Kiara mutters, forcing a fake smile onto her lips. She tries to keep her skin from crawling as she stands in this place that looks like home with people that feel like strangers.

———————————————————————

Three hours and five stops later, Kiara almost feels more exhausted than she did yesterday - the day where she found out about parallel realities, saw her boyfriend again after a year of mourning his death, and almost got arrested twice. That’s how much energy it takes to keep smiling as Anna drags her from one soulless store to the other, piling clothes and accessories in her hands like this is something Kiara actually likes to do. Apparently, this version of her likes shopping and getting her nails done, enjoys being waited on and fawned over. This Kiara relishes the things she’s always associated with out-of-touch Kooks, with excess and waste and unethical wealth. She’s horrified that she’s not any better than the people she used to look down upon here, and she spends the whole day trying to keep her breathing even and her face neutral, disguising the disgust she feels with at least some level of success.

Kiara’s sigh of relief is muffled by the scrape of her chair as the two women sit down for late lunch at a café in town. Kiara doesn’t remember the name on the sign out front, because like so many other things, it’s different here. So she resolves to put it out of her mind and focus on things that are familiar, before her mind loses the battle with her body and she slumps to the ground in a broken heap. She orders a Diet Coke and a grilled cheese, like she used to when she was a teenager. And even though it’s silly, she does feel a little better when the waitress sets the frosted glass in front of her. They sit in silence for a while as Kiara sips her drink, until Anna can’t tolerate the silence anymore.

“So, are you feeling better? After some new clothes, a new set of nails?” New parents, a new personality, a new life, new concept of the space-time continuum.

Kiara plays with her tangle of bracelets, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, thanks for all this again, mom. I think I’ve just been feeling…I don’t know. Not like myself lately. Overwhelmed.” Understatement of the century.

Anna sighs deeply in that way that doubles as an ‘I told you so’; she’s pretending to be upset when she’s actually relishing the fact that she was right all along. “I was worried about this when we got you the apartment, you know. I worried you wouldn’t feel supported enough as you finished school. We are so proud of you for going back to school, for taking all those business classes online. For realizing that you’re passionate about starting your own business one day. I just worry that it’s too much. Are you sure you don’t want to come home?”

What the actual fuck? Living in an apartment she didn’t work for, on her parents’ dime. Business school? Wanting to sell out and join the capitalist hellscape, become an entrepreneur? Her mom’s eyebrows furrow together, and Kiara realizes she’s been silent for too long, her mouth still pursed around her straw. Her plastic straw. She clears her throat and moves away from her drink, trying to placate Anna even as she wages an internal war with herself, trying to make sense of this person her mother’s describing that can’t possibly be Kiara.

“No, don’t worry mom. It’s just been a long couple weeks. But I’m already feeling better.” Kiara flashes Anna the sweetest smile she can muster, but the effort makes her skin feel two sizes too small. She itches all over, like her skin is crawling with microscopic bugs. She’s too warm. Maybe she really is losing her mind, even though Rafe seems to be going through the same thing. Maybe it’s shared psychosis.

Her mom taps the table with her fork, deep in thought. Then she snaps her fingers, looking triumphant. “Is it that boy that’s making you upset? What’s his name? Kelce?”

“Mom, don’t,” Kiara groans between bites of her grilled cheese. She’s going insane, and her mom is talking about her love life. If it wasn’t so maddening, it would be downright hilarious.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Kie. And I’m sorry, I’m just curious! He seems nice enough, but I guess I was a little surprised that you two ended up together. I always thought you had a bit of a thing for Sarah’s older brother.” Kiara chokes on a dry piece of bread, spluttering as she tries to wash it down.

“Rafe?” Her eyes water as she asks, voice incredulous.

Anna grins slyly. “Yes, Rafe! Such a handsome boy, always has great manners too. And you used to get so shy around him when you were younger. You had the sweetest little teenage crush on him.”

Kiara buries her head in her hands, a blush creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks before she can stop it. “Mom, seriously. This is so embarrassing. I never had a thing for Rafe. That’s Sarah’s brother.”

But behind her closed eyelids she sees flashes of a truth that’s foreign to her brain but familiar to her body; Rafe’s lips on her neck, his fingers laced with hers, his hips pushing her body into the soft ground as he whispered in her ear. Her flush deepens, and she shoves the rest of the grilled cheese in her mouth to keep from screaming.

Her mom raises her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Don’t be so dramatic! How is Sarah these days? I haven’t seen her come around to The Wreck in a while.” Kiara opens her mouth to stumble through an excuse, but the words never come. Her eye is caught by a flash of blonde out the window, by golden strands of hair that reflect the midday sun. Her heart rockets into her throat as she watches JJ walk by the café window, cigarette in hand. He’s shouting into the phone that’s clutched in his other hand, but the words are muffled by the thick glass. Kiara’s chest aches at his proximity, at the realization that touching him is possible but not allowed, at the cruelty of the universe for keeping them apart in new, unanticipated ways. Every other thought is pushed out of her mind as she takes in his clenched jaw, the set of his tense shoulders. She longs to reach out to him, to smooth the anguish from his brow with gentle fingers and kiss away his worries with soft kisses trailed down his jaw.

She doesn’t realize she’s staring until Anna sighs again, reminding Kiara that she’s not alone at this table. “So sad, isn’t it?”

“What is?” She drags her eyes away from JJ with difficultly, her chest hollow.

“The Maybank boy, the one you used to hang out with when you were young. He’s recently back from juvie, you know, so it’s a good thing you stopped hanging out before his behavior got really bad. Such a waste. I was hopeful that when his dad came back into the picture, things would get better. Unfortunately, it seems like a parent can only do so much.”

Kiara blinks rapidly, her mind spinning her words like a faulty centrifuge. “Back into the picture?” Did Luke take off? Leave JJ to fend for himself? Certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

“Yeah, don’t tell me you don’t remember?? Poor thing found out he was adopted a few years ago, right before graduating high school, I think. And his real dad came back to town, claiming he never knew JJ existed. They’re thick as thieves, now.” Anna gestures out the window, where another figure has joined JJ on his walk towards the harbor. The man has a shock of shaggy, dirty blonde hair that resembles JJ’s but is styled much neater. He’s a little taller and a little broader, with a linen button down tucked loosely into khaki pants. As the man approaches JJ and slings an arm around him, Kiara realizes that they have the exact same gait. Her heart seizes in her chest. It can’t be. But of course it is.

Kiara grips the edge of the table as the world starts to tilt and whirl, the sight of this man sending her mind spinning like she’s on the world’s worst amusement park ride. She feels rage spread through every crevice in her mind, filling all the nooks and crannies before leaking out into her blood stream, heating her body from the inside out. Her hands are shaking uncontrollably. She can’t think. She can’t breathe. Not when the love of her life’s murderer is not even 20 feet away. Not when he’s touching JJ now, staining him with his filthy hands. Not when the devil walks among them, like he’s just any other man. He shoots a look over his shoulder and Kiara finally gets a glimpse of his cold, reptilian eyes. She barely suppress the urge to dive under the table and out of sight.

“But I guess a father’s love can’t fix everything.”

Kiara doubts love has anything to do with it. Not when Groff is involved.

———————————————————————

Kiara lays motionless on the couch as the TV drones in the background, some Law & Order spinoff she’s never seen filling the dreaded silence in her too-large apartment. Her mom dropped her off a while ago, hovering for a while until Kiara not-so-subtly told her she needed to rest. Of course, what she really needed was to be alone in this alien, unfamiliar place, a space that is allegedly her own but holds almost none of the personal touches Kiara would expect. The furniture looks straight out of an IKEA catalogue, all clean lines and neutral colors, functional but unremarkable. The decor is tasteful but impersonal, like she was scared to give the place any real identity. The irony is not lost on Kiara. Her bedroom has some incense and candles scattered around the room, a few books on neat shelves, a handful of photos in frames. But she feels the absence of the Pogues in the space like a physical weight. None of it feels right. None of it feels like home.

But as she’s sprawled on the couch now, her fingers grazing the plush rug on the floor, the last thing on Kiara’s mind is interior design. Her mind churns with facts stranger than fiction, as she fights a losing battle between reality and memory, between what she knows and what she believes. Kiara struggles to reconcile the things that she’s been told, the things she can see with her own eyes, with what she knows in her bones to be the truth. JJ bleeding out in her arms, stabbed by the same man throwing an arm around him today. Her mind and her body are warring, and it feels like she’s being torn apart, inch by painful inch.

Her anger simmers beneath the surface like a living thing, a sentient companion. She replays Groff touching JJ this afternoon, holding him like he has any right to, like he doesn’t destroy everything he touches. Like he isn’t dragging JJ down the same cursed path again.

But she’s not going to stand by idly while it happens this time. She may not have any evidence of it yet, but Kiara knows instinctively that Groff is responsible for things being fucked up here, too. Big John Dead. Ward in prison. The gold missing. Groff back in JJ’s life, back in Kildare, conveniently appearing right as everything else goes to shit. She doesn’t know how, but Groff is behind all of it. He has to be. Something isn’t right in this town, and she has a gnawing feeling that JJ is mixed up in it somehow, that Groff got his claws into him and is dragging him down. She needs to figure out how to untangle JJ from his twisted web and get him to safety. She won’t let Groff have his way again. Not this time. She pictures twisting a knife into his stomach this time around, and her mouth almost twitches into a smile.

The gentle tap of rain intensifies to a harsh rattle as hours tick by in painful silence. The sound of the storm reverberates in Kiara’s skull. Her head is throbbing, her heart pounding, her body stiff. She itches to do something, to leap definitively into action, but what can she really do at this point? It’s not like she can waltz up to JJ and try to explain everything. It’s not like she can explain anything to anybody.

Kiara hears what she thinks is the wind against her front door, a gentle tapping just soft enough to ignore. A pause. Then the exact same sound again. Someone’s knocking on her door. Kiara’s heart lifts, and for one blissful, improbable second she imagines JJ on the other side.

Her feet carry her to the door and she throws it open before checking who it is. The person standing on her doorstep is dressed poorly for the weather, his clothes rain-soaked and plastered to his tall, lean frame, accentuating the muscles that Kiara pretends not to notice. Blue eyes peer at her from the hazy darkness, but they’re not the eyes she was expecting.

“What are you doing here, Rafe?”

Chapter Text

Rafe feels a little guilty for leaving Kiara to fend for herself as the cops pull up to the bonfire, but not that bad. He has shit of his own to deal with, all of which he thinks would be more difficult to figure out with Kiara around. 

One minute he’s sitting on the beach, engaging in a little harmless flirting, and the next he’s fighting against a tidal wave of memories that make him physically sick as they pull him under. 

Blood on his hands, tears on his face, bodies in his truck. Death, destruction, betrayal. And more than anything else, the anger and the shame. The two emotions so intense and intertwined that they fuse into one hideous monster, an ugly chimera of deep, burning rage that consumes Rafe’s whole body. Technically, nothing visible has changed. But in reality, everything is different. 

If he’s being rational, Rafe knows it’s unfair to be mad at Kiara. He’s the one that gave her the crown, for god’s sake. And she seemed genuinely remorseful that she’d unwittingly made him aware of his other life. But Rafe is not known for his rationality. He needs someone to blame for the destruction of his perfect life here, a life where he had it all. The house, the company, a beautiful fiancée. Nothing to hide from, no one to run from. His stomach turns at the thought of Sofia waiting for him at home and he grips the wheel tighter, trying not to throw up.

Rafe doesn’t have to push the issue with Sofia - he knows that. He could just let the memory go, settle back into the good thing they have here. What happened between him and Sofia in the other when, the other where, didn’t happen here. No betrayal, no broken heart, no failed engagement. Things are good between them - he doesn’t need to test her. 

But Rafe also isn’t known for letting things go, and can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop mentally pressing the bruise, waiting for the pain to come. Because he’s changed. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop now, like it’s just a matter of time before he’s completely alone again, before it’s proven once and for all how unloveable he is. He’s waiting for proof that any semblance of happiness and a normal life was nothing more than a cruel illusion.

Rafe turns this over and over in his mind as he slips into the dark house and creeps up the stairs, trying not to wake Sofia as he settles into the king bed they share. The sound of her soft snores do nothing to comfort him as he struggles to breathe in the dark, as the numbers on the clock march forward without bringing him any closer to sleep. He turns this way and that, trying every sleeping position known to man, trying to get comfortable. Eventually he gives up, pulling himself out of bed and getting dressed with only the faint illumination of the pre-dawn light to guide his movements. He scrawls a note to Sofia and leaves it on the counter in case she wakes up, and then he gets back into the Range Rover without the slightest idea of where he’s going. But driving helps quiet his mind. At least for a little while.

Rafe drives down back roads, gas station coffee in hand and cigarettes in the other, hoping for a clarity that he knows he hasn’t earned. His rings reflect the growing light as it creeps up from the horizon, and he watches numbly as the edges of the world soften with the golden light of the ascending sun. How simple everything seemed the last time the sun came up. 

Rafe feels jittery from the nicotine and caffeine, and his thoughts get harder to avoid. They flash through his mind like a scattered slideshow. Sofia in his bed now; him talking to her on the phone in Morocco, telling her to pack her shit and move out. Ward dead, his body far from home; Ward behind bars, begging Rafe to believe him. Kiara screaming at him, slapping him, calling him a murderer; Kiara kissing him tenderly, her eyes warm and understanding. Rafe wonders for a moment how he’s supposed to know what’s real and what’s not, until he realizes that it’s all real. And that thought nearly causes him to run the car off the road. There’s no way his brain can handle this. There’s no fucking way. 

Rafe breathes deep, letting the sun warm his skin and ground him. One step at a time. It might feel like it at this moment, but he knows he’s not losing his mind, not after what Kiara said last night. So he just needs to tackle this systematically. Rafe resolves not to return to Tannyhill until he has a plan, and he knows the first step is solving the issue with the person sleeping in his house right now.

By the time the sun starts making its descent and the sky begins filling with ominous clouds, Rafe knows what he’s doing to do. It took a full tank of gas and half the day, but he finally has a plan. It’s a cruel, duplicitous plan, but he’s already decided it’s necessary. He has to know how Sofia feels about him, if his worst fears are true in this world too. So he rubs the sleep from his eyes with his free hand and drives back to Tannyhill on autopilot, trying to keep his mind as empty as possible. But his body knows what’s coming, and his heart pounds in time with the hum of the engine.

The front door is unlocked, and Rafe hears Sofia rattling around in the kitchen as he steps past the threshold. His footsteps echo ominously on the marble floor, each soft click bringing him closer to the point of no return. 

“Hey babe, I’ve been calling you! I heard you come in last night and then leave super early this morning. Is everything alright?” Sofia asks as he enters the kitchen, turning from the cabinets to set two glasses on the counter, one for wine and one for whiskey. 

“Things have just been crazy at work,” Rafe replies, swallowing down a lump in his throat as he watches Sofia move around the house like she owns the place. Like she belongs here. And he almost decides not to say anything as she pours the drinks, almost decides to bury the fear like he buries everything else. Almost decides to try and be happy despite the nagging voice in the back of his head.

But then she takes his glass in hand and walks around the counter, reaching for his face with a look of concern. “Do you want to talk about it?” Something inside Rafe’s chest cracks open at her proximity, at the worry in her voice. He can’t let Sofia touch him like everything’s okay, not when he’s falling apart at the seams. So he grabs her wrist, gentle but firm, to stop her hand before it makes contact with his skin. Her eyes widen, but Rafe forces himself to stay calm and collected. He breathes in, breathes out. He braces himself for impact.

“I wasn’t sure how to tell you this, but I’m just going to rip the bandaid off. The IRS is coming for most of my dad’s estate. Something about tax fraud. Tannyhill, most of the company assets, all Ward’s money, basically.” Rafe watches Sofia’s lips part, hears the small gasp that escapes them. “I’ll still have my money and control over the company, but it’s not going to be like this. I’m not going to be rich anymore. I’m going to lose most of this.” Rafe drops Sofia’s wrist as she takes a small step back, her eyebrows drawing together. He clamps his lips shut to prevent the words he wants to say from escaping. 

Am I going to lose you too?

Instead, he waits quietly, searching Sofia’s face as his words soak in. He sees confusion, shock, and sadness on her face, but the primary emotion there is panic. Rafe wants to reach out, to say something comforting, but forces himself to wait, keeping his body rigid. He waits for something he knows deep down is never going to come. He waits for her to tell him they’ll get through it together, that she loves him, that they’ll make it work. That being with him is worth it, even if love is the only thing he has to offer.

When Sofia finally breaks the unbearable silence, her voice is shaking. “So the house…the boat…the wedding…the honeymoon…all of that? Gone?”

“We can still make it work. We’ll just have to adjust. Go smaller. You might have to get a job while I try to save the company, but it’s all doable. A life together.” The words spill out before Rafe can stop them, but Sofia is already shaking her head. He feels his blood turn to ice.

“I’ve been scratching and clawing most of my life, Rafe. I don’t want to do that anymore.” Her amber eyes are sorrowful but resolute as she looks up at him. She’s only a step or two away, but the distance between them feels like an uncrossable chasm. “I’m sorry, I…know how that sounds. But it’s the truth.” She doesn’t apologize, doesn’t ask how he is, doesn’t show any true concern for him or remorse for the relationship she’s throwing away. Her decision to cast him aside like days old garbage is quick and firm.

Rafe blinks as hot tears fill his eyes. He gestures between himself and Sofia. “So this…us…” His voice breaks on the last word, and that just makes him angrier. He knew this was coming. He shouldn’t be upset.

“Has been great.” Sofia tries to reach for his hand, but he shakes her off. “You’ve been so good to me, Rafe. And I love you, I do. But sometimes love isn’t the only thing that matters. Sometimes love isn’t enough.” She’s looking at him with pleading eyes, like she’s begging him to understand. But Rafe understands perfectly. 

He doesn’t know why he ever thought that love would be enough - enough to fill the gaping hole inside of him, the ragged, rotten place his father told him has been present since birth and has deteriorated steadily since; the place that festers with hurt and regret; the deep, dark place where every positive emotion goes to die. Love was never going to be enough. Especially from someone who cares about his money more than him.

“I was afraid you might say that.” Rafe’s voice is cold and detached, even as his throbbing heart breaks in two. “The IRS aren’t coming for anything.” He watches as Sofia’s face falls, as she struggles to put the pieces together, as she tries to make sense of the lie. She starts to reach for him, but Rafe yanks his arm away, his eyes burning with disappointed rage and poorly concealed hurt.

“Don’t.” Sofia flinches at the steel in his voice. “I’ll give you a few days to pack your shit and get out. We’re done.” Rafe spins on his heel and stalks away without looking back, heading for the stairs.

“Rafe, what the fuck-“ Sofia calls from the kitchen, frozen in place. He pauses at the foot of the stairs, his heart in his throat, but he forces himself to turn around. To face her as he puts the final nail in the coffin that holds their relationship.

“And if you touch so much as one thing that isn’t yours, my lawyers will come for the few dollars you do have to your name.” Rafe grips the banister as he takes the stairs two at a time, bursting into what used to be their bedroom, throwing clothes and toiletries into a duffel bag without really looking at any of the items. He can barely see what he’s doing with the tears obstructing his vision, but he refuses to let them fall while he’s in the house. He knew this was coming, so he doesn’t get to be sad about it.

Five minutes later, Rafe jogs down the stairs and out the front door. He doesn’t mean to look back, but his eyes land on Sofia as he shuts the door behind him. She’s still frozen in place, one hand still clamped around the glass of whiskey meant for him. He’s not close enough to see her face, but he can tell by the movement of her shoulders that she’s sobbing. He wants to be angry that she’s the one crying when she just stomped all over his heart, just proved definitively that she didn’t really love him, but the sight of her anguish makes something clench painfully in his chest.

He closes the doors as the tears finally start to fall, and he gives himself a few brief moments to feel the devastation of being betrayed again before he shoves it back into the gaping hole inside of him. Fat raindrops start to fall from the hazy sky right as he reaches his car, like the sky took pity and decided to cry with him. How touching.

———————————————————————

Rafe ducks under the awning leading to Kiara’s steps, already drenched from the short commute between the car and the apartment complex. The rain has intensified from a drizzle to a full on deluge, and he’s regretting not bringing a coat or umbrella. 

He also thinks he might quickly come to regret the decision to show up here, but he was too exhausted to talk himself out of it. He was wrong before - none of this is easier without Kiara. He needs to see her, to talk to her, even to apologize if he can force the words out. Rafe likes to think he’s self-sufficient, but he doesn’t think he can make it through all this bullshit alone. Not without the very real possibility that he might lose his mind.

So here he stands on her porch, fighting against a very strong sense of deja vu. For the past 24 hours Rafe has tried to stay focused on the here and now, to stop trying to make sense of all the confusing memories and conflicting information that swirl in his mind, particularly surrounding Kiara. But as he knocks on her door and waits for an answer, he can’t battle back the memory that surges into place. A vivid memory from about a year and a half ago, when he first came to this apartment. A memory that happened to a very different Rafe. A Rafe without that ragged, rotten place inside him.

~

It was a muggy summer night, but Rafe was sweating because he was nervous, his hands clammy and shaky. He knocked on the door of Kiara’s new apartment, the one her parents had recently bought her.

After almost 5 minutes of trying, Rafe gave up on knocking. He sucked in a disappointed breath, about to hop on his bike and ride away from her apartment, when he heard soft clinking coming from the backyard. He went around back and saw Kiara double fisting beers that she pulled out of a nearby cooler. She froze at the sight of him, standing in front of a medium-sized purple tent that could easily fit one or two people. She didn’t seem happy or unhappy to see him - just surprised. She cocked her head to the side and waited for him to speak.

Rafe approached slowly, like he was afraid to spook her. “What’s with the tent?”

Kiara shrugged. “Don’t have sheets yet. And it’s nice out tonight.” She was right. The sky was clear and dark, allowing the stars to shine at their full brilliance. “Did you bike over here? You never bike.”

“Yeah, I-I’ve been drinking. A bit.” Rafe rubbed the back of his neck nervously as Kiara settled into one of her patio chairs. “You didn’t come to the party tonight.”

She raised her eyebrows at the unspoken question in his statement. “I was tired from last night. I guess 19 is the new 30.”

“So you didn’t skip because you’re avoiding me?” The alcohol made Rafe too honest, but there it was. He’d asked the question.

Kiara scoffed, but it was a light, teasing sound. A deflection. She clearly wanted to drop the subject. “Don’t flatter yourself, Rafe. Sarah has parties all the time. I’ll go to the next one.”

He moved closer, eyes searching. Unable to let her move on without saying something real. “Kie…I’m sorry about last night.”

“What are you talking about?” Kiara sipped at her drink, trying too hard to act casual.

“Do you not remember what happened?” Rafe asked incredulously. He remembered everything. How a plastered Kiara leaned over and kissed him on the couch in his room, where he’d brought her to lay down. How he hadn’t pulled away at first, so she’d tried to climb into his lap. How Rafe gently but firmly pushed her away. How he watched her face fall as she stumbled out of the room.

“I do.” Kiara looked up and held his gaze, her brown eyes impassive. “I’m just not sure why you’re apologizing. It’s fine.”

“You were super drunk, and you had just told me about what happened in high school, what that guy tried to do, and then you seemed really upset when I…”

“Rafe. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal.” She waved him off, gesturing for him to sit down next to her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Right. Not a big deal.” He kept his eyes on the ground as he voiced the fear that had been haunting him since last night. “So it didn’t mean anything? I was just the guy who was there?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but you know how I can get when I drink. I’m sorry I…” Kiara trailed off, her voice softening slightly. “Why does your face look like that?”

“Because I wanted it to mean something, okay? Like a fucking idiot.” Rafe ran a hand through his damp hair as the words spilled out of him. “God, I….I stayed up all night, thinking about what happened, hoping it meant something.” Rafe took a shaky breath, trying to gather his nerve. “I didn’t just stop things last night for your sake, Kiara. I did it for myself, too. Because I wanted it to mean something to you, and I knew I would never, ever recover if it didn’t.”

Kiara stirred, her breathing suddenly louder. “Rafe-“

“Let me finish before you tell me to fuck off, Kie. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for that moment? Do you know how long I’ve wanted this, Kie? Wanted you?” Rafe finally looked at her then, his blue eyes scorching with longing and desire. “Do you have any idea how much I hate Sarah’s stupid fucking parties, because I’m always in agony watching you with guys that aren’t me? All of today, I fought the urge to come over here, to talk to you about what happened. Because I knew I was being stupid. I knew it didn’t mean anything, and that it would be better just to move on, to let it stay a dream. But it turns out that I have to know. Even if it kills me.”

Rafe hadn’t realized his eyes were squeezed shut until they fluttered open again. Kiara was standing in front of him, her expression impossibly soft. “You are being stupid.” Rafe’s heart dropped, even though he’d prepared for this answer. But then Kiara reached forward and grabbed his face, the soft skin of her fingertips making him shiver. “But not in the way you think. I feel the same way. Obviously I do, Rafe.” Her smile was watery but sincere, no trace of irony or cruelty in her expression.

Rafe’s mind spun, overwhelmed by her touch and her words. “Obvious to who?”

“Anyone with two eyes and a brain.” Kiara’s eyes sparkled with fond amusement. The tenderness on her face took his breath away.

“Rude,” Rafe breathed, unable to think clearly with her warm breath fanning over his lips.

“Shut up and kiss me.” The words barely left her mouth before Rafe wound his arms around her waist and pulled her against his body, capturing her lips in a gentle, tender kiss. Kiara threw her arms around his neck and deepened the embrace, her movements becoming more urgent. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, making Rafe’s thoughts go fuzzy. She tasted like beer and something sweet, and Rafe groaned into her mouth without realizing it.

He dug his fingers into her hips and lifted her up, walking them towards the tent. Kiara gasped in surprise, her legs winding around his waist. “What are you doing?” She laughed breathlessly, her hands braced on his shoulders.

“I need to lay you down to touch you the way I want. The way I’ve been dreaming about.” He pressed a kiss to her collarbone, smiling when he felt her shiver. “Is that okay?”

“God, yes. It’s about damn time. Do think you’re the only one that’s been waiting?” Her words sent desire spiraling through his chest, so intense he could barely breathe.

Rafe ducked through the open flap of the tent with Kiara still in his arms, struggling not to drop her while trying to play it cool. Her light laugh was warmer than the muggy summer air. “I can take it from here, Hercules,” she teased, dropping down to the ground. And then she shimmied out of her tight jean shorts, never breaking eye contact as they dropped to the ground. Rafe’s felt like his entire body was bursting into flames.

“This okay?” Kiara’s bit her lip, and Rafe had to suppress a laugh. Like he would ever say no.

“You’re kidding, right? It’s more than okay, Kie. It’s fucking amazing.” Rafe approached slowly, running his rough hands over the smooth skin of her thighs reverently, feeling her shiver at the contact. He tangled a hand in her loose waves and brought his mouth to hers again, the kiss filthy and desperate. Kiara pulled him down to the ground without breaking the kiss, leaning back on her hands while Rafe settled between her knees.

“Can I…” He thumbed at the lace of her underwear, waiting for permission even as he squirmed with desire.

“Only if you take something off too.” Her smile was teasing, seductive. Rafe’s shirt was off before he was even conscious of the movement.

“Damn,” Kiara breathed, running her hands over his sculpted chest. “You’re fucking hot, Rafe. Do you work out like, twice a day?”

“Do you really want to talk about my gym habits right now? I was thinking I could use my mouth for something a little more fun.”

“Ignore me.” Kiara’s breathing hitched as he tugged her underwear down and off her legs, leaving her bare in front of him.

“Talk about hot. You’re so fucking gorgeous, Kie.” Rafe’s voice came out low and rough. And then he couldn’t wait any longer, and he dipped his head between her thighs without another word. He lapped eagerly at her sensitive clit, soaking in her moans appreciatively, trying to figure out what movements of his tongue she liked best. Learning her body like a diligent student. When her legs started shaking Rafe pulled back slightly, teasing his fingers in her wet folds.

“Rafe, you don’t have to-“

“Stop. I want to. You taste so fucking sweet, Kiara. Even better than I imagined.” His voice was almost a growl as he brought his mouth back between her thighs, working two fingers inside her at the same time.

“Fuck,” Kiara groaned, tangling her fingers in his hair. “Feels so fucking good.” Rafe felt her pussy tighten around his fingers, her legs clenching around his head. He increased the pressure on her clit, adding another finger inside of her and licking at her even more intently. He could tell by her ragged breathing that she was close, and god, he wanted to hear her scream. But before he could get his wish, Kiara was tugging at his hair, trying to pull him up her body. Rafe grunted in protest, but she was insistent.

“Rafe. Come up here, please. I want to touch you.” He was powerless to deny her anything, but he still didn’t take his fingers out as he moved up her body. He tugged at her shirt with his free hand, a silent request, and she pulled it off as he continued to work his fingers in and out, his thumb pressing down on her clit.

“Bra too,” he grunted, struggling to focus on the movement of his fingers. When she was finally bare in front of him, she pulled him into a messy kiss, more teeth than anything, and Rafe knew what she wanted. She wanted all of him. But he couldn’t stop yet, not before he made her feel good, not before she came apart in his hands. He pulled away from her mouth and pressed her body into the soft ground, his lips latching onto one of her exposed nipples, while his fingers searched for the most sensitive spot inside of her. 

“Rafe. Fuck me, please. Need more than your fingers,” Kiara begged, but Rafe shook his head and nipped at the soft skin between her breasts.

“I know you’re close. Let go for me. I promise I won’t be done touching you, baby.” Kiara moaned at the endearment, gripping his bare hip to the point of pain as she started to fuck herself on his fingers. Rafe pulled back slightly and watched her move her hips, watching greedily as her eyes glazed over and her lips parted. She threw her head back and let out a guttural moan as she reached her climax, and Rafe felt himself harden painfully in his jeans. She was so fucking sexy. He must have said the words out loud, because Kiara chuckled, her eyes still hazy and lust-filled.

“Should we find out how sexy you sound when you finish?” She reached for his jeans and tugged them down, and Rafe didn’t stop her.

“You got condoms in this love shack?” Kiara made a face as Rafe hovered over her, their bodies only inches away.

“Yeah, I keep them right next to my mini-fridge.”

“Smart ass,” Rafe grumbled as he leaned over her and fished for his wallet, finding it hard to focus as Kiara ran her hands down his chest and then explored lower, fingers dragging lightly over his aching arousal. When he finally found what he was looking for, Kiara plucked the condom out of his shaking fingers.

“Let me.” Rafe watched, mouth agape, as she expertly pulled the condom on, a slight smirk on her face. She knew what she was doing to him. And Rafe was a fucking goner.

“Holy shit, Kie. You’re a fucking menace.”

“Stop talking,” she whispered, pulling him between her legs again as she adjusted herself on the sleeping bag, her entire body on display. “Come here already.”

And Rafe obliged, lining up and entering her without hesitation, burying his face into her sweet-smelling hair as they moaned in unison. Kiara pulsed around him, adjusting, and he could feel the intense heat of her even through the condom. She was wet enough to ease the slide, and Rafe eagerly pressed into her, setting a steady and slow rhythm, one that allowed him to keep her close and feel every inch of her. She wrapped her ankles around his waist and pulled him closer, brought him deeper inside of her. The action ripped a groan from Rafe’s throat, and his fingers dug into her hips while she gripped the soft grass, both of them trying to find something to hold onto.

Kiara was the first to speak, her voice rough and breathy. “FUCK, Rafe. Why have we never done this before?” Rafe felt warmth bloom in his chest.

“You were too busy paying attention to losers.” He ignored her grunt of disapproval, kissing his way from her cheek to her lips.

Still, she didn’t let it go. “No I wasn’t. I was just trying to get you to notice me.” Sweat gathered on Kiara’s collarbones, and Rafe leaned down to lap at it before responding, making her squirm.

“Then I guess we’re both idiots.” And then the pleasure was so intense that neither of them could speak anymore. They just locked eyes and let their bodies do the talking, as desire dripped down their spines like kerosine and set their whole bodies aflame. It was too much and not enough, and Rafe struggled to keep breathing.

Kiara looked plucked out of a painting as Rafe held himself over her, her hair arranged in a soft halo around her head, her skin flushed and glowing, her eyes both sultry and tender at the same time. Rafe had been with more than a few girls in his time, but he’d never felt anything as intense or intimate as this. The way Kiara looked at him made him feel raw, exposed in the best way. So he pressed his face into the soft skin of her neck, biting down as he neared his release, trying to keep from saying something too real, too vulnerable. He poured all his unsaid feelings into the movement of his hips, the brush of his greedy lips all over her skin.

Kiara gripped the back of Rafe’s neck as she reached the precipice of her climax, pulsing around him as she cried out.

“Rafe,” she moaned, her face contorting in pleasure, her breathing rapid.

“Fuck, Kie,” Rafe replied through gritted teeth, continuing to fuck into her with sloppy, desperate thrusts until he couldn’t support his own weight anymore.

When he finally collapsed onto her chest after finishing, both of them panting heavily, there was silence for a few moments. Rafe was almost scared to look up at her, scared to break the spell or to see something like regret on her face. And then he felt Kiara’s gentle fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp. Warm, tender. Reassuring. 

“Stay.” Kiara’s voice cut through the stillness, sounding nervous. Unsure. Rafe swallowed past the lump in his throat as emotion built painfully in his chest. He turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her stomach, trying to get a handle on his feelings before he finally looked into her anxious eyes.

“Always.”

~

“Earth to Rafe.” Kiara’s impatient voice brings Rafe back to the present, and he tries to blink away the image of her soft, bare body beneath him. This is so not the time.

“Sorry, what?” He clears his throat and rubs at his neck, embarrassed.

“I asked what you’re doing here. You running away from home? What’s with the bag?” She gestures at the large duffel in his hand.

“Long story. Can I come in?” Kiara stands motionless in the doorway, her arms crossed. Waiting. Rafe stares at her for a moment as she blocks the entrance, calculating. He relents with a sigh. “You were right, okay? About everything.”

Kiara nods like this was the obvious thing to say. “Password accepted.” She stands aside to let him in, eyeing his damp clothes but not saying anything about them yet. “How’d you know where I live? I barely even know where I live.”

Rafe shrugs, like the answer should also be obvious. “I own a real estate company. And it’s a small island.”

Kiara rolls her eyes and drops any pretense of civility. “Why are you here dripping on my floor, Rafe? You weren’t exactly thrilled to be around me last time we spoke. In fact, you told me to fuck off, if I recall correctly.”

Rafe stares at his soaked shoes, feeling sheepish. Here goes nothing. “I feel like I’m losing it. And I wanted to say I’m sorry. If this is even remotely how you’ve been feeling….” He runs a hand through his wet bangs, trying to find the right words. “Sofia and I broke up. I know you probably don’t care. But I say that because you were right. All the other stuff that happened, the stuff we remember, it matters. I can’t just ignore it. I already feel like I’m going nuts, but if I ignore it, I really am going to fall apart. And trying to do this alone…fuck. It fucking sucks, alright?” His wild eyes find Kiara’s, which soften ever so slightly. She drops her arms from her chest with a small huff. 

“Wait here.” Then she disappears down the hall. When she returns she’s holding a small stack of clothes, which she tosses over unceremoniously. “Get changed. You’re creating puddles.” Her voice is gruff, but it’s an olive branch. Rafe’s surprised by how relieved he feels.

He changes slowly in the bathroom, pulling on the oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants, wondering where Kiara got them. God forbid these are Kelce’s, or something. He’d throw up. Rafe’s drenched clothes cling stubbornly to his skin, and he feels any remaining energy he has drain out of his body as he struggles against them. When he returns to the living room he slumps down onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. Kiara watches him intently but says nothing. “You were right, Kie. You get to say I told you so.”

She sits on the opposite end of the couch, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t want to, dude. This shit sucks. I’m not going to apologize, but I recognize that it’s probably my fault that we ended up here.” She looks down at her hands in her lap, swallowing hard. 

Even though he had the same thought yesterday, Rafe doesn’t want her to blame herself. Not after thinking about it more, about everything else she’s going through.“Nah. I heard your wish, and I don’t blame you.” Kiara’s eyes snap to his face, and she briefly looks outraged. Rafe pretends not to notice. “I certainly didn’t think the stupid crown would work. That it could do something like this.” He watches as conflicted emotions flit across Kiara’s face, and he can tell she’s thinking about JJ. “So what’s the plan? Matching lobotomies?” He asks, partially to distract her. The unexpected joke pulls a laugh out of Kiara, but her face falls again quickly.

“I’ve been thinking…Don’t laugh, okay?”

“Don’t say something stupid, then,” Rafe replies, and Kiara makes a face.

“Ha ha. I’m serious. What if this happened for a reason? What if I’m being given another chance? Like a redo?” She avoids eye contact, staring down at the pillow cushion in her lap.

“I don’t know, Kie,” Rafe begins slowly, taking time to consider it. “Isn’t that like, the first rule of time travel? You’re not supposed to fuck with stuff.” He’s only half joking.

Her eyes snap up to meet his again, suddenly intense. “But this isn’t time travel. It’s something else entirely. We can make a difference here. We can stop bad shit from happening. What if we’re meant to stop Groff? I saw him in town today, you know. Just walking around like he owns the place.” Rafe’s breathing quickens and his vision blurs. He feels that rage again, the one that keeps him going when nothing else does. Kiara senses the change and leans forward, more insistent now. “What if we’re meant to kill him before he can make a mess of everything here, too? What if we’re meant to make up for all the bad shit we’ve done?”

“The bad shit I’ve done, you mean.” Rafe grimaces, but he doesn’t look away.

“No. We. Both of us.” Kiara holds his gaze, and Rafe fights against flashes of another time he was physical with Kiara. In the middle of the night at Tannyhill, their movements guided by anger, desperation. Loneliness. He shakes his head slightly to dislodge the memory. Not the time, dude.

“I guess I could use the distraction.” In more ways than one. They look at each other for another loaded moment before Rafe sighs and gets to his feet, turning towards the door. “Thanks for the dry clothes. I’ll get them back to you. Unless they’re Kelce’s. In which case I'm burning them.”

Kiara ignores the jab. “What are you doing? Just give up the act.” Rafe blinks in surprise, not sure what she’s talking about. “We both know you don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Hotels exist,” Rafe retorts, hiding his surprise behind faux hostility. He’d figured she’d want him out of her hair as soon as possible. Could it be that she’s just as lonely and fragile as he is, despite her tough exterior?

“Don’t make it weird. I won’t kill you in your sleep unless you deserve it. Just stay.” The memory of that summer night in the tent surges into the forefront of his mind as she utters that last word, nearly knocking Rafe off balance. He can’t look Kiara in the eye, can’t form a coherent sentence. Oh god, is he blushing? “How did you get kicked out of your own house, anyway?” Kiara teases him as she leads him down the hallway towards the guest bedroom, unaware of his inner turmoil. Rafe focuses on the flash of irritation he feels and it brings him solidly back into his body, into the here and now.

“Don’t even start, Kie,” he mumbles as he passes her, their arms brushing slightly as he enters the guest room. Kiara’s eyes snap up to Rafe’s face, and for a second he swears he sees familiar hunger in them, the same hunger he saw in his memories.

Does she remember everything like he does? Do the memories of their bodies pressed together linger in the back of her mind too? Does she keep them buried just underneath her skin, difficult to remember but impossible to forget?

Rafe’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

Chapter Text

Kiara’s barely been anywhere for the past few weeks besides the Wreck, and people are starting to notice. She’s avoided the parties and social gatherings constantly taking place on Figure 8; it’s all too much, and the swirl of strange yet familiar bodies only amplify the ever-present confusion and turmoil inside her mind. If she’s being honest, she’s also afraid to see JJ again, to feel the sharp knife of his apathy before she’s fully recovered from the last wound.

She’s seen Sarah a few times, even begrudgingly went over to the apartment she shares with Topper once, but that was mostly to keep up appearances. She doesn’t need everyone in this town thinking she’s losing it. Kiara doesn’t think Sarah knows Rafe is staying with her right now, that he showed up on her doorstep that rainy evening after his breakup and then never really left.

She hasn’t broached the subject with Rafe, but Kiara knows Sofia’s probably long moved out of Tannyhill. Still, she lets him stay, and neither of them say a word about it. They don’t interact much during the day, with Rafe working on projects for Cameron Development and Kiara often at the Wreck, but in the evenings they coexist quietly, almost intuitively moving around each other.

Kiara cooks or watches TV, while Rafe reads in the guest room or drinks a beer on the couch, half paying attention to whatever Kiara’s watching. They don’t talk much, but they don’t need to. Kiara hates to admit it to herself, but it’s comforting having someone around that understands what she’s going through, that she doesn’t need to explain herself to. She assumes Rafe feels the same way, or he wouldn’t be hanging around her small apartment like a stray cat. Aloof but present. Quiet but watchful. It’s odd and unexpected, but the two of them fall into a routine.

But the rest of her life here still feels alien and uncomfortable, like new shoes that aren’t quite broken in yet. Kiara avoids the looks people give her as she takes their orders at the Wreck, especially from Kooks her age. She guesses that her sudden withdrawal from the Kildare social scene is out of character, so she tries to keep her head down to avoid questions.

It’s a Thursday, so not many people she knows come in anyway - not until she sees a guy in khaki shorts and a salmon colored polo, his familiar light brown hair neat but nondescript. Kiara ducks behind the counter to force her dad to deal with Topper - she doesn’t want to deal with his prying questions or insufferable jokes. She doesn’t have the energy to act like she doesn’t hate the guy today. Mike shoots her a weird look but doesn’t say anything. Luckily Topper is taking his food to-go, and when he exits through the swinging door she breathes a sigh of relief and rises to her feet, thinking she’s in the clear.

“You too busy hiding from Kooks to buy us lunch?” The voice over her left shoulder is tinged with amusement. Kiara whips around, coming face to face with two familiar sets of brown eyes. Pope and John B.

“I don’t think I ever agreed to that arrangement,” Kiara argues, trying to cover her embarrassment.

“Heard you’ve been MIA lately,” Pope notes instead of acknowledging what she said, playing absentmindedly with a cracked menu on the counter in front of him.

“Shacking up with Rafe the waif, no less. I heard he got kicked out of his own house,” John B adds, leaning his forearms against the faded wood. Pope and Kiara both stare at him for a long moment. “What? You’re not the only one who knows words, Pope.”

“Where did you hear that?” Kiara tries to ask casually, but her voice is frayed around the edges.

“Don’t worry, we don’t care about whatever’s going on between you and Prince Cameron. Sounds like Kook nonsense.” Pope waves her off.

“We just care about free food.” It’s said like a joke, but John B isn’t smiling. Kiara stares at him for a few loaded moments before nodding towards an empty table.

“Take a seat over there. Just about time for my lunch break anyway.”

When Kiara sets down three baskets of lukewarm fries and burgers on the table, the boys dig in like they haven’t eaten in a week. The familiar image sends a sharp pang of nostalgia through her chest. It’s a strange feeling to miss her friends when they’re sitting right in front of her.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Kiara says pointedly, the corner of her mouth lifting.

“You owed us one,” John B shrugs, popping several fries into his mouth at once.

“Although we do appreciate it,” Pope gives him a disapproving, fatherly glance, and Kiara can’t help but smile at the expression she knows well.

“You guys haven’t changed at all,” Kiara says without thinking. Then she freezes. Oh shit, that was a weird thing to say.

“Well you have,” Pope fires back defensively, his posture rigid. “Went all Kook Princess on us once you went to their high school and never looked back.”

“Glad to see your friendship with Sarah held up, though,” John B adds, his tone icy. “Does she know you’re fucking her brother?” He sounds angry, almost defensive of Sarah, but Kiara doesn’t have time to unpack that right now. Right now, she’s concerned about John B continuing to run his big mouth in her parents’ restaurant. She smacks him hard enough to make him yelp.

“I’m not fucking Rafe, John B. Jesus. Keep your voice down,” Kiara hisses as he rubs his arm. “Did you guys just come here to be assholes to me? If so, I have better things to do with my time.” She starts to stand up, but Pope stops her with a gentle hand on the forearm.

“No, I’m sorry, okay? We weren’t trying to start shit. I leave for basic training in a few weeks, and I wanted to stop by before that.”He glares at John B out of the corner of his eye. “We both did.”

John B clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry. We still get a little touchy about the past. It really hurt us, Kie, when you just cut us off like that. And it never seemed like you gave a shit.”

“That’s why I was so confused when you asked my dad about me. I didn’t think you thought about us.” Pope jumps in, almost like they rehearsed it. Kiara has to suppress a smile.

“Of course I do. All of you.” Kiara’s words are soft. Gentle. Like she’s afraid to spook them by being too honest.

John B snorts in response. “Who’s all of us? JJ acts like we don’t exist now, too. He always did follow your lead.” He balks at the look on Kiara’s face. “Sorry,” he mutters sheepishly.

“When did that happen, exactly?” Kiara asks with all the nonchalance she can muster, ignoring the jab.

“What, JJ ditching us?” Pope clarifies around a bite of burger. “Right around the time when his dad came back in town, honestly.” Kiara’s blood runs cold. Of course Groff is behind JJ’s weird behavior.

John B takes over as Pope chews. “At first it was fine, he would still hang with us and talk about all of it, how cool Groff seemed, how fucking relieved he was that Luke wasn’t his actual dad.” He pauses, picking at a loose piece of wood on the table. “But it didn’t take long before he started acting…I don’t know, different. Colder. Distant. Our hangouts got farther and farther apart. And then JJ started hanging around really shady guys, running ‘errands’ for his dad.”

“One day, one of the rare times we saw him after he started being all weird, he lifted his arms and I saw that he had a fucking loaded gun. JJ with a gun, ” Pope adds, shaking his head in disgust. “We both tried to talk to him about it. Didn’t appreciate it, I guess.” A short, humorless laugh. “Now he’s like, Groff’s right hand man. Got busted doing his dirty work.”

“He took the fall? That’s why he was in juvie?” Kiara’s voice shakes with rage and disbelief. If they notice, neither boy says anything.

“Didn’t say a word. You know how loyal JJ is. And that’s his dad. Even if he is a piece of shit. I think when my dad….” John B clears his throat, tries again. “My dad…it hit JJ hard. So he grabbed on to whatever he could. Onto Groff.”

“I’m sorry, John B. It must have been hard. To lose both of them, in a way.” Kiara’s voice shakes with emotion, and she smothers the urge to grab his hand. John B bites his lip and looks into his lap.

“S’okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” Translation - he doesn’t want to talk about it. Kiara swallows with effort and changes the subject.

“I saw them around town, the other day. Groff gives me the creeps.”

“Got serial killer eyes,” Pope agrees.

“We’re still going to their Memorial Day party though. It’s gonna be a banger, and we have to make sure Pope goes out with a splash.” John B’s voice is chipper, albeit a little thin. “You should come.” Kiara blinks, taken aback by the invite.

“Should I? That doesn’t sound like it’s going to be a Kook friendly space, exactly.” But her heart pounds at the thought of seeing JJ again.

“There will be so many people there it probably won’t matter,” Pope assures her, practical as ever.

“As long as you bring Sarah.” John B’s face lights up in a shit-eating grin, and the smile is genuine now.

“Shameless.” Kiara throws a soggy fry at John B while Pope laughs lightly. “She thinks you hate her, you know.”

“Nah. Just her brother.” John B glances up at the clock on the wall and shoves a few last fries into his mouth. “I gotta head to work, and I’m his ride. But same time next week?” Kiara thinks he’s joking, but John B looks at Pope expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“I’m down if she’s down.” Pope nods in her direction, his eyes warmer now. Still hesitant, but open.

“I’m down.” Kiara’s tries to sound casual, but the words come out sounding a little too much like a promise. “But I’m not paying for your food next time, freeloaders.”

They’re almost out the door when John B turns around. “Kie! Seriously. Don’t bring Rafe.”

“I can’t control the man,” Kiara calls back. “But I’ll try.” A pause. Then before she can think about it - “He’s not his dad, you know.” Kiara’s not sure what possesses her to blurt the words out. She’s not even sure she believes them.

John B’s gaze darkens, stormier than Kiara’s ever seen it. “Yeah, well. That remains to be seen.”

———————————————————————

The plan might be a dumb one, but Kiara doesn’t let Rafe talk her out of it. They need to do something after weeks of inaction. And after arguing about it for days, he seems mostly resigned to his fate. He’s sitting at the kitchen island on the morning of the Memorial Day party, not looking at her as he shoves food into his mouth and  throws out half-hearted arguments.

“Feels like you’re awfully eager to go through with the plan where I’m endangering my life. I thought we agreed not to kill each other.” A piece of lettuce falls out of his limp sub and slaps the paper below with a loud thwack. Kiara rolls her eyes.

“You’re not going to die, Rafe. Stop being so dramatic.” She’s putting the finishing touches on a simple pasta dish, spooning it into a bowl while peeking at Rafe out of the corner of her eye.

Rafe puts his sandwich down and looks at her intently, leaning forward on his elbows. “You don’t know that. You know what this guy is capable of.” A flash of nausea, a stab of pain as Kiara struggles against blood-stained memories of Groff’s violence.

“Yeah well, we know what you’re capable of, too,” Kiara replies, a little too fast and a little too sharp. Rafe’s eyes narrow and his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. His silence just makes Kiara feel bad, and she pushes a bowl of pasta towards him in lieu of an apology.

“Here.”

“I have food.” Rafe’s voice is a little too stiff, almost formal as he tries to hide any emotion that might be lurking under the surface.

“That’s the saddest sandwich I’ve ever seen.” Kiara’s tone softens a little. “Just eat it, Rafe.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Rafe stands with a huff, but he takes the bowl of pasta with him to the couch. They settle into a comfortable enough silence as they eat, the clink of silverware and the mindless drone of reality television filling the room. When he speaks again, the volume of Rafe’s voice startles Kiara.

“Why don’t you just admit that you want an excuse to see JJ again? Are you hoping he’ll actually acknowledge your existence this time?” His face is carefully neutral as he delivers the blow, knowing it’ll land. And here Kiara was actually starting to feel bad for what she said before. Asshole.

“Shut the fuck up Rafe. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” No sneer, no smirk. Rafe just looks at her like he already knows the answer, and Kiara squirms under his knowing gaze.

“Maybe I’m just itching to be around someone that’s not you. The constant brooding gets on my nerves,” Kiara snaps, trying to deflect.

Rafe stands up suddenly, nearly knocking his bowl to the ground. “Fine, then I’ll go.”

Kiara is surprised and irritated in equal amounts by the surge of panic she feels as he turns to walk away. “Rafe, don’t..don’t go.” She hates the desperation in her own voice. “Just stop being so fucking annoying.” Rafe hesitates for a moment before turning back to the couch, and he sits down without a word. They don’t look at each other for several minutes.

When Kiara finally glances over at him, he’s already looking at her. The realization makes her flush. Rafe’s fingers are curled into the fabric of his sweatpants and his spine is rigid beneath his fitted t-shirt, like he’s ready to make a run for the exit. “That’s not what you’re wearing to the party, is it?” It’s all she can think to say to break the tension.

His shoulders sag slightly at her teasing, his body relaxing. “Now who’s being annoying, Kie?”

———————————————————————

When Kiara and Rafe pull up to the Maybank house and hop out of the Rover together, she doesn’t think it’s going to cause a scene. In hindsight, Rafe’s car is an obnoxious class signifier, and it does stand out against their otherwise humble surroundings.

The sea of Pogues parts in front of them like the Red fucking Sea as they make their way towards JJ’s backyard, surrounded on all sides by wide eyes and whispering mouths. The gate hangs wide like an open jaw, waiting to swallow them as they walk through.

“Everyone’s staring,” Kiara mutters through clenched teeth, a fake smile stretched across her face. “Why is everyone staring?”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Rafe hisses, stopping short when someone steps into their path right as they pass through the gate. Kiara’s heart leaps into her throat, hammering so hard she can see her pulse behind her eyelids.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” JJ’s grin is more threat than greeting, and his voice is mocking. “The fuck are you doing here, Cameron? Don’t remember inviting you.” He tosses back the rest of his beer before turning to Kiara.

“And why’d you bring this random girl with you? How’d this party become a fucking Kook convention?” Kiara’s heart clenches in her chest, and her free hand curls into a fist at her side. Random girl. Kook. The words drip like poison off his tongue, and their impact is nearly lethal. Maybe he’s pretending not to know who she is, or maybe he just wants her to know that he doesn’t even care to remember. Kiara’s nausea burns like acid in her stomach and creeps up her throat. She wants to cry, maybe scream. She wants to punch something. Or someone. Probably whoever’s closest, which happens to be Rafe.

“Probably because Kooks are the only reason there’s any alcohol or food at this lame party. You want us to take our goods and go? Asshole?” Rafe waves the case of beer he’s holding in JJ’s face and gestures at the bottle of vodka in Kiara’s hand.

“Now we’re talking!” JJ steps aside, dipping into a sarcastic bow. “Welcome to my humble abode. Mi casa es su casa.” He gestures towards the farthest point from where they’re standing. “Kook corner’s over there. We put up some baby gates so y’all don’t hurt yourselves.” He smirks cruelly as they pass. “Ta ta now!”

“Charming,” Rafe mutters, but Kiara says nothing. Instead, she cracks the seal on the vodka and brings the bottle to her lips, coughing and spluttering as the liquid runs down her throat. But she does it again. And again. Rafe shoots her an alarmed look as the liquid in the bottle substantially decreases.

“Slow down there, killer.” Kiara glares at him as she scoops cups of beer from a nearby table.

“Shut up.” She presses a solo cup to his chest before picking up the bottle of vodka again. Kiara’s now double-fisting hard liquor and beer, and she can tell Rafe is trying not to look concerned about that. He follows along as she meanders through the crowd of people that continue to steal glances as they pass. He scratches his head as he sidles up next to her, their forearms lightly brushing.

“You know it’s not JJ that’s acting like that. Not really.” Kiara doesn’t know why Rafe is trying to defend JJ - it’s not like he’s ever been fond of the guy. She clutches the vodka like a lifeline as she thinks about JJ’s sneer, the cold disdain in his eyes. She’s hiding behind a false sense of bravado, but she feels something crumple in her chest as she glances at his retreating figure.

“But it is. Here, now, it is him. And it’s whatever. This is what I wished for. Better alive and like this than dead and nothing at all.” But for one sick, shameful moment, Kiara wonders if that’s actually true. If her JJ would want this, would want to be this version of himself that’s virtually unrecognizable from the person she loved, so distant from the people he always considered his family. But then she shakes the idea away, unwilling to indulge that train of thought.

They settle in a corner of the yard (the Kook corner, Kiara notes bitterly), but at least they’re away from the prying eyes. Well, most of the prying eyes. Kiara throws back more vodka as she makes eye contact with Sofia, refusing to back down from the daggers in the older girl’s gaze. She elbows Rafe in the ribs and nods in Sofia’s direction.

“What’s her fucking problem, by the way? You, I understand, but why does she look like she wants to murder me?”

Rafe shrugs, grabbing the vodka without asking and taking a swig. Kiara tries not to notice that their fingertips brush as the bottle changes hands. “Sofia was always jealous of you. Threatened.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but just as quickly snaps it shut, his teeth clicking together. “I’m guessing she believes the rumors about me staying at yours.”

“Can you really call them rumors if it’s true?” Rafe nearly smiles, his pink lips quirking up. “And how do you remember so much from this…. when, anyway?” The slight smirk drops immediately.

Rafe flicks his bangs out of his face. “Just do.” Something thick fills the space between them, but Kiara’s too tipsy to notice, too preoccupied with JJ’s stinging rejection.

“Should we give her something to really be jealous about?” It’s mostly the vodka talking, but Kiara lets the words roll off her tongue just to see how they taste.

Something flashes in Rafe’s eyes, something hot and intense that’s gone before she can put her finger on it. “Very funny, Kie. Real mature.”

“I’m serious. People are already talking.”Kiara’s already warm inside from the liquor, but when she pushes up onto her tiptoes and wraps her arms around Rafe’s neck, she’s warm at every point of contact. “Might as well give them something worthwhile to talk about.” He stiffens at her touch, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes dip once to her lips, unconsciously, traitorously. Kiara pretends not to notice, both for his sake and for her own.

“You’re not thinking straight.” But Rafe’s voice is a little too shaky, his breathing a little too quick. His hands settle on Kiara’s hips, his fingers pressing into the soft skin of her waist. Kiara glances at Sofia to make sure she’s still looking, and finds that JJ is too. Beer bottle in hand, head tilted with interest, something dark in his gaze. Perfect. Kiara doesn’t notice that Rafe’s eyes stay locked on her.

“Just kiss me, Rafe.” She thinks she sees an emotion flit across his face, something conflicted and wounded, but then Rafe is pulling her in and she can’t see anything as her eyelids flutter shut. All she can do is feel, and she’s shocked by how much there is to feel.

Rafe is everywhere, his warm breath fanning her lips, his fingers flexing against her hip while the other hand runs up her back to cradle her face. He holds her in place, cupping her face with rough fingertips as their lips move together, but he doesn’t pull her any closer. Kiara realizes with a jolt that she wants him to, that she’s disappointed that he’s not pressing his body against hers.

Rafe’s all taut muscles and sharp edges, but his lips are softer and his touch gentler than Kiara expected. He’s holding back, his lips moving without urgency, and when he starts to pull back Kiara feels a flash of desperate panic. She doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to feel, doesn’t want to return to this fucked up reality where JJ looks at her like a stranger.

So she digs her fingers into Rafe’s shoulder blades and pulls him closer, focusing on the overwhelming heat, the way his body brackets her own and makes her feel small, the way he tastes like vodka and smells like tobacco mixed with vanilla. Kiara feels him gasp slightly against her lips, and something shifts as he brings his other hand up to tangle in her hair.

His mouth moves urgently, insistently, like he’s searching for answers he can only learn inside her mouth. His tongue traces her bottom lip and Kiara parts her lips, bringing her own tongue to tangle with his. It’s desperate and messy and filthy all at once, and the sensations make Kiara’s head spin, a familiar feeling warming her insides despite the newness of the situation. Her brain is static for a moment as their bodies press together. But then -

Then, the static cuts out like a radio that’s finally found a frequency, and Kiara is hit with a clarity that nearly knocks her over. Everything from this when comes rushing back at the familiar brush of Rafe’s fingertips on the nape of her neck, from the way her body moves against his like it’s muscle memory.

The drunken night at the party when Kiara made her move, their tender, unhurried sex under the stars after Rafe confessed his feelings for her, the eventual falling out and heartbreak. Every memory she’d been trying to beat into submission, to shove into the back of her mind along with the memories of that desperate night at Tannyhill.

It all comes rushing to the surface with a strength that takes Kiara’s breath away. And instead of trying to pull away, to get some air and some distance, she surprises herself by melting into Rafe, by pouring herself into him with a vulnerability that seems to belong to someone else. He makes a small, wounded sound of surprise as she bites down on his bottom lip, and it’s all Kiara can do not to start stripping his clothes off right then and there.

Rafe is the one that finally pulls away. He pushes back with a ragged breath, his hands moving to Kiara’s shoulders to keep her at a distance. His eyes are glazed and a little wild, and Kiara wonders distantly what her own face looks like. She thinks she’s sweating. She’s definitely blushing. They just stare at each other for a moment, and Kiara tries not to pay attention to all the eyes trained on them. She had wanted a scene, after all.

“Right,” Kiara chirps, clearing her throat and taking a small step back. “Great work, team.” She’s still reeling from the kiss. What the fuck was that?

And on the heels of that thought, she has another: Rafe already remembers all this. And he thinks I don’t remember anything. She doesn’t know how to feel about that, except maybe a little relieved.

Rafe takes a deep breath, his eyes searching her face intently. “Kie-“

“RAFE!” Sofia’s voice echoes across the yard and startles them both. Rafe drops his hands from Kiara’s shoulders.

“Oh shit,” Kiara says, taking in Sofia’s hostile posture, the way she’s poised like a cobra about to strike. “We’re in trouble.”

———————————————————————

Rafe is off somewhere, maybe getting a drink, maybe using the restroom, and Kiara’s still trying to regain normal brain functioning. They were saved from confrontation by the timely arrival of Sofia’s friend, who pulled her aside before she could stalk over to them. But Rafe excused himself shortly afterwards, and Kiara’s grateful for the breather, the opportunity to collect herself. Her body still tingles at every spot that he touched, even as her mind tries to convince her body that it was nothing.

But something else finally grabs her attention from the corner of her eye - it’s JJ, pacing on the phone, his voice raising in irritation. Even though she can’t tell what he’s saying, Kiara takes in the tense set of his shoulders, the way he worries his bottom lip with his teeth. She might not know this JJ, but she still knows him at his core, and something is wrong.

So when JJ elbows through the crowd of people and exits the yard, Kiara moves on instinct and follows him out. She shoots Rafe a text as she hangs back for a moment, putting some space between them before tailing JJ down to the small, dilapidated dock by the water.

JJ’s distracted. Plan’s a go. Find an opening.

JJ walks briskly towards the water, and Kiara notices a bulky, shadowy figure waiting for him on the dock. She creeps behind an abandoned shed just out of earshot and watches nervously as JJ approaches the man. She hears muffled greetings, the voices tense and hushed, but she’ll need to get closer to hear what they’re saying. She takes a deep breath and stays in a low crouch, darting out from behind the shed and running towards an old stack of crates. She steps on a stray branch as she gets close, and she has to dive for cover as JJ and the other man glance in her direction. Kiara keeps her body as still as possible, silently trying to spit sand out of her mouth. They look away again, and she can hear what they’re saying now.

“We’ll get you the money-“

“You and your dad have said that one too many times. It’s time to pay up.” The man’s voice is gravelly and deep, his tone flat and final. He’s got at least 5 inches on JJ and about 50 pounds, if Kiara had to guess. He looks and sounds dangerous.

“I don’t know where he is right now! He told me he paid you guys. I can’t get my hands on that kind of cash right now.” JJ’s voice is defiant, but Kiara can hear the note of fear he’s trying hard to conceal. Her heart pounds as she spots an unopened bottle of whiskey nearby. She grips it to the point of pain in her clammy hands, her body coiled tightly as she waits for something to happen.

“I guess I’m just going to have to send a message to your dad, then.” Kiara has already started to creep towards the two men when she hears the telltale click of a switchblade opening. Fear and anger grip her, but she doesn’t panic, doesn’t freeze. She moves with purpose to the dock as the beefy man advances on JJ, and she’s so light on her feet that neither of them register her until it’s too late.

“Hey asshole!” Kiara shouts. She has the element of surprise and the higher ground to her advantage, so the man has only started to turn around when she brings the bottle down onto his head with all the force she can muster. The bottle shatters, sending glass fragments flying as whiskey runs down the man’s face, but he doesn’t react. He’s out cold, and he slumps to the ground with an unceremonious thud. The knife slips out of his hand and clatters onto the dock.

“Holy shit!” JJ jumps back in surprise, squinting at Kiara in the dark.

“Let’s get out of here before he wakes up,” Kiara says calmly, even as her heart races like she ran a marathon. She’s moves swiftly to pick up the dropped knife and then starts walking back to the party.

JJ jogs to catch up, appraising her from the corner of his eye. “Random girl, is that you? Cameron’s girl, right?”

Kiara wheels on JJ, adrenaline still coursing through her body. JJ’s eyes dart to the knife in her hand nervously. “No one’s girl. Girls aren’t things that can be owned. And the least you can do is use the name of the person that just saved your ass.” She folds the knife up and pockets it. “I’m Kiara, but you already knew that, considering we were friends for years. Asshole.”

“Touché.” JJ looks almost impressed, and a slow smile spreads over his features. Kiara aches at the sight, at the way it lights up his eyes. Her annoyance dissipates as he takes a small step forward. “But do you know my real name, Kiara?”

“Of course I do. Jackson Jesse.” She crosses her arms over her chest as JJ blinks, genuinely taken aback.

“How the fuck do you know that? I sure as shit never told any of you that. Even when we were friends.”

The teasing lie comes easily, like she’s not talking to an alternate version of the person she loves, like this is all natural and normal and not a total mindfuck. “I’m from the future, JJ. I know everything about you. That’s why you shouldn’t fuck with me.”

JJ laughs, the sound cutting through the humid night air. “You’re weird, Carrera. I dig it.”

Kiara rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling too. “I knew you were just being an asshole about my name!”

JJ just shrugs, but his eyes are warm now. He’s looking at her in a way that Kiara has missed desperately. He’s looking at her like she’s special, like he doesn’t want to look away. “Wanna grab another drink and you can tell me more about the future?”

“Only if you get me something extra special,” Kiara jokes, brushing past him and touching him more than is strictly necessary. “It’s the least you can do to thank me.”

Kiara heads towards the nearest drink table as they walk into the yard together, but JJ grabs her forearm and pulls her towards the house instead. Kiara’s whole body reacts to his touch, and she hopes he can’t tell that she’s shaking.

“I keep the good stuff inside, away from all these vultures. Come with me.” JJ slides his hand down her arm until he can lace his fingers through hers. He pulls her along and she doesn’t resist. “You still smoke, Kiara?” JJ’s eyes glint with mischief, and Kiara can’t force any words out. She just nods, her fingers tightening around JJ’s, relishing the familiar, comforting feeling. Relishing the person in front of her that seems a little bit more like her JJ.

As they enter the dark house, Kiara is so distracted by the feeling of JJ’s skin against her own that it takes her a second to realize why he freezes just a few steps beyond the threshold. When her brain finally catches up to her body, her blood freezes in her veins.

JJ and Kiara are not alone in the house. They can see into the living room from the kitchen, where two people face each other, separated by the ratty sectional couch. Rafe is standing a few yards away from Kiara, his hands raised in surrender as Groff holds him at gunpoint.

Chapter Text

Rafe takes a final drag from his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs so long that it starts to burn. He knows he should quit, knows breathing poison into his lungs won’t cancel out the poison that runs through his veins, but right now he needs a distraction. Something to do with his hands, something to do with his mouth, something to replace the feeling of Kiara’s smooth skin and soft lips. Something to ground him and keep him from replaying the question she had asked him over and over in his mind, the question she’d asked like it was nothing, like it didn’t throw salt in an open wound.

“How do you remember so much from this when, anyway?” Kiara had asked, innocently, brazenly. Rafe’s unspoken words had filled the space between them, but he’s not sure she even noticed. But the things he’d kept inside, that he’d held in his lungs like this cigarette smoke, nearly suffocated Rafe. Because I’m not trying to forget everything like you are. Because there are things I want to remember.

And then Kiara had asked him to kiss her, her hands on Rafe but her eyes on JJ; the request was made lightly, off-handedly, like she wasn’t being casually cruel. Like he hadn’t spent months of sleepless nights trying to forget the taste of her. God. She really has no idea.

His phone buzzes with a text from the very person he’s trying not to think about, telling him the plan is a go. He expels the acrid smoke with a heavy sigh. So much for being distracted. Rafe stubs out his cigarette and rounds the fence, heading back into the yard and towards the house, where he comes face to face with Sofia. Her eyes narrow when she spots him, her whole face lit from within with manic rage.

“Rafe! RAFE! What the fuck!” Rafe turns on his heel and jogs away, dodging and weaving through people like his life depends on it. It just might. “Don’t run away from me! Kissing Kiara not even a month after we break up?? Is that why you pulled that asshole stunt? For her? I’m going to fucking kill you!” Rafe hurdles an overturned chair and darts around a tightly clustered group of people standing near a tall trashcan. He crouches behind it, and the group glances in his direction before deciding they’re more interested in the guy who’s about to shotgun his beer. They cheer on their friend on right as Sofia passes by, and the commotion helps provide Rafe with more cover.

He waits a few minutes to make sure he’s in the clear before creeping out from behind the trashcan, his head on a swivel to make sure he doesn’t see Sofia’s petite form in the immediate vicinity. He backs towards the house and away from the group, which has turned in his direction to stare.

“Don’t mind me folks, carry on,” Rafe says with a slight bow, feeling uncomfortable with all their eyes on him.

“You can only leave if you shotgun this beer, Cameron.” A person whose name he does not know aggressively waves a Miller Lite in his face.

Rafe is not in the mood. Furthermore, he feels way too old to shotgun a beer, so he tries to stall. “Well, I have to drive-“

“You want us to call over that girl that was yelling for you?” Rafe grabs the can with a huff just to get out of the situation.

“Pogues are psychos,” he mutters as the degenerate group cheers. And that’s how Rafe ends up shotgunning not one, but two Miller Lites to get away from the aggressive partiers. He’s not sure how much time has passed or how long JJ will be distracted for, but he’s just tipsy enough to throw caution to the wind and sneak into the house like they planned. Fuck it.

The party is happening completely outdoors, with the exception of the bathroom just inside the back door of the house. Rafe waits in the short line to avoid drawing attention to himself and dips into the bathroom when it’s his turn, biding his time until he can slip deeper into the house. He glances in the mirror, and he’s taken aback by how disheveled he looks.

His eyes are glassy and unfocused, and he swears his lips are still bitten pink from the kiss with Kiara. His bangs are sweaty and plastered to his forehead. He pushes them off impatiently. Fuck this long hair. He’s remembering why he buzzed it in the first place. Rafe opens the door a crack and peeks out into the hallway, waiting until the next person in line turns around before he slips down the hall unnoticed, deeper into the creaky house.

When Kiara brought up this party to him, she said it was the perfect opportunity to snoop around Groff’s house, to try and find anything incriminating or suspicious that might explain what he’s up to on the island. Rafe knew that he would end up doing the dirty work for this plan, which was part of the reason he was against the whole thing. If he’s being honest, he also hated the idea of Kiara potentially being around both Groff and JJ, knowing the damage they could do - both physically and emotionally. It’s a stupid plan, and he still stands by that.

But Rafe’s here now, so he’s going to make the most of the opportunity. He tiptoes down the dark hallway and turns the corner, eyeing the few closed doors that run down the length of the hall. He starts with the door closest to him, opening it to find a small, messy bedroom. The sheets are rumpled and the clothes are strewn about the room in that way that’s particular to young men. So he shuts the door and moves on to the next room, but the knob doesn’t budge. It’s locked. Suspicious.

Rafe pulls a credit card out of his wallet and hesitates; he knows it’ll look bad if the door is busted open, but he didn’t come all this way just to do nothing. He slides the credit card into the doorjamb and wiggles it around for a minute, eventually popping the fragile lock open.

Rafe steps into the stuffy office with purpose, knowing he has no time to waste. The space is cluttered and neglected, with overstuffed bookshelves and papers scattered over every surface. He starts with the scuffed wooden desk in the center of the room, rifling through piles of discolored papers, finding only old receipts and overdue bills. Nothing of interest.

Rafe moves to one of the small bookshelves that ring the room and nearly knocks over an empty bottle of cheap whiskey. He moves closer, squinting to see better in the dark, noticing the thick layer of dust coating everything on the shelf. Nothing useful or relevant is going to be here. And knowing Groff, how sneaky and distrustful he is, nothing incriminating is likely to be out in the open anyway. Rafe pauses for a moment and presses the heel of his hand to his forehead, trying to think clearly through his buzz. Where would a guy like Groff keep things he wouldn’t want other people to find?

His eyes snap to the desk in the center of the room. He remembers another man who had things to hide, the man who hit Rafe with a closed fist at only seven years old when he found something hidden under the desk in Ward’s office. His cheek stings with the memory of his father’s fist as he moves closer to the desk, dropping to his knees and running his hands along the rough underside. It’s hard without any light to guide him, but Rafe doesn’t want to risk drawing attention to himself. So he continues to blindly prod at the desk, searching for something out of place or unexpected. He swears quietly when he nicks his fingers on a jagged piece of wood.

Rafe’s about to give up when his fingers dip slightly into a groove between the main body of the desk and the right leg. He presses into the ident with two fingers, and a small compartment pops out near his hand. He gropes around in the tight space, his fingers brushing crumpled papers and cheap trinkets. 

Rafe pauses when he feels smooth, cool metal under his fingertips, and he pulls out the item from the cramped drawer. A piece of paper is stuck to the bottom of the circular object, but he doesn’t have time to read it. His head snaps up when he hears the familiar sound of a front door opening and closing. Something in Rafe’s gut tells him it’s not a fellow partygoer. He shoves the contraband into his pocket and shuts the secret compartment, trying to figure out what to do.

Fuck, I should have brought a gun. He wonders if this version of himself even owns a gun. He pats his pockets hopefully for a pocketknife or switchblade, anything to defend himself with. Nothing. God, the Rafe here is so woefully unprepared for violence.

No time to beat himself up now. Rafe has to act, and act quickly. He listens hard to the movement in the hallway, and he thinks he hears the footsteps retreat slightly - maybe going down a different hallway, maybe heading towards the main bedroom. Rafe takes a shuddering breath and sticks his head out past the doorframe of the office. The hallway is dark, empty. He hears movement in some other part of the house, but it sounds distant enough to risk his escape.

Rafe slips out of the office and shuts the door slowly, ensuring that there’s no telltale click as it shuts. He doesn’t hear footsteps anymore as he creeps down the dark hallway that opens into the small living room. He’s crossing the living room and is almost to the kitchen when he lets out a small sigh of relief. He can almost see the guest bathroom and the back door, the beacon of his freedom.

“You know, I’m well within my rights to shoot you where you stand,” a sharp, steely voice stops Rafe in his tracks. He turns around slowly when he hears the soft click of a semi-automatic gun, knowing who’s going to be pointing it at him. Groff aims the gun straight at Rafe’s chest from across the living room, his eyes glinting in the pale moonlight. Rafe tries to manufacture the appropriate amount of surprise that a normal person might feel from being held at gunpoint. He’s not sure how successful he is.

“Holy shit, is that a gun? I was just looking for a bathroom. I don’t want any trouble, sir.” The formality feels unnatural on his tongue. Rafe’s voice comes out an octave higher than normal, his voice sounding fake to his own ears.

“I just came back from a business trip, and I noticed the door to my office was unlocked. You know anything about that, young man?” Groff asks the question like he already knows the answer, and Rafe feels a bit like a man walking to the gallows. But a lie still spills out of him easily enough.

“No, not at all. I just had to piss so badly that I was looking for another restroom because of the line for the other one. I didn’t mean any harm, sir.” His hands are raised in surrender, but his eyes hold a thinly veiled threat.

“Aren’t you Ward Cameron’s boy?” Rafe hesitates for a split second, and Groff’s face hardens in the silence. “Don’t lie to me, boy. I’m not a patient man.”

“Yeah, I’m his son. But I’m just here for the party.” Rafe fights to keep his voice level, even as every part of his body tenses.

“I find that a little hard to believe.” Groff starts to say more, but he’s interrupted by an incredulous voice off to their left.

“Dad, what the fuck? Put the fucking gun away!” Out of the corner of his eye, Rafe watches JJ gesture wildly at the gun. Kiara is standing frozen beside him. “Someone’s going to see you!” Rafe almost laughs. Of course JJ doesn’t care that the gun is being pointed at Rafe, just that someone else from the party might see it. Groff turns to look at his son, and Rafe takes the opportunity to slip the object he stole out of his pocket and into his hand.

“I’ve got a bit of a situation here, JJ. Someone busted the office door.” He points at Rafe with the gun. “This a friend of yours?”

Rafe watches as Kiara drops JJ’s hand and walks to his side calmly, like she isn’t stepping into the line of fire of a madman. Rafe’s heart rate skyrockets and his blood pounds in his ears as Groff’s eyes flit to Kiara. “He’s with me, I’m so sorry. He’s never been here before, and I’m sure he just got turned around. He’s dumber than he looks.” Kiara’s eyes find Rafe’s then, and he glances pointedly down at his left hand, trying to communicate what he needs her to do with his eyes.

He watches as understanding flickers across Kiara’s face in an instant, and in that moment his relief is so strong that he almost wants to kiss her again. Kiara laces her fingers through Rafe’s and leans into his shoulder like she’s trying to placate him for her comment, and he slips the stolen object into her hand. Their performance turns out to be unnecessary, because Groff was distracted by a wordless argument with JJ anyway. When he turns his full attention back to Rafe and Kiara, he gestures for Kiara to step away.

“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. But before I get out of your hair, do you mind if I have a look in your pockets, young man?” Groff stalks up to him without waiting for a response, his movements like a predator stalking its prey. He transfers the gun to his left hand and pats Rafe down with his right. 

Rafe keeps his body rigid and still, resisting the urge to shove the heel of his hand into Groff’s nose. He senses Kiara’s full-body tension as Groff searches his pockets and pats down his sides. When the man comes up empty-handed he lets out a long sigh, the gun dropping to his side. But his eyes stay fixed on Rafe’s face. He doesn’t apologize, doesn’t act like what he did was out of line. He just quirks an eyebrow at Rafe in a silent warning.

“Enjoy the rest of the party. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.” Groff shoots them a reptilian smile before tucking the gun away and retreating into the shadowy hallway.

“Fucking asshole,” Rafe mutters, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He feels hot rage build in his chest, and his body leans towards Groff’s departing figure without realizing it. He’s stopped by a firm hand on his forearm. Kiara is looking up at him, and even in the dark he can see the concern in her eyes.

“Rafe, come on. We should be getting home anyway.” Kiara’s breathing is a little too fast, her voice tense and shaky. Rafe realizes she was scared for him. He doesn’t know what to do with that information, but he lets her drag him towards the back door as he tries to figure it out.

“Kie, wait. Am I going to see you again?” JJ’s voice is casual and level, like Rafe wasn’t just held at gunpoint in his house. JJ doesn’t even acknowledge the fact that Kie is holding onto Rafe now, that she’s leaving with him. He doesn’t even spare Rafe a glance.

“Number’s the same.” There’s a warmth in Kiara’s voice and smile that has never been directed at Rafe, and that realization sets his teeth on edge as they walk out the back door. He tenses under her grip, and Kiara drops his arm.

Rafe walks stiffly to the car, any buzz he once felt long gone. They don’t speak as they get into the car, and the silence is thick and uncomfortable as Rafe pulls away from the Maybank house. Kiara is stealing glances at Rafe out of the corner of her eye, and he can tell by her body language that she’s pissed. Well, that makes two of us.

“Jesus Christ, Rafe. What a shit show.” Rafe doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes on the road. Flexes his jaw. Drums his fingers against the wheel. He thinks about how he could bring up that this was all her stupid idea in the first place, but that’s not what’s really bothering him, is it?

“Can I not leave you alone for 5 minutes?” This comment gets under his skin enough to loosen his tongue. Rafe thinks about what Kiara was doing while she left him alone to fend for himself, and the words come out in a rush.

“What the hell were you doing with JJ?” His voice sounds angry. He realizes belatedly that he is angry.

“Saving your ass, apparently. You’re welcome, by the way.” Kiara folds her arms over her chest with a huff.

“Yeah, but what were you guys going inside for?” Rafe does what he always does - he presses the bruise. “And did I see you two were holding hands?”

“He was getting us something different drink.” Kiara shifts in her seat, making a face at him. “What’s up with the 20 questions? Did you find anything or not?”

“I gave it to you, so you tell me.” Rafe’s voice  is too sharp, almost whiny. The sound of it just makes him more angry. He’s so busy berating himself internally that he doesn’t realize that Kiara has gone silent, staring down at the dull bronze object that she pulled from her pocket. Her fingers hover above it like she’s scared to touch it. “What, Kie?”

“It’s Big John’s compass.” Kiara’s voice is shaking almost as much as her hands. “Groff had this?”

“Yeah.” They’re both silent for a moment, their minds spinning as they try to put the pieces together. “What’s on the paper?”

“Coordinates, it looks like?” Kiara holds up the small slip with a shrug, and Rafe glances away from the road to look at it. The scrawled numbers shock him so much that he does a double take, veering slightly into the other lane of traffic as he looks again.

“Jesus, don’t drive off the road!” Kiara exclaims. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“That’s Ward’s handwriting.” Now Rafe’s voice is the one shaking. He grips the wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

“Shit.” It’s the only thing Kiara says in response, but Rafe thinks that about sums it up.

“Guess I’m making the trip to Raleigh after all.”

———————————————————————

Rafe sits in silence for the three and a half hour drive to Raleigh, and by the time he gets to the prison he’s half out of his mind.

At first he tries to listen to the radio, and then he turns to his Spotify. But the songs on his playlists are all bullshit he couldn’t imagine actually liking. Podcasts about current events threaten to make his head explode. So he just sits alone with his thoughts for most of the trip, which turns out to be a huge fucking mistake.

Kiara had to work, which is probably for the best. Things are still a little strained, a little tense between them, and Rafe knows it’s mostly his fault. Before he left he was being petty, moody, hard to be around. But he knew that Kiara would never look at him the way she looked at JJ, so fuck it. He just kept pressing the bruise.

To make the car ride even worse, his mind keeps going back to their kiss against his will. The kiss she had asked for - for all the wrong reasons, but still. She had asked him to do it. And she hadn’t been the one to pull away. He can’t quite wrap his head around that, even now.

Or the way that there were moments before, during, and after the kiss where she looked simultaneously like both versions of her that Rafe holds in his memory - tender and angry, hateful and loving. The two versions of Kiara warring for dominance. 

For Rafe, it’s a little easier. No matter what the package might look like, both versions of himself are similar enough; he’s still tortured, broken, insecure at the core. The cancer still lives in him, lives in his family, even if it hasn’t spread quite as far yet.

But Rafe’s life here is different- he can’t deny that. And in the silence his thoughts drift to the person he usually tries to avoid thinking about, the one he’s currently driving to see. His father. Alive. Sitting behind bars. 

Rafe can’t decide if the feeling in his gut is dread, relief, or mix of both. He’s had almost two years since Ward’s death to try and sort through what he feels about his father, but Rafe spent most of that time trying not to feel anything at all. Which is coming back to bite him in the ass.

It all comes rushing to the surface now - the last time he saw his dad before he died, in the other Kildare. The way his father had told him he was a good boy but Rafe hadn’t believed him, not after Ward spent Rafe’s whole life hammering the ways he was a disappointment into his developing skull. The way the coffin was empty at the funeral. The way the tombstone proclaimed Ward’s devotion as a father while Rafe struggled constantly with the cruelty that had branded him - marked him forever as an unloveable disappointment.

And although Rafe hasn’t killed anyone here, has even managed to piece together a decent life while Ward rots behind bars, memories flood in that sting the same, memories of the familiar rejection and disdain. The time Ward hit him so hard that it knocked a tooth loose. The time when Rafe was just 14 years old, and his drunken father dad told him he was the reason his mother had left. The way Sarah would get a hug everyday, without fail, while Rafe was lucky to get even a nod of acknowledgement. The Rafe here was still full of these empty memories and desperate for love he so rarely received.

Rafe is so tense that he thinks he might snap the steering wheel in half. He’s dreading seeing his father. He also can’t wait to get there.

Rafe parks in front of the imposing prison in a trance, barely taking in the ominous barbed wire fence and lifeless gray exterior as he walks to the entrance. He barely notices the hands that pat him down and hand him a visitor’s pass. He walks slowly down the echoey hallway, hearing nothing except his own pulse in his ears. He sits down numbly in front of the plexiglass window with a phone hanging on the wall next to it, his hands folded in his lap.

Rafe’s vision is blurred around the edges, and nothing comes into focus until an orange-clad figure sits in the chair opposite him. His beard is scruffier, the lines on his face more pronounced, but Ward’s eyes are just as bright and unsettling as Rafe remembers. Those eyes scan him methodically, surveying him for deficiencies, weaknesses. Rafe feels himself shrinking under his gaze, feeling like a child again.

Ward picks up the phone and motions for Rafe to do the same. “Did your sister come with you?” Not even a hello, no basic greeting. Rafe doesn’t know why he expected anything else. He feels something in his chest harden, and his back straightens a little.

“She doesn’t want to see you.” Rafe tells himself he isn’t trying to be cruel, but that’s a lie. He takes sick pleasure in the way Ward’s face falls. “Guess you’re stuck with me, dad.”

Ward nods slowly, appraising Rafe with his sharp eyes. “Something seems different about you. What’s going on, son?”

No sense beating around the bush; Ward always could see right through him. Rafe pulls out the compass and slip of paper and set them close to the transparent window. “I brought a couple things for you to look at.”

Ward’s whole body tenses, and his fingers flex around the phone. His sharp breathing rattles out of the receiver. “Rafe…”

“What, not going to talk to me without your lawyer present?” Rafe forces himself to maintain eye contact. “I found these in Groff’s house, dad. I’m trying to help you out, here.” Ward’s eyebrows draw together, just slightly. “Why did Groff have Big John’s compass? This is your handwriting.” Rafe taps the piece of paper with his free hand. “What are these coordinates?”

The silence stretches taut between them, and for a moment Rafe thinks he’s not going to get an answer. “Those were the coordinates that helped us find the gold.” Ward’s voice is barely above a whisper.

“You did find it?” Rafe releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His bangs flutter lightly beside his face.

“Yeah. And then Groff stole it from us. I don’t know what he did with all that gold but…I know he had some big debts to pay. Huge. Big enough to kill for that money.” Ward’s eyes flicker to the compass and stay there.

“So you had nothing to do with Big John’s death?” Rafe forces the words out and braces for his father’s outrage. But Ward doesn’t look angry. He just looks scared. What is he hiding?

“Of course not. Big John and I were working together. We were planning to use some of the money from the gold to fund our expedition to find the Blue Crown.” Rafe knows his father well enough to know he’s not telling the whole truth. Ward’s eyes flit from place to place, and his free hand taps erratically on the table.

“Why would Groff kill Big John and not you? Why would he leave a witness and risk a murder charge?” Rafe leans forward in his seat, searching his father’s face for the truth.

“I don’t know.” Ward’s face has shuttered, giving nothing away. “But I bet you anything that Groff is trying to find the Crown now, that he’s trying to pick up where we left off.” For the first time Ward’s voice shakes, and he presses a hand to the plexiglass window. His eyes are softer now, almost pleading. “You have to stop him, Rafe. And you have to prove it wasn’t me that did this.”

Rafe hates how easily he’s pulled back into his father’s orbit, how natural it feels to agree to do his bidding. To agree to whatever he wants to please him, to get his approval at any cost. “I’ll do my best.” Rafe swallows and presses his own hand to the glass. He swears he can almost feel the heat of Ward’s hand through the thick material that separates them.

“You’re a good boy, Rafe.” The words hit Rafe like a bolt of lightning. Tears blur his vision as his dad drops his hand and pushes back from the table. Ward leaves the phone dangling from the receiver as he stands and walks out of the small room, but Rafe stays frozen in place, trying to regain movement in his limbs. He sits there for so long that a corrections officer has to come over and check on him, and even then he can barely get out of the chair.

Rafe drives back to Kildare and tries to remember how to breathe.

———————————————————————

Rafe walks up the steps to Kiara’s apartment and unlocks the door with a key he doesn’t remember being given. Before he’s even across the threshold, he notices Kiara slumped in a chair near the kitchen table, her head thrown back and a first aid kit open next to her. Rafe scrambles over to her hunched form, barely managing to shut the door behind him.

“What happened to you??” His eyes trace her deliberately from head to toe, his gaze heavy as a hand would be. He takes in her tangled hair, her hollow eyes. The scrapes on her elbows, the small pieces of gravel still stuck in the wounds. Most notably, the gash on the back of her right calf that’s still seeping blood. Crumpled bandages and gauze are scattered on the floor below her feet, like she got frustrated and gave up halfway.

Kiara opens her eyes a crack before shutting them again. “Your sister.” She sighs deeply, the motion making her wince.

Rafe kneels down in front of Kiara, his hands ghosting over her wounds with concern. “Jesus, Sarah.”

And then a memory hits him before he can stop it -

~

“Jesus, Sarah. You scared the shit out of me.” Rafe had creeped back into Tannyhill at some early hour of the morning after sleeping with Kiara for the first time, trying not to wake anyone. But when he slipped into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, Sarah was already at the island, watching him with knowing eyes. Like she was waiting for him.

She had put down her spoon and folded her arms over her chest. “Did you have fun? I hope you did. I hope you had the fucking time of your life, because that’s never happening again.”

Rafe’s stomach had dropped clean out of his body, but he’d still tried to lie. “Sarah, I don’t know what you’re…”

She pushed back from the counter, standing to face him. “Cut the shit, Rafe. I’m not an idiot. You don’t think I’ve noticed the vibe? The way you look at Kiara? The way you two gravitate towards each other like there’s no one else in the fucking room? I know where you went last night.” Rafe wanted to argue, wanted to say she didn’t know what she was talking about, wanted to say it was too early in the goddamn day for this. But his tongue sat leaden in his mouth as Sarah kept talking.

“And I’m telling you, as Kiara’s best friend and as your sister, that is never happening again. You’re going to end things with her, now, before it goes any further.”

Anger finally flared in Rafe, hot and thick. “And why would I do that Sarah, huh? What gives you the right to meddle in our shit, telling me what we can and can’t do?”

“Because you’re just going to fuck it up.” Her words were a kill shot. Rafe froze in place as the blood drained out of his face, out of his body. “You’re just going to end up hurting her. Like we always do. Like the way dad hurt mom. Like the way I always hurt Topper, even though he keeps coming back. Our family…we don’t know how to be good. We try to cover it up with money and parties and all that bullshit, but we just ruin things, Rafe. Kiara deserves more than that. She deserves more than you. Probably deserves more than me, too, but I’m not trying to date her.” Sarah’s words were sharp, hurtful, but her face was soft and understanding. The contrast just made it harder for Rafe to bear.

“If you’re so dead set on protecting her, why not have this conversation with her? She can make her own decision. You don’t need to make it for her.” Rafe’s chest heaved with emotion, and for a moment he was scared he might start to cry.

“She won’t listen to me. But you will. You care about her too much to risk hurting her. So you’ll end it.” In that moment Rafe hated that she knew him so well.

“Fuck you, Sarah.” But it was too late. The damage was already done. Her words had already burrowed beneath his skin, had already knocked something loose that he would never be able to put back in place again. 

Rafe spent the next year and a half trying to prove Sarah wrong, even as their father was accused of murder and sent to jail, even as he got a new girlfriend and Kiara stopped looking at him when they were in the same room. He spent that time denying the existence of the ragged hole inside of him that just continued to grow.

Rafe was the perfect boyfriend, the perfect son, the perfect brother. He had saved Kiara from inevitable heartbreak. And he fucking hated himself.

~

“I know. She’s acting like you.” Kiara’s voice pulls him out of the painful reverie. Her eyes are open and there’s a teasing glint in them. But her face is pale, and for once, Rafe doesn’t take the bait. He gestures at the gash on her calf, which seems to be in a spot that’s hard for her to reach.

“Let me look at that,” Rafe says firmly, gesturing for her to sit on the kitchen counter to give him better access.

Kiara waves him off, acting like she’s going to stand up and walk away. “I’m fine, Rafe. It’s nothing. Knowing you, you’ll probably make it worse.” But she wobbles on her feet, and Rafe grabs her hand to steady her with an exasperated sigh.

“You’re dripping blood onto the floor. Don’t be so goddamn stubborn. Lemme see, Kie.” She doesn’t seem to have the energy to argue again. Her grip is weak as Rafe helps her onto the counter and grabs some paper towels, shoving them under the foot that’s propped up on the chair.

They sit in silence as Rafe holds a damp washcloth to the gash with one hand, trying to stop the bleeding. He knows Kiara doesn’t handle blood well, so he’s not surprised that she doesn’t look down. The only sounds as he works are the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional chirp of crickets outside. 

Eventually, Rafe grabs the rubbing alcohol and the cotton pads, looking up at Kiara before reaching for the wound. She nods tersely in encouragement, but she winces as the alcohol cleans out the gash. Kiara digs the fingers of her right hand into Rafe’s shoulder when it starts to sting a little too much. He tries not to lean into her touch, tries not to focus on the way her fingers send electricity running through every nerve ending even with a layer of fabric separating their skin.

“Sorry,” he mutters, brushing the last of the gravel out of the wound with gentle motions.

“S’okay. I’m just being a baby.”

“Well I wasn’t going to say it…” Rafe jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

“Shut up,” Kiara huffs, but she’s almost smiling. She studies him as he reaches for the gauze, and Rafe, as is often the case with her, feels vaguely like he might be in trouble. 

“Rafe, you look exhausted.”

“Well, over 7 hours of driving will do that to a person.” The response comes out sounding more sarcastic than he wants. He takes a deep breath and tries again. “Ward said Groff did it, not him.” Rafe tapes the gauze into place and looks up at Kiara, whose warm brown eyes are unreadable.

“Do you believe him?” It’s the question he’s been asking himself for the last 4 hours. He still doesn’t have an answer.

Rafe runs a hand through his hair before reaching for a bandage from the first aid kit. “I don’t know. We know what Groff’s capable of. But we know what my dad’s capable of, too.” Kiara doesn’t say anything to that, and the silence makes Rafe itch. “He said that Groff took the gold, and that he’d bet anything that he’s looking for the Blue Crown now.” Rafe stares at the bandage in his hand, his breathing shallow, unable to make his hands move.

Heat courses through his whole body when a gentle finger lifts his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. “You okay?” There’s a small crease between Kiara’s eyebrows and her pupils are dilated. Rafe tries to swallow in a mouth that’s suddenly way too dry.

“Yeah. Just feels like the worst fucking deja vu, Kie.” His laugh is strained and humorless.

“I know.” Kiara drops her hand from his face, and Rafe feels a sharp pang of disappointment. He refocuses on wrapping her leg, winding the soft fabric tightly around her calf. “And I know what it feels like to see someone you love come back from…” Kiara hesitates. “You know. I’m sorry you had to go alone. And… I’m sorry about what happened at the party. Making you go in the house. I shouldn’t have made you risk your life like that.” Kiara fiddles with her rings, avoiding eye contact.

A few different responses flash through Rafe’s head in quick succession - he’s a big boy, he made the decision to go in the house on his own, she’s not responsible for him. But he doesn’t say any of these things. “You don’t ever have to apologize to me, Kie.” The words surprise them both.

Rafe finishes tucking the bandage and rises to his feet, holding out a hand to help Kiara down from the counter. She studies his face as she takes his hand, her smooth fingers featherlight as they slide against his rough palm. As Kiara steps down from the counter she slips on the chair, and Rafe steadies her with a hand on the hip. 

He takes most of her weight as he eases her down to the ground, so his fingers dig into the soft flesh around her hip. Kiara’s lips part slightly at the unexpected contact. They stay like that for a few moments, locked together but not looking at each other, their chests only a few inches apart. Rafe feels her breath coming out in small puffs against his sternum. He thinks about what it would feel like if he reached down and tilted her head up, how it would feel to kiss her now with no one else here to see. With nothing to run from and no one to prove anything to.

Kiara’s throat bobs as she swallows harshly, and she looks up at him through her long lashes. “Rafe-“ she whispers, her voice beckoning him closer. The gap would be so easy to close. Rafe leans in without thinking. 

Kiara jumps at the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway, like she’s just remembered where they are. “Oh shit, that’ll be JJ. I told him he could come get me.” The words reverberate inside Rafe like a gunshot, and he steps away with a jerk. “Hopefully if I get him talking I can find out what him and Groff are up to. Might take a few hangouts.” Kiara attempts to smile and Rafe nods wordlessly, trying to busy himself by putting away the first aid supplies.

Kiara turns to look at him as she puts on her shoes. “Thanks for patching me up. You going to be alright here by yourself?” She’s smiling, but that little crease between her eyebrows hasn’t gone away.

“Always am.” Rafe realizes a smile can be a lie as he plasters one to his face, just for it to peel away the second she turns towards the door. Kiara disappears out of the apartment and breezes down the steps, hopping into JJ’s car and leaving Rafe in the dark. He’s seen her leave with him a hundred times before. It never hurts any less.

Chapter Text

Kiara doesn’t know how she could ever forget that word travels fast on a small island.

It’s the evening after the chaotic party at the Maybank house, and she’s sitting with John B and Pope after her shift at the Wreck. They chat and eat cold leftovers as the sun sinks below the horizon, its descent bathing everything in a soft, golden glow. The rich light fills Kiara with enough contentment to withstand the teasing of John B and Pope, which has been incessant since they sat down.

They’re currently ribbing Kiara for her kiss with Rafe, which (much to her chagrin) seems to be the talk of the town today. Kiara’s glad he’s not around to hear the gossip. She thinks Rafe is on his way to see Ward in prison, but she’s not completely sure. They haven’t talked much for the last 24 hours, and Kiara recognizes that it’s probably her fault.

“Can’t believe y’all made such a scene at the party and we didn’t even see it,” Pope laments, popping a limp fry into his mouth.

“Yeah well, we had to get out of there pretty fast after Groff held Rafe at gunpoint.” Kiara slaps a hand to her mouth, but the information is already out. The boys stare at her with their mouths agape.

“Groff did WHAT??” John B exclaims, nearly dropping the condensation-slicked soda cradled in his hand.

“Keep your big mouth shut, John B! Jesus! Can’t take you anywhere,” Kiara hisses, darting her eyes around frantically. Luckily they’re past the lunch rush, and no one else seems to be paying much attention to them.

“Sorry for being surprised about a whole ass Mexican Standoff happening at a party we also attended!”

“I think technically a Mexican Standoff is when two people hold each other at gunpoint,” Pope supplies unhelpfully.

“Also sounds pretty racist,” Kiara adds, wrinkling her nose. Her phone buzzes with a message, and her heart launches into her throat at the name on her screen.

JJ: you free tn Carrera?

Kiara: depends, Maybank. are you going to be an asshole again?

JJ: only if ur into that kind of thing

Kiara: not a great start, ngl

JJ: whatever

JJ: pick u up at 9? send ur addy

Kiara: don’t be late

Kiara realizes she’s smiling at her phone as she sends JJ her address and tries to school her face into something more neutral.

“I feel like you two are intentionally missing the point,” John B sighs. “Can we get back to the main issue at hand? WHY was Groff holding Rafe at gunpoint, Kiara?”

She never does get to answer him.

“KIARA ISABELLA CARRERA!!” A shrill voice rings out across the parking lot. Kiara looks up, startled, to see Sarah Cameron storming towards them.

“Your name has a lot of syllables,” Pope notes in a tense whisper.

“Lots of a’s in there,” John B adds. “Many vowels.”

“Shut up,” Kiara hisses, watching nervously as Sarah advances. She looks dishevled but determined, like a piece of news so shocking caused her to roll out of bed and immediately hunt Kiara down. Her face, usually round at the cheeks and soft in the eyes, is all sharp edges and tense lines.

Oh shit. She hadn’t thought about how Sarah would react to being blindsided by the town’s latest piece of hot gossip, the juicy tidbit featuring her best friend and brother. Kiara stands up to intercept her, not wanting to make a scene so close to the restaurant. She rolls her eyes when Pope and John B move to follow her, drawn to the drama like moths to a flame.

“Sarah, let me explain-“ Her friend cuts her off with a harsh laugh, coming to a stop at the edge of the parking lot. The dying sunlight glints off the metal of the cars parked behind Sarah, making Kiara squint.

“Oh, this should be good. You can explain why you were making out with my brother last night, and while you’re at it, you can also explain why there’s a rumor going around that he dumped his girlfriend to shack up with you. ” Sarah punctuates every other word with a sharp clap, and Kiara finds herself at a loss for words in the face of the unexpected vitriol. She’s never seen Sarah like this before, even when she’s pissed at Topper. Kiara hadn’t expected her to be this mad.

Sarah bristles at her uncharacteristic silence. “What the actual FUCK, Kiara?? Is this why you’ve been so sketch and distant lately? Because you’re doing THIS SHIT again?” Sarah gestures wildly around her. “Can’t you find anyone else to fuck on this island besides my brother?” Kiara notices Pope and John B glance at each other out of the corner of her eye, and she flushes.

She regains control of her tongue and tries to tamp down her indignation at being berated in public. “Wait a minute, we’re not fucking, Sarah. That’s not what’s going on here. We’re just both going through a hard time right now.” Sarah’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah, Rafe and Sofia broke up, but I had nothing to do with that. And he’s not shacking up with me. He just…comes over sometimes.” Kiara flushes even deeper as the obvious lie slips out. Rafe is kind of shacking up with her; at some point in the past month, the chest of drawers in the guest room filled with his things.

Sarah scoffs, her brown eyes narrowing into skeptical slits. “What a load of bullshit, Kiara. What hard time are you going through, exactly? What could possibly be going on that would justify you playing house with Rafe ? What’s so important that you’re ignoring your friends? Is it sooo exhausting to ignore one guy who’s obsessed with you to fuck with the emotions of another guy who’s obsessed with you?”

Each of Sarah’s words land like a slap. It’s all Kiara can do not to stumble backwards at the force of them. “Sarah, Rafe’s not obsessed with me. He literally had a fiancée like, two minutes ago.” It comes out a little sharper than Kiara planned.

“Yeah, well. Looks like he doesn’t anymore, yeah? Maybe Rafe was right the first time. I should have come to you to make myself absolutely clear.” Kiara’s brows draw together. It’s clear she’s missing some essential piece of context here. “You need to leave him alone, Kiara. It’s obvious that you don’t know what you want from the people in your life, and you’re dragging him down with you.”

Any confusion Kiara feels is washed away by a sudden tide of rage. “I need to leave him alone?? I’m dragging him down??” She asks incredulously. If Sarah only knew what Rafe had put Kiara through, what he’d put them all through. What she’s saying is ludicrous.

Sarah continues like Kiara didn’t speak. “You can’t keep doing this to him. He would never admit it, but he’s always going to let you fuck with his head. All this back and forth can’t be like, good or healthy for him.”  Kiara almost laughs out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation, even as something in her chips and falls away at Sarah’s words.

Sure, Kiara’s the one fucking with his head, not the fact that they’re literally in an alternate universe. She’s being the shitty one, the predator, when Rafe’s the one that came to stay with her. She could scream.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Sarah.” Kiara’s voice is low and quiet, almost menacing as she takes a slow step forward. “And you don’t get to lecture me about being a shitty friend. You spend virtually all your time with your asshole boyfriend who treats you like shit. You don’t even like him, Sarah! Why don’t you fix your own fucking problems with your life before you try to meddle in mine?”

A cocktail of emotions swirls in Sarah’s light brown eyes - hurt, betrayal, anger. But she squares her shoulders and takes another step forward, trying to keep her voice even. “Oh, very nice. Do you feel good about that?” She laughs, but the sound is hollow. “God, I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“That would require pulling your head out of your ass for long enough to get a good look at me,” Kiara snaps, and she hears John B’s sharp intake of breath from behind her left shoulder. The tension between Kiara and Sarah, pulled taut by weeks of distance, finally snaps.

Sarah closes the gap between them with two small steps, fury turning her eyes molten. There’s a flurry of motion so fast that Kiara only registers Sarah’s movement as determined hands are already pushing into her shoulders. Sarah shoves her with all the force in her small body, and the impact catches Kiara off guard and sends her sprawling to the ground. Kiara feels a flash of sharp, concentrated heat as a jagged piece of gravel slices into her right calf, but the pain barely registers.

“Fuck you, Kiara!” Sarah stands over her panting, her blonde hair hanging around her face in wild clumps. She looks unhinged, almost feral, and for a second Kiara fears she might curb stomp her. Apparently he sees the same thing in Sarah’s face, because John B steps forward and grabs her by the waist, pulling her away before she can do anything more drastic.

“That’s enough, Sarah,” he grunts breathlessly, struggling to keep her in his grasp while Pope helps Kiara to her feet.

“Get the fuck off me!!” Sarah kicks and writhes against John B as he hauls her towards her car, but he’s bigger and his grip is firm.

Kiara stands numbly beside Pope as John B finally sets Sarah on her feet by the passenger side of the car, watching as all the fight drains out of her. She slumps against the door as John B turns back to Pope and Kiara, his eyes wide.

What the fuck, he mouthes, before pulling out his keys and tossing them to Pope. “I’ll take her home. You take the Twinkie and meet me at the Chateau, alright?”

“I don’t need your fucking help,” Sarah protests weakly, but there’s no bite to it. She looks like she can barely support her own weight.

“Well, good thing I’m not asking,” John B says evenly, opening the passenger side and nudging her to get in. “Pope, I’ll see you in a bit, yeah? Kie, same time next week?” Kiara’s head bobs in a weak nod as John B hops into the driver’s seat of Sarah’s silver Audi and pulls away.

“Jesus Christ,” Pope begins, running a hand down his face. “What the hell was that?”

“Don’t start,” Kiara huffs, wincing as the shock wears off and she regains feeling in her right calf. Her leg is throbbing in time with her heartbeat, and she can feel hot, sticky blood trickle down her leg in a slow stream.

“I’m just saying, y’all have problems. You both need anger management or something.” Pope shakes his head.

“A man policing female rage. Spare me,” Kiara retorts, but like Sarah, her voice lacks its usual sharp edge. Suddenly she feels exhausted too, and all she wants is to sit down in the silence of her apartment. She brushes gravel from her denim shorts and hobbles towards her car, trying not to look down as her sandal becomes slick with blood.

“You’re bleeding, Kie! Should you really be driving home?” Pope calls after her.

“Don’t come after me or I’ll punch you in the throat! I’ll see you next week, Pope!”

———————————————————————

A little over an hour later, Kiara gives up on administering herself first aid, resolving to bleed to death instead. She can’t reach the damn wound, and it doesn’t feel worth the effort, anyway.

So she closes her eyes and leans against the smooth wood of the kitchen chair, trying and failing to focus on anything other than Sarah’s words. But they echo up from the deepest chasm of her mind and reverberate around her skull, words that make no sense but haunt her nonetheless.

You need to leave him alone.

You’re dragging him down with you.

He’s always going to let you fuck with his head.

Kiara keeps telling herself that Sarah was defending a different Rafe, a Rafe that doesn’t really exist. But she can’t shake the nagging feeling in her stomach that there’s a kernel of truth in what Sarah said. And it pisses her off.

The Rafe she’s always known is violent, brutal, always one wrong step away from plummeting into the darkness that he balances on the edge of. She thinks of his hands on her neck, choking her; the look on Sarah’s face when she told them Rafe nearly drowned her; the horror in John B’s eyes after he’d seen Sheriff Peterkin bleed out on the tarmac after Rafe shot her in broad daylight.

Sure, Rafe’s a bit more predictable now, a bit calmer; his anger lingers under the skin now instead of branding him like a violent tattoo. Kiara doesn’t feel afraid of him anymore, no longer feels like he’s at risk of losing control at any moment - but it wasn’t that long ago since she’d seen that version of him. You don’t just stop being a violent person because a little bit of time has passed. And Rafe shouldn’t get a gold medal for not killing anyone lately.

Before today, Kiara never put much thought into the reason he’s helped her so much over the past year -  Rafe’s nothing if not practical when it comes to business, and she figured helping her find Groff was mutually beneficial. He wouldn’t stick around if he wasn’t getting something out of the arrangement. Right?

What if Groff’s not the real reason he’s always around? A traitorous voice whispers in the back of Kiara’s mind.

And then Rafe is pushing open the front door and stumbling over the threshold in his rush to reach her. Like Kiara’s thoughts of his cruelty willed yet another version of him into existence, this one wild-eyed and worried at the sight of her injury.

As Rafe kneels down beside her and inspects the wound, Kiara watches him intently through squinted eyes. She tries not to read into the concern in his eyes (wouldn’t anyone be worried about blood dripping onto the floor?), or the gentle way he assesses the gash without actually touching her. She tries to tease him, tries to ease the heavy tension that settles between them like a physical weight, but for once he doesn’t take the bait.

Kiara doesn’t have the energy to fight him after everything that’s happened today, so she lets him help her onto the counter and watches as he cleans and bandages her cut with singular focus. She’s not used to this version of Rafe; the caretaker, the protector. She’s used to seeing his intensity wrapped around blinding rage, not channeled into raw tenderness.

The gentle brush of his fingers and the small crease between his eyebrows bring a lump to Kiara’s throat. Rafe’s handling her like she’s breakable, like she’s valuable, like he knows what his hands are capable of and refuses to crush her between them. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Rafe look this soft and vulnerable, his usually icy blue eyes thawed with concern. All his defenses seem stripped away as he tends to her injury, like her pain has pierced his own armor.

Kiara thinks again about the violence his hands have wrought, the blood he’s ushered forth into the world time and time again. But now, on his knees in front of her, he wipes her blood away with careful hands. Is it possible that he’s really changed?

Perhaps part of the reason Kiara reaches for him is to try and find an answer in his face, to mine the truth from his unreadable eyes. Maybe part of it, a part she doesn’t want to admit, is that she wants to smooth the groove between his eyebrows, wants to ease the tension he carries in his tired, slumped shoulders. She wants to ease his pain, not cause it. And she doesn’t know what to do with that.

Kiara lifts his chin with tentative fingers, his stubble brushing against her smooth skin. Rafe’s expression when she touches him nearly takes her breath away. His face cracks open, and the emotions he usually tries to hide leak out of every tiny fracture. He looks exhausted and sad, the bags under his eyes telling the story of the long and arduous journey he took today better than any words could.

But he also looks… hopeful. Trusting. Expectant. Like he’s relieved to transfer some of his burden to someone else, if only for a moment. He looks very young and small, and Kiara has to resist the urge to pull Rafe in and wrap him in a hug. In all of the chaos, she realizes that she’s only been thinking about herself. She forgot about all the things that Rafe has lost, too.

And when Kiara tries to apologize for letting him go to the prison alone, his answer floors her more than anything else he could have said.

“You don’t ever have to apologize to me, Kie.” She can tell he says it without thinking, the words coming out as natural as breathing, as easily as he would say his own name. Like it’s obvious, like it’s muscle-memory.

Kiara sucks in a sharp breath as he offers a hand to help her down. They’re only standing a few inches apart once she’s back on the ground, and all she can see and smell and feel is Rafe. His solidity, his warmth, his scent that’s spicy with a hint of sweetness. The way his light blue shirt stretches taut against his chest, the color bringing his eyes into sharp focus and accenting the pink of his lips.

And for one crazy, out-of-body moment, Kiara wants to close the gap between them and press her lips to his again, wants to run her tongue along the inside of his teeth and see if it tastes like devotion. She aches for closeness, heat, skin against skin. She doesn’t know if it’s Rafe she craves - but for a second she wants to find out.

She looks up at him through her eyelashes, her eyes lidded, and she can tell he’s breathing hard, the sound ragged and uneven.

“Rafe-“ Kiara starts, not entirely sure what she’s going to say. And then she hears the sound of tires on gravel. JJ.

Rafe jerks away when she says as much, and the abruptness of their separation snaps Kiara back to reality. What the fuck am I doing?

She’s just been spending too much time with Rafe, allowing herself to be sucked into his darkly magnetic orbit. He’s just the only other person that has any idea what she’s going through. That’s all.

Kiara tries to regulate her breathing as she slips her shoes on and turns away from Rafe. She doesn’t look back, afraid of what she’d see in his face if she did. Afraid of how looking at him might make her feel.

———————————————————————

“Where are we going?” Kiara’s finger tap an anxious beat on the worn seats of the pickup truck. Her interaction with Rafe is still buzzing under her skin, and she needs a distraction. Desperately.

“It’s a surprise,” JJ’s grin is lopsided, the white of his teeth glinting in the dim light from the streetlights outside. The smile doesn’t quite touch his eyes, like he’s turning on the charm without his heart being in it fully.

“I don’t think there are many things on this island that can surprise me.” Not anymore, Kiara thinks ruefully.

“Challenge accepted.” JJ slaps the dashboard with his hand and turns the radio up, humming along easily. It’s a song she doesn’t recognize, but Kiara nods her head to the beat anyway, trying to relax into the moment. Temperate May air rushes through the open windows, sending JJ’s wild blonde hair into disarray and stirring a few strands loose from Kiara’s bun.

JJ snatches a hat from the dashboard and places it backwards over his messy hair with a light whoop. The moment is so familiar and nostalgic that Kiara can’t help but stare across the center console, drinking up the sounds of JJ’s happiness as they fill the truck. She thinks her eyes might be watering, but she can’t bear to look away long enough to blink.

“What?” JJ’s eyes flicker to her, his tone cautious but teasing. Kiara shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but then, before she can think better of it-

“Just nice to hear your laugh again. Feels like it’s been forever.” TOO VULNERABLE, TOO VULNERABLE, Kiara shouts at herself, furiously blushing at the admission. She hopes it’s too dark for him to notice.

JJ’s face goes slack for a moment. Then he cocks his head to the side, looking bemused but also pleased. “I do have a nice smile.”

Kiara groans, but she’s glad for the diversion. “Ugh, nevermind. I take it back, you were way too smug about that.”

JJ lets out another bright laugh as he pulls the truck to a stop. Kiara can tell they’re by the water, but she can’t tell where.

“This is the surprise? We’re at…” Kiara squints into the thick, dark night. “….a dock?”

“Of course not,” JJ quips as he jumps out of the truck. “This was just Phase 1 of the surprise.”

Kiara follows along as JJ saunters to the water’s edge, walking up to a small skiff and hopping in. Kiara stands with her arms folded over her chest, watching JJ prepare the boat, his eyes flitting nervously from place to place.

“Whose boat is this?”

“Mine, of course,” JJ scoffs, holding out a hand to help her in.

“Then why do you look like you’re scared of getting caught?” Kiara doesn’t move, eyeing JJ skeptically with her eyebrows raised.

“Okayyyy, fine. I don’t know whose it is. But we’ll have it back in the morning before they even notice. I promise. C’mon Carrera. Live a little.” JJ’s eyes twinkle with amusement even in the dark, but his words punch the air from Kiara’s chest.

Live a little. Before she can think better of it, she takes JJ’s hand and hops into the boat, helping untie it from the dock. And then they’re off, and the only sounds that pierce the still night air are the hum of the motor and the slap of the waves as the boat slices through the water. It takes Kiara longer than it should to realize where they’re headed.

“The old lighthouse?” She shouts over the engine. JJ just nods, a sly smile on his face. Despite herself, Kiara is a little surprised. She hasn’t been to the decommissioned lighthouse since she was a kid, when she nagged her parents so much that they took her to the small, forbidding building, just to show her there wasn’t anything to see. The other lighthouse on the island, the functional one, has always been the main attraction, both for locals and tourists. Local teenagers are known to get up to all kinds of shenanigans at the other lighthouse.

This abandoned lighthouse is a stout building made of faded white brick, the color almost yellow after decades of neglect and harsh weather. It tapers off at the top, and the platform that rings the lantern room looks very small even as they approach the lighthouse’s base.

“Wow, consider me surprised,” Kiara drawls sarcastically as the boat’s engine drops to a low purr and the skiff hits the dock. “We came to stare at the old, creepy lighthouse. What a joy.”

“Not staring at it. We’re going up in it.” JJ smirks as he finishes tying the boat to the dock and turns to look at her. “You should see the fuckin’ look on your face. Told you that you’d be surprised.”

“Shut up.” But Kiara’s laughing, and she feels a little breathless as they approach the old building, looming like the ghost of islands past against the dark night sky. She notices that the padlock that usually hangs from the lighthouse door like a silent guardian is busted. Kiara raises her eyebrows, not expecting JJ to see in the dark.

“Not me,” he says, yanking the door open. It protests with a deep, throaty groan. “Just capitalizing on the opportunity.”

It’s pitch-black as they climb the stairs of the lighthouse, and Kiara pretends not to notice the way the rusted metal stairs creak under their weight.

“So, are you pissed about the other night?” JJ’s voice startles her so much in the dark that Kiara has to grope for the banister to keep from falling.

“Why would I be pissed?” She tries not to sound frazzled as she climbs the last few steps and walks through the door to the lantern room. It’s a slightly less consuming kind of dark up here, but Kiara still winces when JJ leans down and switches on a camping lantern, her eyes adjusting as the lantern illuminates the small space.

“Uh, I don’t know, my dad was holding your boyfriend at gunpoint?” JJ scratches his head as he drops to the ground, sitting cross-legged. He looks simultaneously awkward and at ease, a talent particular to JJ.

“So? Rafe can take care of himself. And he’s not my boyfriend.” Kiara sinks to the ground in front of him, mirroring his stance cautiously, like he’s a wild animal she’s afraid to spook.

“Okay, your roommate then. The guy you’re shacking up with.”

“Not you too. You sound like everyone else on this damn island.” JJ grins as Kiara groans, throwing her head back.

“You gonna tell me I’m wrong?”

Kiara pauses for a moment, considering him with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. “You know, for a guy who was pretending not to know my name last night, you seem awfully interested in the details of my personal life.”

JJ shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. It grates Kiara’s nerves, just a little. “I was just being a dick.”

“Successfully.” Kiara can’t tell for sure with the shadows thrown by the lantern concealing parts of his face, but she swears that JJ’s expression softens.

“I’m still interested in your life, Kiara. I always have been. It was just easier to pretend I wasn’t.” Kiara’s blinks rapidly and tries to swallow around the lump in her throat. His voice is soft, his face unexpectedly open. “A lot of things have changed.”

You’re preaching to the choir, is what she wants to say. Her other instinct is to do what JJ would do - make a joke to break the tension. But she forces herself to sit with it instead. And then she asks one of the many questions she wants an answer to.

“Why was that guy threatening you with a knife?” Kiara waits patiently as JJ’s eyes take on a faraway look, focusing somewhere over her left shoulder.

“You know, I used to come out to this lighthouse all the time when I was a kid. I would just sit on the dock by myself and stare at this lighthouse, and I would make up all these stories about my real dad, my real family. I convinced myself that he had gotten lost at sea, that my mom had disappeared with him, that one day they’d miraculously show up and we could be together again.” Kiara feels hot tears prick the backs of her eyes as JJ swallows once, twice, three times. “I stopped doing it when I became a teenager, when I finally convinced myself that it was stupid to keep hoping for something that wasn’t going to happen.” He pauses and blinks harshly.

Kiara averts her eyes and studies the small lantern room as she waits for him to continue. “And then it did happen. After Luke bailed for good, my real dad showed up out of nowhere. It was like a fucking miracle.” Kiara tries to force down the nausea in her stomach, fights to keep the disgust off her face. She hates that JJ calls him his dad, instead of Groff. A title he hasn’t earned. That he doesn’t deserve. “That guy at the party…was just a loose end that my dad and I are tying up before we leave town.”

Kiara’s head snaps back to JJ so fast her neck cramps. “You’re leaving town? When?”

JJ grimaces, like he’s said too much. “Just for a little while. And we’re not leaving for a bit.” His eyes dart from place to place, never settling for too long on Kiara’s face. She can tell he doesn’t want to say more about it. “But about that guy….well. My dad has his flaws, and yeah, maybe he has a few debts, he might be trying to get out of some shit that’s a little shady, but he cares about me. He’s the only family I’ve got, Kie.” He picks at a loose thread on his shorts, while Kiara swallows the words that strain against her lips. You have us.

JJ laughs, but the sound is a poor imitation of the real thing. “Jesus, I’m talking a lot. Sorry.”

“You always talk a lot. It’s never stopped you before,” Kiara teases, just to make him smile again.

She’s relieved when he does; the smile lights up his face and makes him look years younger. “Maybe it’s just nice to talk to someone my age for once.”

“John B and Pope…” Something in JJ’s expression shutters at their names, leaving Kiara scrambling for another point of entry.

“Those guys don’t get it. They don’t get that it’s complicated.” He cocks his head as he looks at her, his eyes unreadable. “I don’t know why, but I don’t get that vibe from you.”

Kiara whispers the words before she can think better of it. “I get it.” And she does. Being willing to do anything for the person you love, no matter the cost? Yeah, Kiara understands. She understands perfectly.

JJ’s clear, light eyes assess her in the dark, flitting across Kiara’s face until they settle somewhere lower. And then he scoots a little closer, close enough that their folded knees are brushing.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about since you saved my ass at the party?” His voice is deeper now, rougher. Usually JJ talking in this tone would make Kiara’s stomach clench, would send her heart racing. But there’s something cold in his tone, something measured, and it makes her feel uneasy.

“I’ve been wondering what Kook tastes like.” And then he licks his lips, and because she knows him like the back of her hand, Kiara can tell it’s premeditated. Still, she keeps her body absolutely still as JJ leans forward into her space. She wonders if her heartbeat is audible in the silence.

“JJ…” she says weakly.

“I like you, Kie. And I never like Kooks,” JJ whispers into the space between them. His warm breath on her lips makes her shiver.

“Lucky me.” Kiara sounds more breathless than badass, but she almost can’t believe that he’s this close after all this time. So close that she could count every individual eyelash if she wanted to. JJ brings his lips to hers, just a brush of skin and a whisper of pressure, but the contact is still enough to punch a small gasp out of Kiara.

A loud clanging from below makes them both jump, and JJ takes the opportunity to wind a hand around Kiara’s hip.

“Holy shit!” Kiara exclaims, and they squint at the stairs until they realize it was just the wind banging the door to the lighthouse open and shut. He presses his head into her shoulder, shaking with silent laughter, and Kiara feels every inch of her body tense at his closeness. But then JJ raises his head, and Kiara can tell by the gleam in his eyes that he’s going to try to make a move.

And Kiara realizes that no matter how desperately she wants to be close to JJ right now, she doesn’t want it to be just because he thinks he can. She wants JJ to want her. Not just the idea of her. Not when it doesn’t mean anything.

So Kiara pries JJ’s fingers off her waist and scoots back, pinning him in place with solemn eyes.

“If you brought me here just to get your dick wet, you’re going to be disappointed.” Kiara can tell by his sheepish expression and lack of bravado that she’s caught him off guard. More than that, she was right . He did think that’s what was going to happen. She barks out a scornful laugh. “Really? One day and you think we’re gonna fuck?”

“Now hold on-“ JJ starts, but Kiara pushes to her feet, something ugly burning in her chest. She towers over him with her hands on her hips, her voice sharp and unrelenting.

“You know, this whole ‘I Have a Surprise’ thing might work for you most of the time, but it’s not working tonight. So if you want to talk and get to know each other, great. Let’s stay. But if you’re just trying to fuck, we’re going to get back on that boat and you’re going to take me home, alright?” JJ stares up at her, his mouth agape, but Kiara doesn’t drop her gaze. Doesn’t give an inch.

Eventually JJ shuts his mouth, and he surveys her with something that looks a lot like admiration. “Alright. Let’s stay.” He pats the floor next to him, somewhat hesitantly, like he’s afraid Kiara’s going to bite his hand off. She sits a few feet away, looking at him calmly, letting the silence stretch without filling it.

JJ’s mouth tugs into a lopsided smile. “You’re fucking terrifying, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” But Kiara smiles back, and it breaks the tension. She tries not to think of another blue-eyed boy, one with sharper lines and broader shoulders, that’s said much the same thing to her. “So do you live here, or what?” She shakes the memory away and gestures at the sleeping bag in the corner, the camp lantern and the stray blankets littered around.

“Typical Kook. Haven’t you ever met a man that lives in a lighthouse before?”

They talk until Kiara can barely keep her eyes open, and then she lets JJ roll out the sleeping bag for her. He curls up with a few ratty blankets, his body close but not quite touching her. Kiara can feel his heat even from a distance, and she’s drawn to the familiarity of it, the way he radiates like a little sun. Her fingertips brush his as she shifts closer, and the slight contact makes her buzz more than anything else tonight.

But before she closes her eyes, Kiara checks her phone to see if Rafe has texted, if he’s asked where she is.

No messages.

There’s no indication that he even cares that she didn’t come back. But still, Kiara thinks about Rafe sitting alone in her apartment, and something she can’t name crawls up from her stomach and lodges in her throat.

You’re dragging him down with you.

Kiara rolls over onto her side and tries not to feel like dead weight.

Chapter Text

Days pass, and the wound on Kiara’s calf fades into a scar. She can’t tell if she’s avoiding Rafe, or if he’s avoiding her. The end result is the same, so Kiara guesses it doesn’t matter who started it.

After that night in the lighthouse, she starts spending more and more time with JJ. Just small ways at first; driving around with the windows down, going to the marina, eating at the Wreck. Gradually their hangouts start to consume more and more of Kiara’s time, bleeding into all of her waking hours. She barely sees Rafe anymore, and she never sees Sarah, even by accident. There’s a gaping Cameron-sibling-sized hole in her life, but Kiara ignores it like she ignores everything else.

Because she’s barely at the apartment, she doesn’t find out what Rafe’s been up to directly from him. Maybe it would have hurt less that way. Instead, she finds out in the traditional way that one usually finds out about things in Kildare. Through whispers. Through gossip passed from person to person like twisted currency, like dirty money. They’re at the Wreck when Kiara hears two girls talking about it in hushed tones, giggling behind their hands. She only hears snippets, but it’s enough to burrow under her skin like a parasite.

“Yeah, I heard they’ve been hanging out again, that Sofia’s been spending some time at Tannyhill….no ring but they seem friendly enough…”

Kiara grips the wooden picnic table until splinters chip off and lodge under her nails. Her anger is nonsensical, unjustifiable, laughable, even. But still, it takes several attempts for JJ to get her attention again, and she does a poor job of playing off her distress. She feels restless, pent up, ramming against the bars of her mental enclosure like a caged animal.

It’s getting harder to pretend that she doesn’t feel like the walls are closing in on her, like she isn’t being crushed under the weight of memories from two different realities. Like she isn’t fighting off memories of Rafe’s lips on her skin when JJ is sitting right in front of her, alive.

And it’s that maddening feeling, ever-present but worsened by the whispers, that causes Kiara to say yes to the party JJ’s talking about, even though Barry’s is the last place she wants to be. Well, almost the last place. More than anything, Kiara doesn’t want to go home and face Rafe if he’s there. And she doesn’t want to face a silent apartment full of memories if he’s not.

———————————————————————

Kiara’s never been to a party at Barry’s in either version of her life, and she’s starting to understand why. Crumpled cans clutter each corner like alcoholic dust bunnies; her sneakers stick to the floor with such adhesion that JJ has to help peel her off several times; the air conditioner rattles loudly but only blows hot air. As the night goes on, Kiara is increasingly surrounded by sweaty bodies and stale air.

And drugs. So many drugs. Not just weed and cocaine, but drugs Kiara has only ever heard of, ones that she couldn’t confidently identify with a gun to her head. Everywhere people are rolling, snorting, smoking, rubbing things in their gums and popping pills. Kiara keeps her cup clutched in a vise grip all night, not letting anyone touch it, not drinking anything unless she sees it come straight from the can herself.

JJ laughs and throws an arm around Kiara when she refuses a drink from one of Barry’s skeevy friends, like her fear is some cute and endearing trait. Then he pulls her over to rickety pong table and pours them both shots, something cheap and harsh that burns like she imagines shots of rubbing alcohol would.

JJ recruits two other people and they play game after game of beer pong, and Kiara loses count of how many cups of shitty beer she consumes. She feels JJ loosen with every beer he knocks back, his body becoming pliant and needy, drifting closer with each passing game.

At one point in the shapeless night, they finally finish playing pong and JJ pulls her into the throng of people, out on the makeshift dance floor. He leans in close and presses his lips to hers, but Kiara finds that she's too drunk to enjoy it. All she can really think is that he tastes like Bud Light. His eyes are glassy as he pulls away, and Kiara is so drunk that for a moment she thinks he’s literally buzzing from the kiss. It takes her a long time to realize that it’s just his phone vibrating.

“Oh shit,” JJ slurs, pulling his phone out and squinting at the screen. His face drops, and he instantly looks more sober. “It’s my dad. I gotta take this.” He grabs Kiara by the shoulders and looks into her eyes. “Stay here, alright? I’ll be right back. 3 minutes tops.” And then he’s gone, weaving through the mass of bodies and slipping through the back door.

Kiara stands rooted to the floor for a moment, trying to swallow in a mouth that’s far too dry. She’s unsteady on her feet, the room’s spinning a little, and her stomach is roiling, uncomfortably full of beer. Water will help, she tells herself. By the time I get water, JJ will be back.

So Kiara elbows her way through people that double as drunken roadblocks until she makes it to the kitchen. But the place looks like a crime scene, or maybe the kitchen in that movie Fight Club that JJ made her watch once. There’s not a drop of potable water to be found, just roaches and more cases of beer. There’s no water in the fridge, and the stream from the tap runs an unpleasant brown color.

Kiara groans, kicking an empty can in frustration. The motion knocks her off balance, and she steadies herself with one hand to the forehead and another pressed to the sticky countertop. She tries not to think of the bacteria teeming under her palm. Kiara’s sweating, she’s dehydrated, and she thinks she might be in real danger of getting sick. She needs to get out of here.

She fights her way back through the writhing bodies, looking for the mop of sun-bleached hair, the trademark backwards hat. Nothing. She crosses the living room once, twice, three times, like she’s conducting a grid search. After the third odyssey across the room, she collapses onto the arm of a beat-up couch, feeling like she’s been through war. Her head is spinning and every crevice of her body is sticky with sweat. Her mood has soured substantially. Where the fuck is JJ?

Kiara leans across the couch and smacks Barry on the arm, more bold than she usually would be with him. “Have you seen JJ? I can’t find his dumbass anywhere.”

“He’s gone, sweetheart. Long gone.” Barry leans over the table, snorting something Kiara can’t identify.

“Excuse me?” She stares at him like he’s grown a third head, ignoring the patronizing pet name. She must have heard him wrong; JJ was her ride out of here. He wouldn’t just leave.

“I saw him drive off 15, 20 minutes ago? Took off like a bat out of hell. Guess you’re stuck with us, sweetheart.” Barry’s smile is saccharine and sharp at the same time, like an alligator right before its jaws snap closed around its prey.

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” Kiara snaps, barely suppressing a shudder at the look on his face.

“Relax, doll,” the guy next to Barry drawls, and Kiara whips towards him in a blind fury. But then he’s blowing dense, dark smoke into her face, something that’s definitely not weed, something that feels like it’s corroding the tissue of her lungs as she takes a spluttering breath and accidentally draws it in.

“Dude! Not cool. You can’t do that shit to the uninitiated. Now she’s going to hurl.” Barry’s voice sounds like it’s coming from the end of a long, swirling tunnel. Kiara lurches off the couch and stumbles through the back door, barely keeping herself upright as she staggers across the lawn.

She falls to her knees as her stomach finally gives up its valiant fight, and she empties the contents into patch of dead grass. She heaves again, like her body is rebelling against the very night itself, but there’s nothing left to throw up. She shuffles a few feet to the right before collapsing onto her face with a groan, surrendering herself to the ground. It wouldn’t be so bad to sleep outside, she tells herself. Even if it is at a drug dealer’s house.

Kiara isn’t sure how long she stays like that, face pressed into the dry grass, chest heaving like a marathon runner. She’s nearly asleep when she hears an exasperated sigh cut through the peaceful quiet of the night.

“Ah shit, girl. You’re not dead, are you?” Kiara stirs slightly. “You made a goddamn mess.” Barry’s voice tuts from somewhere above her. Kiara mumbles something that he can’t make out, so he squats down next to her. “What was that?”

“Don’t call Rafe,” she mutters into the ground, for reasons she can’t quite identify. Maybe she doesn’t want him to see her like this - at her lowest, both literally and figuratively. Maybe she doesn’t want to explain how she ended up here.

A long pause. “I hate to break it to you, but he’s already here, sweetheart.”

And then she feels a warm palm on her lower back, rubbing small circles of comfort into her skin. Strong, familiar arms wrap around her waist, pulling her out of the depths of unconsciousness like a human life preserver. He takes all of her weight as she slumps against his chest, letting out small grunts of protest even though his arms are the only thing keeping her upright. Kiara thinks she probably smells horrible, and she tries to pull away for his sake.

“Oh, Kie,” Rafe sighs into her hair, the words soft and jagged around the edges. He doesn’t sound mad, or even exasperated. He just sounds sad, and somehow that’s even worse.

Kiara’s head is fuzzy and her vision is blurred, but somehow, eventually, they make it back to the car. Rafe buckles Kiara in with fingers that are much too gentle, and she almost feels angry. She doesn’t understand his tenderness with her, his effortless consideration.

He doesn’t say anything as he drives away from Barry’s, doesn’t even look in her direction. Kiara takes in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, and feels almost satisfied. He’s angry. Good. Anger is familiar. Anger is something she can deal with.

Kiara leans towards the door, pressing her face against the cool glass of the window. She nearly jumps when she feels Rafe’s warm fingers close around her forearm. He grabs her wrist, his long fingers wrapping all the way around until they touch each other, and he doesn’t let go for the rest of the drive. Like he’s afraid she’ll launch herself out of the car. Like he’s afraid she’ll slip away when he’s not looking, that his fingers might be the only thing anchoring her to reality. Kiara thinks distantly that they just might be.

Rafe parks in front of Kiara’s apartment, helping her out of the car and up the steps without a word. Once they’re inside he tries to steer her towards the kitchen for a glass of water, but Kiara fights him until they redirect to the bathroom. She wants to get the taste of her own stomach acid out of her mouth.

Rafe pushes her onto the closed toilet seat once her toothbrush is in hand, instructing her to stay put as he grabs a glass of water from the kitchen. When he comes back, Kiara speaks for the first time since he showed up at Barry’s.

“What does meth look like?” Kiara asks around her toothbrush, the words muffled by plastic and spit.

“What?” Rafe stares at her, baffled.

Kiara spits into the sink and rinses her mouth before explaining. “I think I might have accidentally smoked meth.”

“For fuck’s sake, Kiara.” Rafe pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

Kiara stumbles and trips her way back to her bedroom, pushing Rafe away when he tries to help.

“I didn’t even tell you where I was tonight,” Kiara slurs, flopping down onto her bed, still fully clothed. The room isn’t spinning anymore, but she’s still unreasonably drunk. She hates this feeling, and it’s making her lash out. 

Rafe lingers a foot away from the bed, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. You’re not exactly unpredictable. Didn’t take a genius to figure out where you were.”

“Haven’t seen you in basically weeks, and this is how you treat me? Rude.” Kiara huffs, closing her eyes and turning onto her side with her back to Rafe.

“You’re right, I’m the bad guy,” he grumbles. There's a pause, and then Kiara feels rough fingertips on the skin of her ankle. Her breath catches at the unexpected contact. She cracks her eyes open and sees that Rafe is trying to take her sneakers off for her. The sight makes her stupid, drunken heart lurch in her chest. “Stop squirming so I can get these off of you, Kie.”

“Why do you give a shit?” The words are out before Kiara can stop them.

Rafe’s eyebrows draw together, and he looks at Kiara like she’s stupid. “Because you’re getting beer and god knows what else all over your sheets, Kie. It’s gross.”

Kiara sits up suddenly, kicking her shoes off and drawing her knees into her chest. The sudden motion surprises Rafe, and he falls forward onto the bed. He recovers and adjusts himself so he’s sitting at the foot of the bed, facing her. “No, why do you give a shit? Why’d you come tonight? Why are you being nice to me?” Rafe runs a hand through his hair, opens his mouth, shuts it again. Looks at Kiara with unreadable eyes. Kiara searches for the familiar anger in them, the instinctual violence. She doesn’t find it. All she sees is-

Longing.

Kiara scoots closer, her fingers digging into the bedspread. “Where have you been, Rafe? I…..missed you.” The unexpected words punch the air out of Rafe’s lungs. He looks at her, stunned into silence for several moments.

“It didn’t seem like you wanted me to be around. You seemed busy.” He tries to smile as he responds, but his eyes are so, so sad.

Kiara drunkenly stumbles over her own tongue, getting frustrated that her words aren’t coming out clearly. “But you’re always…I don’t know how to…do this. If you’re not here.” Rafe sucks in a sharp breath but says nothing. Just looks at her with eyes that crack apart like a melting iceberg.

She’s been so out of it that it took her a while to notice, but Kiara realizes now that Rafe is wearing a loose tank top tonight, likely due to the unseasonably warm weather. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him in one before, and her eyes trace over the fabric, savoring the way it accentuates his chest but hangs loose at the sides, showing off his biceps and the skin near his armpits.

She’s close enough now to see the freckles on Rafe’s shoulders, and the sight of his bare skin is slowly driving Kiara crazy. She can’t stop looking at the smooth, tanned skin. She can feel Rafe’s eyes tracing her face as she stares at him, his eyebrows still drawn together. His hands are braced on the bed in front of him, and it makes the veins on his arms stand out. If he scooted just a little closer, he would be caging her in with his body.

And then Kiara is lurching forward, drawn to Rafe by some inexplicable magnetism, some intense feeling she can’t name. She wants to kiss the confusion off his face. She wants to bury her hands in his hair until she forget her own name. She needs to vent some of the heat from her body before she bursts into flames. She needs a reminder that she’s here, that she’s still alive, that all of this is really happening. 

But right as her lips brush Rafe’s, the contact slight but delicious, he catches her by the wrists and holds her away from his body. The motion is gentle, but to Kiara the rejection still stings like a slap.

“Kiara, not tonight, okay?” She flushes from her scalp all the way to her pinky toes with mortification. She shrinks back into herself, yanking her wrists out of Rafe’s grasp. He continues talking anyway, just as gently. “You just need to lay down. Drink some water.”

That ugly thing is rearing in Kiara’s chest again, and she’s still too tipsy to hold her tongue. “Lay around while you do what? Go cozy up with Sofia at Tannyhill? I know you guys have been hanging out.”

Rafe’s eyes harden along with his jaw. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh it’s not? So she’s not the reason you’ve been avoiding me, then?” Rafe has the audacity to rolls his eyes. “Or was it the stupid kiss? Was it really so horrible that you can’t even stand to be in the same room as me?”

“What the fuck has gotten into you tonight, Kiara? You really want to do this right now?” Rafe’s whole body is taut with outrage, and the volume of his voice rises in frustration.

“Maybe I’m just tired of pretending. That this is normal.” Kiara gestures between the two of them and watches as Rafe’s entire expression crumbles. “That any of this is normal.”

Kiara knows she’s being cruel, but she can’t stop herself now. She narrows her eyes at Rafe, holding his gaze and daring him to look away. “You look at me all tortured and shit, like you’re the only one that fucking remembers anything. But I remember more than you think I do, Rafe. I remember everything.”

“But I guess we know it’s pretty easy for you to forget, huh Rafe? A quick fuck to get it out of your system, right?” He jerks back like he’s been shoved, and Kiara nearly collapses under the weight of another memory.

~

In the same room but at a different time, Rafe also rejected Kiara. With sad eyes but absolute conviction. “Kie, this can’t happen again.”

“Are you being serious?” Kiara searched his face for any sign that he was joking, but she saw nothing there at all. Just the absence of any feeling. His face was a mask, completely closed off to her before she could even fight him on it. “Wow. A quick fuck to get it out of your system, huh?”

“It’s not like that and you know it.” Rafe’s voice was outraged, injured, like he had any right to be upset.

Kiara’s laugh sounded borrowed, like it was three sizes too small. “Oh really? Then what is it like? Tell me, Rafe!” She saw a flicker in his eyes then, just for a moment, but it was enough. She nodded in understanding. “Sarah.”

“Don’t be angry with her.”

“I’m not angry with her. I’m angry with you, Rafe. You’re the one that’s giving in. You’re the one that’s giving up. You don’t get to come to me, saying all that romantic shit, and then take it all back when things get a little complicated.” Her chest heaved with emotion and her eyes burned with rage.

“I’m not taking it all back!”

“Then that’s even worse! Saying you’ve always liked me, always wanted me, but you’re still running away like a coward. I bet you’re going to run back to Sofia. Like this didn’t even make an impact on you. Like it didn’t fucking change anything.” Kiara’s voice was loud, raw, like the words were tearing her throat open. Rafe’s volume increased to match, but his voice was calm, controlled. And in that moment she hated him for it, for his absolute mastery of his emotions while she was breaking apart.

“You’re right. It didn’t change anything. Because I’ve had some time to think about it, and Sarah’s right. you’re still my kid sister’s best friend. That’s all you’re ever going to be to me.” Kiara flinched, but Rafe continued like he didn’t notice.

“Maybe I will go back to Sofia. Because I need someone on my level, Kie. Someone more mature, more in touch with the real world. You’ve got no drive, no direction. Sofia knows what she wants and she goes after it.”

“You think I don’t know what I want? Screw you, Rafe." Outraged tears sprung into her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I wanted you. But I guess that was my fucking mistake.” Her wet laugh was broken, defeated. Not nearly as harsh as she wanted it to be. But she didn’t have it in her to fight anymore.

“I guess so.” Rafe’s face gave nothing away, like he was talking to a stranger. And he looked like a person Kiara had already lost.

“Get out. Get the fuck out and don’t come back.”

~

The voices in her memory scatter as Rafe speaks again in the present, his voice jagged and rough. He stands from the bed, pacing around the room as he speaks. “Don’t be such a fucking hypocrite, Kiara. You’re the only one trying to get something out of your system, here. You’re the one trying to fuck me so you can forget about being abandoned by the one person you actually give a shit about.”

“Rafe, stop,” Kiara’s voice comes out too small, and she despises the weak sound of it. She digs her nails into the palm of her hand and tries to summon her rage.

“You’d risk anything for JJ, but how’s that working out for you?” Rafe’s cruel laugh slices through her like a serrated knife. “He can’t even stay long enough to make sure you don’t die at his drug dealer’s house? Maybe he’s more like Groff than you want to admit. Maybe he’s not worth the fucking effort.”

“Stop, I said fucking STOP!!” Kiara is on her feet now too, hot tears running down her face as she struggles to keep her balance. “How could you say that, Rafe? What, you’re just trying to hurt me again? Just like old times, right Rafe?” She sees regret burn through Rafe’s eyes like a wildfire, but it’s too late. Kiara is trembling with rage, with hatred, with something else too flammable to touch.

“You don’t understand. I thought you might, but of course you don’t." She points towards the door with a shaky hand. "Get out. Get the fuck out and don’t come back.”

Rafe looks like he wants to say something, but the fire in Kiara’s eyes incinerates all his protests, all the explanations he might have. So he does what she wants.

He leaves.

Kiara collapses onto the bed as Rafe turns on his heel and disappears. But he leaves the door to her bedroom open, the way she likes it. Kiara notices, and it makes her scream into her pillow.

They say time heals all wounds. But as she hears the front door slam shut, just like it did in her memory, Kiara knows that isn’t true. Sometimes wounds just get infected after a while, and the memories slip like poison into the bloodstream. If you're not careful, memories can take over everything. Memories can be lethal.

Kiara doesn’t move after Rafe leaves, not for a long time. She just stares up at the bedroom ceiling and tries not to cry. Tries to ignore the feeling that she’s just lost him twice.

Chapter Text

On the night that Kiara hopped into JJ’s car and didn’t come back, Rafe almost packed his shit and left.

Almost.

He’s not sure what kept him from leaving - if it was sick curiosity, his insatiable masochism, or simple codependency. Most likely it was a combination of all three.

And Rafe hates to admit it, but the fact of the matter is that he’s not sure he can leave. Somehow, without noticing when it happened, he allowed his entire life to revolve around Kiara in both of his realities. He doesn’t know how to not be around her anymore. This is a pretty pathetic realization to have in the middle of the night while he’s pacing the guest room of her apartment.

Rafe packs and unpacks his shit twice before finally getting into bed, where he tosses and turns for what feels like eternity. He finally gives up on sleeping around 3:30 in the morning, wandering out into the living room with no real purpose, feeling like an intruder in a sacred space. He does the dishes in the sink twice, then flips on the tv to try and distract himself. Nothing works.

Eventually, Rafe simply sits on the couch with the tv muted, waiting in the dark with the rigid body posture of the anxious parent of a rebellious teen. When dawn’s first light creeps through the curtains and pricks at his sensitive eyelids, Rafe forces his stiff limbs to carry him towards his bedroom.

Before he can make it there, he passes Kiara’s room. The door is cracked open, calling to him like a silent invitation. He hesitates before pushing it open with a flat, steady palm. Even in the low light, he can see the clothes strewn around the room and the drawers left ajar, like someone ransacked the place. Rafe’s lips lift slightly at the characteristically messy state of things. He walks slowly around the room, his fingertips tracing Kiara’s dresser and bedside table without actually touching anything. 

His eyes land on the sweatshirt she wears around the house, draped over the chair in the corner. Rafe hesitates for a moment before picking it up and clutching it between his fingers. The fabric is worn and soft, loose after so many instances of being tugged on and off. He slips his hands inside the front pocket and brings it to his nose, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent into his lungs. It smells of amber and vanilla, of patchouli and sandalwood. But underneath it all there’s something warmer, something more primal. He knows it’s the scent of Kiara’s skin, the thing that drives him crazier than any perfume ever could.

Rafe stays like that for a long moment, his face pressed into the fabric. He barely notices as the world outside wakes from its slumber, until a loud bird call outside of Kiara’s window brings him back to his senses. What the fuck am I doing? Pining over her while she’s out with the love of her fucking life. Pathetic.

He has to resist the urge to chuck the sweatshirt across the room, to smash whatever he can reach and finish wrecking the already-messy space. He takes a deep breath and drapes the sweatshirt back over the chair carefully, exiting the room and leaving the door cracked open the same way he found it.

Rafe collapses onto his bed and stares at the ceiling, shame knotting his insides when he realizes his pants are a little too tight. He got hard sniffing her fucking sweatshirt. He doesn’t do anything about it, feels like that would be hitting a new low, but god, does he want to.

He only drifts to sleep once the afternoon sun is already streaming through his window, right after he hears the front door open and close. Rafe dreams of warm brown eyes and sweet-smelling skin, of hands that aren’t his own pulling Kiara far out of reach with a cruel laugh. He wakes up drenched in sweat. The apartment is empty.

Alone again. 

———————————————————————

They dance around each other for long enough that it starts to drive Rafe a little crazy. But he also can’t blame it entirely on Kiara. He knows she’s hanging out with JJ, and this knowledge makes him resentful. He’s reluctant to interact even when they are in the same space.

And then whenever Kiara’s does get close, when she curls up a foot away on the couch or reaches for the remote and their arms accidentally brush, Rafe always finds himself thinking back to their kiss at the party. Or the night they spent together under the stars. Or the time he fucked her against a desk at Tannyhill, his teeth digging into her shoulder. And then he ends up making an excuse and scurrying out of the room until he can regulate his breathing, trying to ignore the unhappy crease between her eyebrows as he disappears time and time again.

He could just leave, could move back to his own home and end this awkward cohabitation, but Rafe can’t bring himself to do that either. He can’t give up that last shred of control, can’t relinquish the unique access he gets from being in Kiara’s space. So he stays, and Kiara doesn’t tell him to leave. But she also leaves the apartment more and more frequently. And that means Rafe has to find new ways to stay busy.

He tries to immerse himself in work, to seek out new investment opportunities and catch up on paperwork he’s been putting off. When that doesn’t distract him enough, he starts wandering around Kildare somewhat aimlessly. He tells himself that he’s scouting for new development sites, but really he’s just trying to soak up the early summer sunshine and pretend he’s not going crazy trying to figure out where Kiara is all the time.

Rafe’s down at the marina one day, openly (and illegally) day drinking with a bottle of Coors in hand, when he sees an unexpected pair of people hanging out. Rafe sees them before they notice Rafe, and he stops for a moment, squinting into the afternoon sunlight to make sure his eyes aren’t betraying him.

John B is on the deck of Topper’s family’s boat, pretending to be busy. Sarah is pretending to let him work, but in reality she’s tossing popcorn kernels at him from the bag in her hand. And she’s laughing, the sound so loud and clear that Rafe feels like he’s standing right next to her. He swears he hasn’t seen Sarah smile like this in years, all white teeth and sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks.

The smile drops clean off her face when she turns slightly and catches sight of Rafe. Sarah stands abruptly, saying something to John B before reluctantly making her way down the dock towards Rafe. She stops several feet away, her hands on her hips and her chin jutted out.

“What are you doing here, Rafe?” The words come out like a long sigh, and he tries not to take them like a punch to the gut. His family has been speaking to him like he’s a burden his whole life, but he still hasn’t quite gotten used to it.

“I could ask you the same thing. But I won’t. Because I’m a good brother.” Rafe tries to smile, but the words come out sounding more sarcastic than he intended.

Sarah snorts. “Since when?”

Rafe bristles, his small step forward an unspoken challenge. “Right. Well, should we get on with it? Aren’t you going to get into a screaming match with me, too? Push me around a bit?” His cool eyes flash dangerously. Sarah flushes but doesn’t look away.

“No. Not unless you find some new way to piss me off.”

Rafe tsks disapprovingly. “Not very feminist of you, Sarah. Only getting into it with the girl involved?”

His sister rolls her eyes. “Trust me, I’m mad at you too. But unfortunately, you’re my brother.” She looks at him with pointed disapproval.

“And she’s your best friend,” Rafe counters. Sarah doesn’t have an immediate response, so Rafe seizes the opportunity to keep talking. “I get why you’re upset, Sarah. But for the record, Kiara only kissed me to make Sofia jealous. It didn’t…mean anything.” But he stumbles over the last two words, and Sarah notices. Of course she does.

Her eyebrows shoot up derisively. “Really? You expect me to believe that?” Rafe doesn’t say anything, but his jaw flexes. “I heard she’s hanging out with JJ now. You’re telling me that doesn’t bother you? Lie to me. I dare you.” Sarah’s props her hands on her hips, issuing her own challenge.

Rafe takes a deep breath and counts to five. And then he says the thing he’s been telling himself every day for the last week. “Even if it did bother me…that doesn’t make my feelings her problem.”

Something flashes in Sarah’s eyes, and her next words come out softer, almost hesitant, like she’s scared of the answer. “Do you blame me? For making you end things with her?”

Rafe considers the question for a long moment. “You didn’t make me, Sarah.” He laughs slightly at the disbelieving look on her face. “You might have aggressively advocated for your side of things, but I made my own decision.” He shrugs, like he’s trying to shed the heaviness he feels. “So can I really get mad at the decisions she makes now?” This is the question he’s been torturing himself with in the loneliest hours of the night. He’s still not sure he has an answer.

Sarah stares at him like he just started speaking Mandarin. “When the fuck did you get so philosophical, and like, reasonable?”

Rafe runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking a lot about choices. About consequences. What I want, what I deserve. Stupid shit like that.” He pushes his sweaty bangs out of his face and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He offers one to Sarah and she takes it.

“And?” Sarah asks after taking a long drag from her cigarette, but she splutters as the smoke hits her lungs. She coughs until she’s red in the face, and Rafe nearly double over with laughter.

“Fuckin’ amateur,” he wheezes, holding his stomach. “I don’t know why you even took one. I know you don’t smoke.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sarah moans, tossing the cigarette down and grinding it under her heel with disgust. “And answer my question.”

“I don’t know.” Rafe holds the smoke in his lungs until he starts to feel lightheaded. “It’s complicated. Wishing for something doesn’t mean you get to have it. Doesn’t mean that you should have it, even.”

He glances at John B on the boat, chuckling when he turns away and pretends he wasn’t looking at the two siblings. Idiot. Rafe watches Sarah smile unconsciously as she looks at John B. He chooses his next words carefully, taking another puff of his cigarette. “On the other hand, just because things are one way, doesn’t mean they should be that way. That doesn’t mean they can’t change.”

When Sarah turns back to Rafe, he’s already looking at her, his eyebrows raised in amusement. She narrows her eyes. “Why do I feel like we’re not talking about you anymore?”

Rafe waves her off. “All I’m saying is that it’s rare to have a friend like Kiara. Take it from someone who is severely lacking in that department.” He hesitates for a moment, then nods in John B’s direction. “And I like John B. He’s way nicer to you than Topper is.”

“But he’s a Pogue.” Sarah replies quickly, like a reflex. Like that’s the only thing that could possibly matter.

Rafe scoffs, stubbing out his cigarette on a post nearby. “Who cares? That’s a stupid reason to write someone off. Some of the dumbest people I know are Kooks. None of that means anything.”

Sarah stares at Rafe open-mouthed as he pats her on the arm before walking away. “Who are you and what have you done with Rafe Cameron?” She calls after him.

If only he knew the answer himself.

———————————————————————

Rafe doesn’t find another way to stay busy; she finds him.

He’s at the supermarket grabbing a few groceries when he runs straight into Sofia in the pasta aisle. They stare at each other for a few loaded seconds, and he wonders if he looks as much like a deer in headlights as she does. 

For a second Rafe thinks she’s going to turn around and leave the aisle like she didn’t see him. But Sofia takes a deep breath and approaches, and through the ringing in his ears Rafe hears her ask if they can grab coffee. 

Rafe’s first instinct is to say no. But it’s been weeks since he’s properly been around Kiara, nearly 5 days since he’s seen Sarah, and fuck, the truth is that he’s lonely. At this point he’d rather be yelled at than deal with the constant silence that allows the negative thoughts in his brain to replicate like a virus.

So he heads to the café across the street after hastily checking out, feeling way more nervous than he has the right to. He orders himself a black coffee with cream and Sofia a vanilla iced latte. The drinks rattle on the table as he jiggles his leg anxiously.

“The table’s moving so much that I thought there might be an earthquake,” Sofia jokes as she pulls out her chair and sits down. “You that nervous to see me?” Her eyes are intense and discerning, like she’s scanning him for weaknesses.

“Kinda,” Rafe admits, taking a sip of his coffee just to have something to do with his hands.

“Good,” Sofia says, but her mouth quirks up into the faintest smile. “What you did was fucked up.”

“I could say the same to you,” Rafe replies, his voice even despite his shaky hands.

“You backed me into a corner,” Sofia protests, her voice sharp and accusatory.

“Don’t they say that’s when your true colors come out?” Rafe says the words but he doesn’t really believe them. He knows what he’s done when backed into a corner, and he hopes to all hell that person isn’t who he really is at his core.

Sofia leans forward, pointing an outraged finger at him. “That’s not fair and you know it, Rafe. I’ve been scratching and clawing for survival my whole life. You don’t know what that’s like. You don’t know how it feels to think you’re finally on solid ground, just for the rug to be pulled out from under you.”

Rafe hesitates for a moment and considers putting up a half-hearted argument. But he realizes he’s too tired to say anything but the truth. “I don’t. You’re right.”

Sofia blinks. It wasn’t the answer she was expecting. “Yeah, damn right I’m right. Since you’re finally being honest, why don’t you just admit you were looking for a way out?” 

“What?” Rafe taps on his mug with restless fingers, playing dumb. He’s pretty sure he knows what she’s talking about.

“You wanted a way out because of Kiara.” Sofia says her name like a curse. “I saw you guys kissing at that party, you dick, or did you forget already? I saw the way you looked at her when we were dating, even when I pretended I didn’t. You obviously never got over her.”

Rafe swallows hard, trying not to keep his head above the tide of memories that rise to the surface. Sofia levels him with her piercing eyes. “Why don’t you just admit it, and we can both get on with our lives?” But he can hear the tremors in her voice, can tell that beneath the false bravado she’s aching for some sort of closure. So he gives it to her, even though the words are painful to admit out loud.

“You’re right. I didn’t even know that was the case when we broke up, not really. But I’m sorry. It was shitty.” Rafe drops his head and stares at the ceramic mug in his hand, noticing the faint crack near the handle. He wishes he could slither inside that crack and avoid Sofia’s damning gaze.

But when she speaks again, her voice is begrudgingly softer. Maybe his pain is obvious on his face. “It was. But it’s cool. Pay for my drink, maybe buy me a few dinners, maybe pay for a few months rent, then we can call it even.” She’s smiling now, and the warmth in it is infectious. Rafe feels himself smile back before he can think better of it.

“Oh, is that all?”

But in the end, he does pay for her coffee. And a few days later, he buys her another one. And the next time, it’s dinner.

In the weeks after the grocery store run, Rafe and Sofia hang out here and there, mostly during the long hours when Kiara isn’t home and Rafe is feeling restless. He wishes it wasn’t mostly spite and loneliness that motivates him to seek Sofia out, that allows him to justify leaning into a grey area with her that lives somewhere between platonic and overtly flirty. He wishes that he didn’t spend a disproportionate amount of time during his hangouts with Sofia trying to shove another person out of his thoughts. But wishes don’t always come true. Not for everyone.

When Rafe allows himself to relax and empty his mind, it’s nice to have company. And he does end up getting useful information out of their hangouts, too - he finds out through their conversations that Sofia’s aunt works at a local bank and has told her a few stories about Groff’s behavior, some times he had come into the branch acting erratic and making strange demands. So the time spent with Sofia is useful, not just a distraction from the emptiness.

These are all justifications he gives himself, explanations he rehearses in his head in case Kiara were to ask, if she happened to hear that he was hanging out with his ex and had some kind of reaction. But of course, she doesn’t. She’s too busy hanging out with JJ to notice anything that he does. As more and more time passes, Rafe feels himself crumble under the weight of that knowledge.

Rafe’s not a saint, and he copes with Kiara’s disinterest in selfish ways. He lets Sofia touch him sometimes, when the loneliness gets so intense that it gnaws at his insides, when he feels like he’s going to lose his mind for good if another person’s hands aren’t there to ground him. 

It starts with small touches - a hand on the forearm, an arm around the shoulder, a quick hug before she leaves. After a while, though, the touches linger. A finger traced down his bicep, her hand cradling the side of his face, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. She touches his hand for no reason, she curls into his side without hesitation. And Rafe doesn’t lean in, but he doesn’t stop her either. 

Rafe’s not sure why Sofia is so forgiving, so willing to get back into things with him - at least physically. Maybe she’s just as lonely as he is. Maybe she can’t stand the silence either.

One unseasonably hot day, they’re sitting by the pool at Tannyhill in neighboring chairs. Rafe can feel Sofia’s eyes on him, burning stronger than the sun overhead. Out of the corner of his eye he watches her shift closer, trying to get his attention. He pretends not to notice as he takes another sip of his beer, clutching at the condensation and trying to stifle the uneasiness he feels at her undivided attention.

Sofia stands up to get another drink, and Rafe watches what happens next as if it’s in slow motion. She pretends to trip over her shoes, spilling the remnants of her drink onto his lap. It’s too precise to be an accident. Rafe freezes as Sofia rushes over, patting and wiping with deliberate strokes at the area of his swim trunks directly over his dick.

“God, I’m so clumsy. I’m so sorry,” she purrs, not looking sorry at all.

Rafe sucks in a sharp breath as she continues to knead him tentatively over his shorts. “It’s alright, don’t worry about it-“

Sofia looks up at him through her eyelashes. “Let me take care of you.”

Rafe shudders and throws his head back, staring at the sun through his Ray Bans and gripping the sides of the pool chair. He tries to relax and enjoy it as the blood rushes to his dick. Sofia rubs up and down his length with confident fingers, staring hungrily at his lap.

Rafe threads his fingers through Sofia’s hair as she tugs at his waistband and his cock springs free. The image that pops into his head unbidden is a head full of wild, unruly brown hair lowering into his lap, of molten brown eyes pinning him in place as she takes him into her mouth. But when he opens his eyes, the specter of Kiara vanishes and he’s startled by the image of Sofia’s mouth closing around him instead.

Rafe scrambles backwards so fast that Sofia nearly falls face first onto the chair. He tucks himself back into his swim trunks with shaky hands. “Sofia, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Sofia flushes with embarrassment, but she shrugs to play it off. “It’s fine Rafe, it doesn’t have to be a big deal.” She scoots closer, her hands sliding towards him again.

“It’s not fair to you.”

Sofia rolls her eyes with a huff. “I don’t care. Let’s just have some fun, alright?”

Rafe shakes his head, pushing himself as far away from her seeking hands as possible. “It won’t be…” The words spill out before he can stop them, and Sofia’s eyes darken. “I can’t.”

She laughs, the sound harsh and grating. “Oh, it won’t be fun for you? That’s what you were going to say? Let me guess, because you’d be picturing someone else the whole time?” Sofia scrambles to her feet. Rafe sits silently as she shoves her belongings into a tote bag and pulls her clothes over her swimsuit, so roughly that Rafe fears she might rip them.

When Sofia whips around to face him again, her eyes are bright with rage and devastation. “God, you’re unbelievable, Rafe. You’re fucking saving yourself for her and she doesn’t even want you!” The words settle on his heart like a physical weight. “Where is she, Rafe?? Huh?? Look around you. She’s not even fucking real. She’s just a figment of your imagination.”

And then she’s gone, shutting the gate with a crash that echoes like a gunshot in the still air. 

———————————————————————

Rafe’s feet are moving before he knows where he’s going, carrying him to his car and punching the gas. He speeds down the road in the direction of the setting sun, not thinking about anything except packing his shit. 

Something inside him snapped at Sofia’s words, and he feels the jagged edge of it pushing into his vital organs. He’s bleeding internally, his condition critical. He needs to get out of Kiara’s fucking house, away from all the reminders of her. He needs to be able to think clearly again, to regain a shred of his self-respect.

Rafe throws his car into park and launches himself up the steps of Kiara’s apartment. He fumbles with his key, hoping against hope that she’s not home, knowing that even if she is, he’s still going to pack his bags and leave for good. The apartment is quiet and empty, and he’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved that she’s not here. He stalks to the guest room, absolutely certain that he’s going to be gone before she returns.

But Rafe stops dead in his tracks when he passes the threshold of his room. His laundry, which up until this morning was sitting in a hamper in his closet, is folded in a neat stack on his bed. Next to the clothes are a pile of clean towels with something resting on top, a small, orange package that stands out against the white fabric. She left a pack of fucking Reese’s on top of his towels, and there’s a hastily scrawled note tucked underneath the chocolate.

Best I could do. Don’t know how to make towel swans. - K

Rafe’s heart rockets into his throat as he stares down at the evidence that Kiara was here, standing in his room, doing something that proves she cares about him. He thinks about all the unsaid things contained in this gesture - she pays attention to him, she knows his favorite candy even though he’s never told her, she thinks about him when he’s not around.

Heat flashes through Rafe’s entire body as he stares down at her neat handwriting. He needs to douse himself in cold water and calm the blood boiling just under the surface of his skin. So he strips off his clothes and climbs into the shower, pressing his forehead to the cool tile in an attempt to clear his mind.

But instead, he pictures Kiara’s delicate fingers reaching into his basket and pulling out the clothes, folding his underwear and socks with care and attention. He pictures those same fingers wrapping around his cock, and he feels his arousal grow and hang heavy between his legs.

Rafe’s pent up. He’s frustrated. He aches for Kiara, so he can’t stop himself as he tugs at himself with one hand braced against the tile. He looks to the side for a moment and spots Kiara’s plush robe hanging on a hook behind the door. He moves his hand lightly back and forth, savoring the friction as he stares at the fabric that spends so much time pressed to her smooth skin.

With a low groan, Rafe pictures the robe hanging loosely around Kiara’s body, imagines it tumbling to the floor as she drops it and walks towards him, her hair and body glistening with water droplets. He imagines the water dripping down her perfect chest before pooling in her belly button. He imagines laying her down on his bed, not caring about the wetness of her body. He imagines pressing his face between her damp thighs, tracing a finger through the wetness between her folds that didn’t come from the shower.

As the slide of his hand picks up speed and the vision of Kiara burns behind his closed lids, he feels his release edge closer and closer. He thrusts into his hand with sloppy motions, his skin rough and hot. Right before he climaxes, he reaches out on an impulse and snags Kiara’s robe from the hook behind the door. He buries his face in the pale pink fabric and inhales deeply, breathing in amber and vanilla, trying to memorize the musky scent of her skin. 

For one deranged second, he considers finishing into the plush fabric, like he’s marking his territory. The idea is what finally sends him plummeting over the edge. He sinks his teeth into the neck of the garment, releasing onto the tile with a guttural groan. He watches as the cool water runs over his cum without washing it away, and he gingerly replaces the robe on the hook before it gets wet.

Rafe turns the water to hot and wipes the cum from the tile with his bare hands, his cheeks burning with shame. 

But after the shower, he doesn’t leave the apartment like he thought he would. Even though he knows he should. Even though he’s definitely backsliding, giving into his obsessive tendencies, his possessive behaviors. 

And that night, Rafe gets rewarded for his patience with something to cling onto. 

It’s a little past two in the morning, and he’s struggling to sleep like he always does these days. He’s thinking about how Kiara came home a few hours ago. They exchanged a few tense words before Rafe thanked her for doing his laundry. He watched as she softened slightly, and he swore she was almost blushing. But the moment was gone as quickly as it came, and she disappeared into her room. She didn’t come out for the rest of the night. 

Now, Rafe hears a muffled sound from outside his door, and it sounds a lot like Kiara’s voice. She sleeps with her door open, a habit he thinks is bizarre and unhinged, but his door is closed like always. He creeps to the door and opens it a crack, peering into the darkness to see if she’s out in the hallway. Nothing.

He almost climbs back into bed when he hears it again; a faint call from Kiara’s room, her voice distant but clear.

“Kie, is that you? You good?” Rafe calls softly into the darkness, but he doesn’t get a response. He sighs and pushes his hair out of his face, creeping across the hall and stepping tentatively past the threshold without really entering the room.

Kiara’s fast asleep in bed, her mouth hanging open and an arm slung above her head. Rafe chuckles lightly. She mentioned once she talks in her sleep sometimes, but until tonight he never heard her do it. He watches her for a moment, her face soft and her brow smooth in slumber. 

As he turns to leave, she stirs slightly. Rafe freezes, looking back in panic, but her eyes are still shut. She’s clearly a deep sleeper.

But then she exhales a single word into the motionless air of her room, and for a moment Rafe thinks he’s been caught. When he realizes she’s still fast asleep, butterflies explode in his stomach like he was harboring a group of caterpillars in there.

“Rafe.” Kiara breaths the word softly, reverently, the sound almost a plea. Even in sleep, she sounds desperate, searching, almost wounded, and in that moment Rafe knows he isn’t the only one aching. He grabs onto the moment like the lifeline it is. She said his name. No one else’s. His name.

But after that night, things stay tense and awkward between them, and after a while Rafe starts to doubt that he heard anything at all that night. Maybe he just heard what he wanted to hear. He wonders if time has warped the memory into something unrecognizable. Memory can be funny like that. 

———————————————————————

The night of the party at Barry’s, Rafe didn’t plan to follow Kiara. Not really.

But he still ends up parked across the street, restless from a day of nothing but mindless contracts and empty conversations with faceless people. He’d distantly heard Kiara on the phone with what he can only assume was JJ, expressing hesitation about going to Barry’s before ultimately relenting.

The knowledge that she was going to the degenerate party had ignited something in his gut, something hot and feral, something dark and possessive. Rafe convinced himself that all of these feelings amounted to an undeniable intuition that this party was bad news for Kiara. So he waited 30 minutes before shoving a pack of cigarettes into his pocket and heading towards Barry’s.

He isn’t proud of how long he sits in the car outside the house, listening to an allegedly soothing playlist on Spotify that does absolutely nothing to calm his nerves. He can feel the bass thumping from across the street as it vibrates through the car and gives him the beginnings of a migraine. He doesn’t touch the book he brought, and he barely scrolls social media. It’s a riveting evening.

Mostly Rafe just leans against the car and chain smokes, staring at the changing position of the moon and wondering how the fuck he ended up here. Like a fucking guard dog. Or a lost puppy, more like. 

Kiara doesn’t want me, he tells himself over and over. She’d be pissed if she knew he was here. He’s wasting his time. But still, he hears the echo of his name whispered in the dead of the night, and he can’t get himself to put the car in drive. So he waits, even though it makes him hate himself.

Rafe observes the comings and goings of the party from just out of sight, gritting his teeth at each new lowlife that enters the house. Kiara has no business hanging around these guys. And JJ has no business convincing her to risk herself around these degenerates. He climbs back into the car and glowers at the house like he can destroy it with his mind if he stares hard enough.

Hours of angry staring, jaw clenching, and chain smoking are unexpectedly exhausting, and at one point Rafe finds himself nearly dozing off. That is, until he sees a familiar head of unruly blonde hair slip out through the back door, pacing along the small deck. JJ’s talking on the phone, and from his body language it seems like an argument. Rafe’s eyes dart around, searching for Kiara, but he only sees JJ.

Rafe’s hands tighten around the wheel as JJ stops pacing and starts yelling into his phone. He hangs up with a huff and shoves the phone back into his pocket. JJ glances back at the house for a moment before turning on his heel and stalking away, climbing into his truck and pulling off in a cloud of dust. Rafe’s body is on high alert, every tendon pulled taut. Where the fuck is Kiara?

He’s certain he didn’t see her come out - there’s no way he accidentally dozed off and missed her, right? Rafe stares through the darkness at the dilapidated house, indecision freezing him in place. His first thought is to storm the place and make sure Kiara is okay, to drag her out kicking and screaming if need be. But she’s already pissed at him, and he doesn’t want to make a scene that could put them both in danger with an unpredictable crowd. Goddamn you for coming to this fucking party, Kiara.

Rafe’s not sure how long he grapples with his options, but it turns out that he never has to make a choice. The answer is handed to him on a silver platter when Kiara stumbles out of Barry’s house into the backyard, falling to her knees and vomiting violently. Then she collapses a short distance away (not in her own puke, he hopes), face down onto the dry grass.

“For the love of-“ Rafe cuts himself off as he hops out of the car, locking it behind him. He’s irritated as he crosses the street and makes eye contact with Barry, who nods and backs away after muttering something to Kiara’s limp form.

After weeks of awkward tension and building resentment, after hours of waiting around like a damn bodyguard, Rafe expects his irritation to last longer. But as he leans over the (still-breathing, thank Christ), Kiara, his irritation melts under the heat of his concern. He presses a grounding palm into her back and rubs soothing circles, and the pathetic little whimper she releases lands like a punch to the gut. As Rafe hauls her up from the ground she feels so small and fragile that it breaks his heart.

Kiara struggles for a moment in his grasp, mumbling something about smelling bad. She does smell slightly of stale beer and stomach acid, but underneath all of that, she still smells like her. And for some reason her dumb protestations almost bring tears to Rafe’s eyes. This idiot. She has no idea how relieved he is that she’s not in worse shape.

“Oh, Kie,” he breaths into the soft skin of her neck, and he’s not sure if she shudders from his touch or from the rebellion her body is currently staging against her.

They don’t speak during the car ride, but at some point Rafe feels her glassy eyes on him. He realizes that his jaw has been clenched, that the veins in his hands are standing out as they grip the wheel like he’s trying to throttle it. Kiara, who’s expressive even when she’s sober, has absolutely no control of her face now. Her mouth turns down and her glazed eyes drop into her lap. When she leans away from him and towards the window, Rafe realizes she thinks that he’s mad at her.

And maybe he is, a little - for going to Barry’s at all, for getting to the point where she’s basically lying in a pool of her own vomit. But most of the reasons he feels resentful aren’t fair, and they’re not the main reasons he’s mad, anyway.

No, he’s pissed at fucking JJ, at the fact that he left Kiara in the wolf’s den without a second thought, that he’s just as flaky and reckless in this reality as he always was in the other.

It’s something Rafe noticed when JJ and Kiara dated, even from afar. Many of the traits that made JJ a formidable treasure hunter - his courage, his impulsiveness, his determination, his selflessness in the face of danger, his act-now, think later attitude - made him a shit boyfriend and occasionally even a terrible friend. He was loyal, sure, but also reckless, inconsiderate, and fickle; Rafe remembers several times when JJ disappeared for days at a time without telling anyone, dead set on some mission or another, leaving Kiara and the other Pogues sick with worry.

JJ never planned ahead, never thought of the consequences before he did anything, and as a proactive person it bothered Rafe even though it wasn’t his problem. He’d noticed the strain it put on his little group, mostly Sarah and Kiara, and he saw the ways Kiara struggled with the psychological impacts of that uncertainty even after JJ died. 

He thinks briefly of what Sofia said to him a few weeks back. JJ was always pulling the rug out from under Kiara when they dated, even when he didn’t mean to. That would wear on anyone. Kiara dealt with it, but it injured her, and before she had the chance to fully heal from those wounds, here comes this JJ to carve out some new ones.

So before Kiara can pull away completely in the car, Rafe reaches out and grips her wrist, trying to silently communicate that he’s here. That even though he’s mad, he’s not going anywhere. He’s not pulling the rug out from under her. And when she relaxes into his touch, Rafe swears something frozen inside of him melts.

They don’t speak until Rafe finally has her settled in the bathroom at her apartment, a toothbrush in her mouth and a glass of water waiting in his hand. He tries not to throw the glass across the room when she asks him what meth looks like, because Jesus Christ. 

He dodges the question about how he knew where she was tonight, which is easy enough given Kiara’s elevated state of intoxication. She’s definitely more aware than when he first found her, but she’s still obviously plastered. She doesn’t even take her shoes off as she collapses onto her bed, so Rafe starts to tug them off with a deep sigh.

But then Kiara is sitting up and looking at him with those eyes, the ones that make him weak in the knees, and she’s asking him questions that he’s been asking himself all night. And it catches him off guard.

“Why do you give a shit? Why’d you come tonight? Why are you being nice to me?” Kiara’s voice is genuine in its confusion. Rafe almost laughs at the fact that she doesn’t have a clue when he’s pretty sure he does a pretty terrible job hiding it. He opens his mouth, shuts it again. But he knows his eyes are giving him away, because something shifts in Kiara’s face and she moves closer to him on the bed.

“Where have you been, Rafe? I…..missed you.” Rafe looks at her, stunned. Where has he been? Where has she been? He’s been half out of his mind while she’s been prancing around town with JJ.

“It didn’t seem like you wanted me to be around. You seemed busy.” Rafe tries to smile, but it’s a hollow gesture. He feels like it’s been weeks since he’s really smiled.

Kiara drunkenly stumbles over her words, but Rafe listens closely, trying to catch every slurred fragment. “But you’re always…I don’t know how to…do this. If you’re not here.” Before her words can even begin to sink in, Kiara is lurching forward, her hands coming up to cradle his face.

As she draws closer and takes up his entire field of vision, Rafe can’t think. He can’t breathe. But instinct and desire betray him, and for just a moment he leans in and allows their lips to brush. But then Rafe opens his eyes and catches Kiara by the wrists, pulling away with an immense effort.

Pulling away just like he did with Sofia, but for the complete opposite reason - he doesn’t wish it was someone else in front of him now. This is the someone else, the person he stays up all night thinking about, the person he follows even when he doesn’t know where the hell she’s leading him.

Rafe’s stops Kiara even though his body screams in protest, even as he longs to pull her closer and run his hands through her tangled hair. It would mean different things to them if anything happened now, and only Rafe would have to live with that knowledge. He knows he won’t survive it if he lets Kiara close when she’s like this - confused, hurting, desperately trying to fill the hole left by the version of someone who doesn’t exist anymore.

He guesses that consciously or unconsciously, Kiara saw Rafe’s hesitation and thought she could capitalize on it, could use his vulnerability to ease her own pain. The knowledge should make him angry, but it doesn’t. He’s old friends with the kind of pain that’s only satiated by the suffering of another.

But Rafe doesn’t say any of that. “Kiara, not tonight, okay?” She flushes and pulls away, looking embarrassed. Rafe knows that she sees it as a rejection, that she doesn’t understand his reasons for pulling away. But he also doesn’t try to correct her assumptions, knowing what it would cost him to say it aloud.

Maybe that was a miscalculation, because her mortification quickly turns into anger, and her questions turn into accusations. She brings up Sofia, brings up their kiss at the party, and Kiara has the audacity to act like Rafe hating the kiss could possibly be the reason he’s avoiding her.

Rafe finally loses his patience with her. “What the fuck has gotten into you tonight, Kiara? You really want to do this right now?”

Nothing could have prepared him for her response. “I remember more than you think I do, Rafe. I remember everything.” 

Rafe’s blood runs cold. He can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s not just talking about the reckless, heated, angry incident at Tannyhill, the one they never spoke about. She’s talking about the things that happened here, the tender night in her backyard, the falling out he caused by walking away. He thought he was alone in remembering, but he can tell by the naked hurt on her face that he isn’t.

“But I guess we know it’s pretty easy for you to forget, huh Rafe? A quick fuck to get it out of your system, right?”

Rafe loses control after that, his body overriding his brain. He can barely see straight through his pulsing rage, writhing through his body like a living thing. 

She doesn’t get to act hurt by him when all he does is try to spare her, even at his own fucking expense. She doesn’t get to act rejected while she ignores Rafe and continues to run back to someone who keeps slipping through her fingers. She doesn’t get to act unwanted when the very idea of Rafe is repulsive to her except for the times that she wants a fuck to numb the pain.

He throws words out like daggers, and every single one lands - fucking hypocrite, abandoned by the one person you actually give a shit about, he can’t even stay long enough to make sure you don’t die, maybe he’s like Groff, maybe he’s not worth the effort.

Rafe can only hear past the ringing in his ears when Kiara looks at him like he’s ripped the heart straight out of her chest.

“How could you say that, Rafe? You’re just trying to hurt me? Just like old times, right?”

Kiara’s bleeding out in front of him, and it’s Rafe with the blood on his hands. She’s looking at Rafe in that way that he hates, that he associates with the worst times of his life. He hates himself for being a person that deserves that look of disgust, that look of fear. He hates that he’s still the person that’s capable of hurting her, even as he scratches and claws to be better.

So when Kiara tells him to leave, he does. Because he knows doesn’t deserve to stay. Rafe walks out the front door of the apartment that’s come to feel like home, heavy with the knowledge that things always end the same with him. Blood on his hands. Rafe can’t even save the people he cares about most from the murderer that lurks inside of him.

———————————————————————

Rafe spends the days following his fight with Kiara wandering the halls of Tannyhill at night, clutching his chest like a lovesick ghost. He doesn’t unpack, doesn’t sleep in his own bed. He just moves from room to room like a piece of useless driftwood.

He can’t sleep at night, even when he’s exhausted to the bone, even when he scrounges up a few sleeping pills from his dad’s cabinet and swallows them down dry. He becomes essentially nocturnal, not falling asleep until the sun is already rising, not walking up until far past lunch time.

Rafe works from home, when he works at all. He gets food and groceries delivered to Tannyhill, too scared that if he goes into town he’ll run into Sofia or Kiara, that he’ll come face to face with all the ways he’s screwed up. That he’ll see the tangible reminders that no matter how hard he tries to become a more palatable person, he’s always going to be unloveable.

So Rafe hides, because he knows no one is going to come looking for him. And he does it so successfully that he loses all concept of time. When he finally comes into contact with another human being again, he’s not sure if it’s been a week or a month.

Rafe moves slowly down the stairs, stretching and yawning as he walks across the ground level. It’s probably already afternoon, but he still needs a cup of coffee to become even semi-functional.

He freezes when he stumbles into the kitchen and comes face to face with Sarah, who’s pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge. She looks shocked to see him as she gives him a skeptical once over.

“Jesus, did you just get up? It’s 1 p.m.” Sarah makes a face. “Don’t you have a job?”

Rafe folds his arms over his chest defensively. “Don’t you?”

“No. I actually don’t.” Sarah shrugs.

“Well, maybe you should get one,” Rafe mumbles, walking to the coffee maker. “What are you doing here, Sarah?”

“Picking up a few things.” Sarah gestures towards the two fishing poles and the box of tackle resting on the kitchen table. “What are you doing here? Didn’t think you lived here anymore, Casanova.”

Rafe ignores that. “What the fuck do you need that stuff for? You’re going fishing? Is someone forcing you against your will? Is this a cry for help?

“Ha ha. John B’s taking me.” Sarah pushes her hair out of her face and avoids eye contact.

Rafe smirks. “Ah, I see. So does that mean you’ve broken up with Topper yet?”

“It’s complicated.”

“That’s a no.” Sarah makes a face at him but says nothing. Rafe grabs a mug and sets it next to the machine. “How about Kie? You talk to her?” He tries to make the question sound casual.

“Yeah. Have you?” Sarah looks at him like she already knows the answer. So much for seeming casual. “Judging by the state of you, I’m guessing not.”

“This is just what I look like,” Rafe argues half-heartedly.

“Uh huh.” Sarah folds her arms over her chest and surveys him with knowing eyes. “It’s like you told me, Rafe. It’s rare to find people as special as Kiara.”

Rafe swallows harshly. “Pretty sure you’re twisting my words. Plus, it’s different with us.”

“Yeah. Obviously.” Sarah rolls her eyes and grabs the fishing gear off the table before heading towards the front door. “But my point still stands. Take a shower and then try to do something with your life, will you?”

Rafe watches her leave as coffee drips slowly into the pot, the sound echoing in the silence of the big house. By the time the coffee is fully brewed, Rafe is showered and dressed to leave the house. She might be his unemployed baby sister, but Sarah has a point. Moping around the house isn’t going to make him feel any better. And he’s pretty damn sure going outside can’t make him feel any worse.

———————————————————————

An hour later, Rafe is talking to a clerk at Kildare Credit Union, trying to sweet talk her into letting him speak with Sofia’s aunt. He can be very charming when he wants to be, and he pulls out all the stops now. He leans against the counter, showing off his biceps, and smiles in that lopsided way that makes people’s brains short-circuit.

The clerk clears her throat nervously. “Mrs. Alvarez is very busy, so I’m not sure she’ll have time for a one-on-one meeting, sir.”

“It’s just that Cameron Development is looking for a new bank, and I want to speak with a teller I know I can trust. Mrs. Alvarez is my friend’s aunt.” Nevermind that Sofia hates him at the moment. She doesn’t need to know that.

“Cameron Development, you say?” The clerk bites her lip, obviously enticed by the opportunity to bring the business of a well-known company to the bank. “Give me just a moment.”

Rafe spends the better part of 30 minutes buttering Sofia’s aunt up, talking about his business, asking about her family, even mentioning his ‘friendship’ with Sofia. Usually he hates small talk, but he knows it’s necessary in this case, if he’s going to get anything out of her. They chat logistics for a while, and Rafe finally decides to take the plunge.

“If I needed to access the bank’s services after normal operating hours, to withdraw money or access a safety deposit box, say. Could we make arrangements for that?” He smooths his face, keeps it blank, like the question has no particular importance.

Mrs. Alvarez smiles. “Of course! We had a client access a safety deposit box long past midnight on a Saturday night not too long ago. You know, he even brought his young son with him.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “We assure you, Kildare Credit Union is very accommodating.”

“Wow.” Rafe doesn’t have to fake his surprise. “What could be so important that you would need to come in at midnight?”

“I don’t know, but he seemed very anxious to access the box. Well technically, his son was the one who had access. Only next of kin had permission to open the box.”

“Next of kin?” Mrs. Alvarez grimaces like she’s said too much.

“You know, I really shouldn’t be talking about this. Me and my big mouth. You must think I’m a gossip.”

“Not at all.” Rafe laughs warmly, putting a comforting hand on her arm and leaning forward. Plus, it’s not like you’ve given me any names. I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

Sofia’s aunt pauses for a moment before leaning towards him. “I guess I’ve just been itching to discuss it. It was so strange. They made a special request to come in the middle of the night, being secretive when they got here, and all that was in the box was some old piece of jewelry, or something. Or maybe some kind of magnifying glass. I swear, the light reflected through it so strangely.” She shakes her head, leaning back in her chair and laughing lightly. “Anyway, I’ve gotten us way off track. Do you need any more information about what our bank can do for you, Mr. Cameron?”

Rafe grins, a satisfied smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. “I think I’m good, thank you. You’ve given me more than enough.”

Later that day, right as the last dregs of dusk are swallowed by the hungry night sky, Rafe leans against the brick exterior of a bar. He’s smoking a cigarette while he contemplates the information he was given at the bank. He had one glass of whiskey to calm his nerves; he doesn’t know why, but the vague information about Groff and JJ made him anxious for reasons he can’t quite describe. All he knows is that in his gut, which has never had many feelings before he showed up in this place, he has the nagging sensation that a storm is coming. 

His train of thought is interrupted by the vibration of his phone. He looks down in surprise at his pocket - this has to be the first call he’s received in weeks.

Rafe’s thumb hovers shakily over the accept button when he sees the name on his screen. He considers not picking up, but he’s kidding himself. Like he would ever deny her anything, even now.

“What do you want, Kiara? Did you dial the wrong number, or something?” Alright, so he picked up, but he might still be a little angry. He even surprises himself with the sharpness of his tone.

“Rafe.” He freezes at the amount of fear packed into the single word. His name comes out of her mouth in pieces, Kiara’s voice shattered almost beyond recognition. She sounds terrified and broken. Rafe’s instantly on high alert, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

“Kie? What is it? What’s going on?” His voice is soft but insistent. He’s laser focused on her breathing across the line.

She shakily inhales before speaking again. “Someone…someone broke in. Busted the lock, ransacked the whole apartment.” Her voice is thick with unshed tears. “Rafe, I’m not 100%, but I think it was…”

“Groff.” Rafe clenches the phone in his hand so hard that he fears it might snap. “Fuck. Kie, where are you now? Are you somewhere safe?”

“I’m at my parent’s. Sitting outside in my car. I can’t get myself to go inside, my legs feel like jello.” She tries to laugh, but it comes out like a weak cough. “Rafe, can you…”

In this moment, it doesn’t matter that they fought, that they hurled ugly words at each other without holding back. It doesn’t matter that neither of them know how to say they’re sorry. Rafe’s already in his car, throwing it into drive. “I’ll be there in 10.”

On his way to Kiara’s parent’s house, he gets a call from his security team at Tannyhill, telling him that they turned away a man who claimed to be the company lawyer. The man was about 50 years old, with piercing blue eyes and a mustache. Rafe slams his hand into the steering wheel so hard that it bruises his hand. Groff. He’s going to kill that motherfucker. 

He pulls up to the curb at Kiara’s parent’s house with a loud screech, almost hopping out of the car before he shifts into park. She’s waiting at the curb, her arms folded over her chest like a warning, a duffel bag draped over one shoulder. Rafe jogs up, his eyes scanning her for any visible injuries, trying to find evidence of the damage that lurks beneath her skin. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Kiara shakes her head, but Rafe can tell she’s barely controlling her emotions. “I’m fine, just rattled. I feel so…exposed.” Her voice is small and demure, so unlike the Kiara he’s used to. The Kiara who yells at him about the environment, who tells him to fuck off even when she’s in the wrong.

Rafe starts to reach for her arm, then stops. He retracts his hand awkwardly and runs it through his hair, gesturing at her car with his other hand. “Leave your car here, okay? We’ll go back to Tannyhill, that way we don’t involve your parents and your car won’t give away where you are. I have 24/7 security. You’ll be safe there. I’ll make sure of it.”

He half expects her to argue, to snap at him and scold him for telling him what to do. But instead she just nods once, locking her car before heading to the passenger side of Rafe’s Range Rover.

On the way to Tannyhill, Rafe racks his brain for the right thing to say. There are a million questions running through his mind, a million half-formed apologies that come to his lips, but he swallows them all. Instead, he peeks at Kiara out of the corner of his eye. She’s staring into her lap, her head pointed down like she can’t support the weight of it. Rafe’s fingers flex on the center console, wanting to comfort her but not knowing how.

Rafe doesn’t say anything as the security guard stops them on the way in and relays the same message he told him on the phone. Rafe doesn’t say anything as they park outside the mansion, as he grabs her duffel from the backseat without asking and brings it up to the nicest guest room. But when they finally face each other as he sets the bag down on the bed, he notices Kiara is shaking so much that it looks like she might vibrate out of her skin. Her eyes are glassy, her lips bitten red from the pressure of her own teeth, and the sight of her looking so scared and defeated sends the last of Rafe’s reservations right out the window.

There are so many things he should say, that he wants to say, that he needs to say. But for now, Rafe settles for the only two words that matter.

“Come here.” He holds out his arms and takes two big steps to close the gap between them. But he lets Kiara meet him the rest of the way, just to give her an out. She doesn’t hesitate to step into his space and wrap her arms around his waist. Kiara tucks her head and burrows against Rafe’s chest, so close that he feels her rapid heartbeat as viscerally as his own. He wraps one arm around her back and cradles her head with the other, his body forming a human shield around her. I’m here. His body says what his mouth can't. I’ve got you.

Rafe holds her until the shaking stops, until Kiara’s heartbeat and breathing steady, until the tears that fell silently against his shirt dry up. It’s the most intimate hug Rafe has ever experienced, their bodies intertwined to the point of becoming one. But still, he grips her tighter, trying to smother the burning anger and rage that course through him as he feels Kiara’s fear pulse against his body.

“Rafe, don’t do anything stupid,” Kiara mutters into his shoulder after they hug for a few minutes. Rafe pulls away, confused, and sees that she’s almost smiling as she looks up at him.

“What are you talking about?” He’s still holding Kiara lightly by the shoulders, so he feels it when she shrugs.

“I don’t want you to do anything that would make Groff come for you. You heard the guards, he already tried.” Rafe almost makes a joke to play it off, but her brown eyes are tense and serious. She’s not going to let this go. So Rafe clenches his jaw and gives her a curt nod.

And because he doesn’t want Kiara to worry, Rafe doesn’t do anything stupid. Not directly, at least. Not in a way that could be traced back to him.

But he does pay someone to light Groff’s car on fire while the fucker is shopping at the grocery store later that week. The word on the street is that when Groff stepped into the parking lot and saw a cluster of fire trucks dousing the charred skeleton of his car with their hoses, he’d dropped all his groceries as he stared in shock.

Rafe also hires 24/7 security for his office, just in case. And one night while Kiara is asleep in an adjacent room, he tries several different combinations to open the gun safe in his dad’s office. When he’s finally able to crack the code (the date of his mother’s birthday), he retrieves a .45 automatic from inside, just in case. Just until they figure out their next move. Just until Rafe figures out how to take this fucker down. Just until Rafe doesn’t see any fear in Kiara’s eyes anymore.

Chapter Text

Apparently, Kiara is not very good at fighting with people.

There’s no greater proof than the fact that she makes up with both of the Cameron siblings within a few days, albeit for very different reasons.

While she was still reeling from her catastrophic fight with Rafe, feeling unmoored and adrift, Sarah appeared at the Wreck one afternoon like the answer to an unspoken prayer.

Kiara eyed her coolly as she approached, giving nothing away even as her heart pounded painfully. Sarah looked nervous, tucking her hair behind her ears multiple times like she needed something to do with her hands. “What can I do for you today?” Kiara’s voice was saccharine and false. “May I offer you some anger management resources? Some coping strategies to help prevent losing your shit in public?”

“Yeah, yeah. I wouldn’t act so high and mighty. You lost your shit too.” Sarah replied with a snort.

“That’s a funny way of saying you’re sorry,” Kiara retorted, her hands coming to her hips. “And for the record, I don’t lose my shit as bad as you did. So can I get you some food or what?”

“No, but you can listen to me for a minute without interrupting.” Kiara stared at her, speechless from the very audacity of the request. “Can we go somewhere to talk for a minute?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I know it’s a foreign concept to you, Sarah, but I actually have work to do. You can’t just come in here and demand-“

“Please, Kie. Just for a few minutes.” Sarah’s voice and face made it hard for Kiara to maintain her hostility. She looked nervous, maybe even remorseful. So Kiara sighed and led her out one of the doors.

Kiara walked to a corner of the patio with no guests around. “Alright. What?” She folded her arms over her chest, preparing for another confrontation. A screaming match, maybe.

“I just wanted to say….fuck, why are words so hard? I’m sorry, Kie. I know I was out of line. Obviously I was upset about you and Rafe, but you guys are adults.” Sarah hesitated, chewing anxiously on her lip. “The truth is….I’ve been struggling with some shit of my own, and I may have taken it out on you. Just a little.”

“Would hate to see what taking it out on me a lot would have looked like,” Kiara retorted, but she almost smiled.

“Shut up,” Sarah rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to apologize, okay? I think…I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I have no control over my own life, my own relationship, like I can’t even help myself. So I saw the opportunity to ‘help’ Rafe out and…I don’t know.” Sarah shrugged in resignation. “I took it. But I’m sorry for yelling at you. In public. In front of your friends.”

“And making me bleed. I have the scar to prove it.” She pointed down at her leg with a flourish. “But I get it. I’m sorry for yelling back.” Kiara finally let Sarah off the hook with a grin. “We made a damn scene.”

Sarah laughed shakily. “We really did. John B scolded me on the way back to Topper’s like a disappointed father. I got an earful from Rafe, too.”

Kiara’s answer came a little too quickly and a little too sharply. “You did?”

Sarah looked surprised that Kiara was surprised. “He didn’t tell you? He ran into me when I was hanging..with John B.” She scratched at her head awkwardly. Kiara raised her eyebrows.

“Okay, we’re circling back to that, because oh my god? But no, Rafe and I aren’t exactly….uh…speaking. At the moment. If that makes you feel any better about the whole thing.”

Sarah scoffed, looking offended. “I’m not a monster. I don’t want to be responsible for an acrimonious divorce.”

“You’re so dramatic. It’s not like that,” Kiara replied, shoving Sarah lightly.

“Sure it’s not. Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, you know,” Sarah replied, like she was imparting sacred wisdom.

“That phrase doesn’t even make sense,” Kiara pointed out. “Now onto more interesting things…like you and John B???”

“It’s nothing,” Sarah insisted, but her suspiciously pink cheeks gave her away.

“Sure it’s not." She glanced towards the door of the Wreck. “I have to get back to work, but do you want to get some food after my shift, so you can tell me all about nothing?” Kiara teased.

“I’d like that,” Sarah replied.

And that had been that. Their reconciliation had been as straightforward as their fight.

With Rafe, it isn’t quite that simple. Well, not the reason they fought in the first place, at least. The reason they made up is simple enough.

They made up because Kiara needs him, no matter how much she might hate that fact. When she came home to a busted lock and a trashed apartment, her very first instinct after recovering from the initial shock was to call Rafe. She hadn’t hesitated for a moment, her fingers moving of their own accord as they found his contact, and she felt deep relief when he pulled up outside her parents’ house and basically launched himself out of his car to get to her.

And even though she’d never really felt comfortable in the cavernous, impersonal interior of Tannyhill before, when Rafe pulled Kiara into his arms the night of the break in, she’d felt more at home than at any other point since she’d been transported to this Kildare.

And maybe that should tell her something. But after all, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, and Kiara prides herself on her geography skills.

So that’s how she finds herself living in the house of the person she kicked out of her apartment not even two weeks ago. Kiara might find it funny that she’s cohabitating with Rafe again if not for the decent probability that her life is in imminent danger.

They don’t talk about their fight, even though Kiara recognizes that’s probably what reasonable adults would do. She doesn’t know what she would say anyway. So in the days after the break-in, they co-exist like nothing ever happened.

Mostly.

Except that Rafe looks at her differently now, his gaze tinged with concern and something a little more raw, something that makes it difficult for Kiara to maintain eye contact for too long. Except that whenever they’re in the same room, she feels like a lit stick of dynamite, the space between them thick with a charge that’s moments away from detonating her.

But the shift in energy is hard to notice at first, because Rafe gives her a lot of space when she comes to stay at Tannyhill. Almost too much space.

Kiara has too much time to think about what Groff did in a place that was supposed to be safe.

Too much time to think about Rafe; about what happened between them, about what hasn’t happened between them, about the unfortunate reality that she feels safest with him around.

So after a few days of quiet recuperation, on a morning when she can’t stand the silence for a moment longer, Kiara sits at the kitchen island and waits for Rafe to  come down and make coffee.

When he saunters into the kitchen a little past 9:30, he freezes at the sight of her waiting for him, hands folded and knees crossed.

She nods at the mug she left on the counter for him. “Grab a cup of coffee and sit down.”

Rafe runs a hand over his head nervously but does what she asks. “Am I in trouble? I feel like I just got called into the principal’s office.” He smiles weakly as he pours the rich brown liquid into his mug.

“You’re not in trouble. Unless you keep looking at me like I’m a wounded animal, the way you have since I’ve gotten here. I’m fine, Rafe.” Kiara’s mouth quirks up slightly as he leans on the counter across from her, blowing on his steaming mug.

His brow furrows as he takes a tentative sip. “I’m not doing that.”

“You are. But it’s okay. I just wanted to….” Kiara drinks from her own mug, trying to find the right words. “Thanks. For coming to get me the other day.” She stares down at the counter, avoiding eye contact.

“Anytime.” The response is casual enough, but Rafe says it like a promise. Kiara tries in vain not to read into it, deciding to change the subject.

She levels him with a pointed glare. “But I thought I told you not to do anything stupid.”

Rafe seems offended. “I haven’t.”

Kiara snorts at the blatant lie. “No? So you didn’t have anything to do with Groff’s car spontaneously combusting?”

“Huh.” Rafe cocks his head to the side, feigning innocence. “Right, I heard about that. Nasty accident, but I can’t say I’m sad about it.” When he meets Kiara’s gaze, she’s glaring at him, unamused. “I didn’t do it, Kiara. It can’t be traced back to me. Relax.”

She sighs, but she feels something dangerously close to fondness bloom in her chest. This idiot. “Yeah, but the timing might make him a little suspicious, don’t you think??”

“He needs to know that his actions have consequences.” Rafe replies fiercely, gripping his coffee cup so tightly that Kiara fears he might crush it between his hands. She feels ashamed of the brief flash of satisfaction his anger brings her, knowing it’s messed up that she’s a little bit pleased that Rafe wants vengeance because of what Groff did to her.

As if to atone for even thinking it, she reaches out and places her palm over his right hand, her touch featherlight. His skin is rough and warm, and his hand is trembling slightly.

“I don’t disagree.” Kiara’s voice is as soft as her touch. “But has the map to the crown, Rafe. We don’t want to risk him skipping town before we find a way to stop him.” Rafe’s stops staring at their intertwined hands, his head snapping up to look her in the eye.

“How do you know he has the map?”

“I uh…” Kiara clears her throat and shifts in her chair, not wanting to answer the question.

Rafe’s eyes glint, like he already knows the answer. “Spit it out, Kie.”

“I saw it in JJ’s truck.” Kiara grimaces at the look on his face and drops her hand.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You were in his truck after he ditched you at his fucking dealer’s house? Kiara.”  The condescending emphasis on her name makes her bristle. She feels like a little kid getting scolded, and she hates the way Rafe gets under her skin in ways that no one else seems to.

“I knew you were going to be judgy about this!” Her voice comes out slightly whiney, and she knows she’s not helping her own case. “He wanted to apologize, so we got ice cream while he worked up the nerve to apologize. I gave him an earful.” She shrugs, but she feels anything but casual. Why does it bother him so much? Why do I like that it bothers him so much?

“Great. I’m sure that’s the main thing he took away from that experience. Not the fact that you’re still giving him the time of day after he left you for dead.” They’re veering a little too close to the fight that Kiara’s actively trying to forget, so she glares at him and changes the subject.

“ANYway,” she says pointedly, “I saw it in the backseat when he picked me up. It was hard to miss.”

Rafe takes another sip of his coffee, then walks around the island and sits on the chair next to Kiara, turning to face her. “When was this?”

He’s too close now, and Kiara is overwhelmed by the sound of his breathing, the smell of his skin, the gentle flutter of his eyelashes. She has to suppress the irrational urge to back away. “It was the day of the break-in. He dropped me off at my apartment after we got ice cream and I saw that my lock was busted. You know the rest.”

Kiara feels Rafe’s eyes on her for so long that she’s forced to turn and look at him again. His gaze is dark and intense, and he’s staring at her like he’s waiting for her to catch up. Like she’s missing something obvious. Her heart clenches in her chest.

“You don’t think…” that JJ had something to do with this. She can’t finish the sentence. Can’t even speak the treacherous words out loud.

Rafe looks at her calmly and patiently, and that somehow makes the whole thing worse. “I do, actually.”

Kiara pushes back from the island, outrage bubbling to the surface as she glares at him. “JJ wouldn’t do that.”

Rafe’s voice is icy, one degree away from frigid. “Are you sure about that?”

They stare at each other for a loaded, tense moment while Kiara debates what to say. The truth is, she’s not sure anymore. But she can’t bear to admit that to Rafe. “What do you think Groff wanted from my place?”

Rafe’s sigh is so soft that she almost misses it. “I’m guessing he realized the compass was gone, so maybe he’s afraid it gives us some kind of leverage…” He trails off abruptly, something clicking into place behind his eyes.

Kiara waits for a minute as he stares into space, but she quickly loses patience. She snaps her fingers in front of his face. “What, Rafe?”

He speaks slowly and deliberately, like he’s testing each word before it comes out. “I’m not sure why he needs the compass back. But Kie, I think he has the lens, too. The one that makes it possible to read the map.”

Kiara blinks in surprise. “What?”

“Yeah, Sofia’s aunt basically told me as much.” Kiara doesn’t know why that sentence stings like a slap, why it makes it so hard to hear Rafe as he continues talking. “If you ever want to bank with Kildare Credit Union, just know that their employees do not have much respect for client privacy.”

“Ah, right. I heard you’ve been hanging out with Sofia again. Why would you say that? Kiara mentally kicks herself.

“Yeah, well. Not anymore.” There’s something about the way Rafe says it that makes Kiara uneasy, that makes her push the issue even though she’s not sure she wants more information.

“Why not?” Why would you ask that??

Thankfully, Rafe saves Kiara from herself. “Can we focus on the main issue here? If Groff has the map and the lens, that’s all he needs to go after the Crown, right? What’s stopping him from leaving right now? From skipping town and dodging a murder conviction while my dad rots in jail?” His fingers wrap around his mug so tightly that they turn white. Kiara reaches out and places her smaller hand over his, pushing down gently until the cup rests on the counter. She watches Rafe’s eyes flit to her hand.

“We’ll figure something out,” she says resolutely, sounding way more confident than she feels. “JJ said they needed to tie up a few loose ends before they leave town…maybe we’re one of them? And there was that guy at the party, the one Groff owes money to. He could just leave town without paying him, but then he would risk being followed. So maybe…” Kiara looks up suddenly. “Groff has the gold, right?”

“As far as we know, yeah.”

“Where would Groff keep stuff that he really wants to hide?” When the two lock eyes, it’s so silent in the kitchen that Kiara can almost hear the gears turning in Rafe’s head. “Who owns Blackstone right now?” They both have a hunch about the answer.

———————————————————————

Rafe is sitting on a chair in the bathroom with his nose buried in his phone, scouring the internet for any details about Blackstone that might help them later tonight. Kiara is standing over him with an electric razor in her hand and a worrisome gleam in her eye that he hasn’t noticed yet.

“Reading anything useful? PLEASE tell me you’re not reading any AI overviews.” Kiara peeks over his shoulder, wrinkling her nose in disapproval at the thought.

“But AI overviews are perfect for people like me: illiterate and lazy.” Rafe looks up from his phone, jumping a little at Kiara’s reflection. “Shit, you look terrifying right now.”

“Good,” Kiara smirks, brandishing the clippers like a weapon.

They have time to kill until nightfall, when they’re heading out to do ‘surveillance’ at Blackstone. A quick Google search revealed that after he died, Blackstone’s previous owner, Wes Genrette, passed the property on to - who else? Chandler Groff, the widow of Mr. Genrette’s late daughter, Larissa. It pretty much lines up with the events in the other reality.

Except according to the article, Blackstone has fallen into unsightly disrepair, left virtually untouched in the years since Wes’s death. Rafe focuses on his phone again, zooming in on another picture of the dilapidated, vine-infested estate. He sighs deeply, and Kiara smirks. The realtor in him must be screaming.

“Guess everything he touches goes to shit. Can’t say I’m surprised,” Rafe scoffs.

“Perfect place to hide an evil secret lair full of shady shit, though,” Kiara says, wrapping a towel around his shoulders.

“Can I just mention again that I think it’s a terrible idea to go waltzing into said secret lair?”

“No complaining unless you have a better idea. Which you don’t.” Kiara looks at him pointedly in the mirror. “Speaking of terrible ideas. You sure about this?” Rafe had surprised her by coming downstairs with electric clippers, saying he was tired of his “fuck ass bangs,” asking her to shave his head while they had time to kill. Kiara was secretly pleased that he’d asked, that he trusts her enough to hold a sharp object this close to his skull.

“Resist the urge to cut off an ear and I’ll be fine.” Rafe’s lopsided smile makes Kiara’s heart do something funny in her chest.

She clears her throat and hopes her voice comes out sounding normal. “Why do you need two ears? You never listen anyway. One should be sufficient.”

He narrows his eyes. “Hilarious.”

“Don’t look so nervous. I’ve cut JJ and John B’s hair a million times.” Kiara pats his shoulder and turns on the clippers before Rafe can protest. She stands close to his left shoulder, angling the clippers against the hair’s growth pattern, and flips the trim length to 3.

Rafe didn’t have that much hair to begin with, so the process doesn’t take long. But the whole thing is oddly intimate. Kiara grips his shoulder as she leans forward, running the clippers from the front of his head to the back. Her chest presses into his back, his body solid and warm beneath her. He smells more strongly of vanilla today, and she has to suppress the urge to breathe deeply and fill her lungs with the scent. Strands of his dirty blonde hair flutter down past his face as she works, and he scrunches his face dramatically, his nose wrinkling.

“Don’t sneeze!” Kiara scolds over the sound of the clippers. “I’ll cut you on accident and you’re gonna blame me.”

“I’m trying not to!!” Rafe protests, but he’s laughing. His blue eyes are warm as he smiles, and when they make eye contact in the mirror, Kiara is surprised to see that she’s smiling too. Rafe holds her gaze for so long that Kiara forgets what she’s doing. She realizes that she’s frozen in the air with the clippers still running, staring at him like an idiot.

Kiara clears her throat and looks down, her cheeks pink. “Is this length okay? Or do you want me to go one shorter?”

“This is great.” Rafe’s voice is so gentle that she can’t bring herself to look up.

“Good. I didn’t want to say it, but going any shorter would definitely make you look like a skinhead,” she jokes.

Rafe’s laugh is loud and abrupt, like she yanked it out of him against his will. “Rude! And to think I was being nice.”

“Rookie mistake.”

Kiara finishes shaving the top of his head quickly, then moves onto the sides and back. At one point she grips the back of Rafe’s neck for better leverage, and she feels him shiver at the contact. Right before she lets him go, she feels goosebumps form on the skin under her fingertips, and it sends heat spiraling through her body to know he’s so affected by her touch. Even with the sound of the clippers in her ear, she swears she can hear Rafe’s steady intake of breath quicken slightly.

Kiara turns off the clippers and stands back, surveying her work. She tries to pretend she doesn’t feel Rafe’s eyes on her in the mirror, tracking her movements.

Now that his hair is buzzed again, he looks more like the Rafe she’s gotten to know over the past few years. The Rafe that’s been with her through the worst of her anger and devastation. The Rafe that saw ugly, dark sides of her that not even the Pogues were privy to. The Rafe that almost feels like-

“Welcome back to angsty, tortured Rafe,” Kiara jokes to cut off her own train of thought. She works up the nerve to look in the mirror, but he’s not looking at himself. He’s staring right at her.

“Like he ever left,” he replies, his voice teasing but low. Too sincere, almost emotional, the hidden meaning of his words lurking just underneath the shiny surface. Kiara swallows, fighting against the sudden dryness in her throat. “Thanks for doing this, Kie. Looks way better than it would if I did it.”

“I think you could have managed without me.”

“Unlikely.” Rafe’s gaze is intense and unreadable. Kiara is desperate to look away, but she can’t tear her eyes away from him, can’t free herself from the hypnotizing deep blue of his eyes. One of her hands is still loosely gripping his shoulder, and she swears that he starts to reach for it as he speaks again. “Kie-“

Kiara jumps when her phone starts ringing; she switched on her ringer so she would know when John B was here. She picks up the call and tells him they’ll be out in a minute, as Rafe collects the towel from around his shoulders and sweeps up his hair from the ground. Then they get changed and meet in the entryway, wearing dark colors like they agreed upon.

“You look stupid,” Kiara snorts, gesturing at Rafe’s all-black outfit that consists of a black sweatshirt and joggers. “Like a wannabe spy.”

“We’re basically dressed the same,” Rafe points out, but Kiara just shrugs and pulls a black beanie over her loose, wild curls. “I can’t believe you got John B to help us. I thought he hated me.”

“Oh, he does. I had to bribe him gratuitously.” She’s not sure what possesses her to do it, but she walks over and takes the baseball cap out of Rafe’s hands, reaching up and tugging it onto his newly shaved head. Kiara feels his breath against her eyelashes as she pulls it into place, and feels his eyes on her as she ghosts her hands over the side of his neck before dropping them and stepping away. She blinks as she comes back into her body, feeling a little like a woman possessed.

But Rafe doesn’t say anything about it. He just scratches the back of his neck as he reaches down, slinging a black backpack over his shoulder as Kiara slips her shoes on.

Kiara stares down at it skeptically. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s my go-bag,” Rafe replies, like it should be obvious.

“Your go-bag?”  Kiara emphasizes the words, each syllable dripping with derision.

“If you’re making me embark on this suicide mission, the least I can do is come prepared. It has water, flashlights, phone charger…” he hesitates, like there’s something he doesn’t want to mention.

Kiara shrugs. “No one’s making you. You can stay here. I think I can manage on my own.” Kiara heads for the front door with a dramatic flourish.

“No you can’t. The go-bag has all the essentials,” Rafe mutters, following behind her and locking the door after them.

They walk towards the Twinkie, but they freeze halfway down the driveway when they see who’s waiting in the passenger seat.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Rafe groans, throwing his head back. Sarah wiggles her fingers at them from the passenger side.

“She stole my keys and wouldn’t tell me where they were until I let her tag alone,” John B explains apologetically.

“I refuse to be excluded from this little adventure,” Sarah chirps as they climb in.

“That your go-bag?” John B gestures at the bag slung across Rafe’s shoulders. He nods. “Nice,” John B replies as he puts the rusty, ancient van into drive, which protests with an assortment of concerning rattles and groans.

“Are go-bags included in some secret handbook about being a man?” Kiara wonders aloud.

“What’s your problem with the go-bag??” Rafe huffs, turning to look at her across the aisle of the backseat.

“Can everyone stop saying go-bag??” Sarah says in exasperation, looking at them in the rearview mirror as they amble down the dark road away from Tannyhill. “So what exactly are you guys up to, dressed like amateur thieves? John B said he’s taking you in his boat to Blackstone and then coming back to get you? Why can’t he just tie up on the dock there and wait until you’re done?”

Kiara and Rafe glance at each other. Kiara gestures for Rafe to say something with her eyes. “We uh…don’t exactly want them to know we’re coming. We’re just trying to uh…do some recon. Learn what we can. Check if there’s anything worth seeing.”

“Well that’s incredibly vague and not at all helpful. What happens if you get caught?” Sarah raises her eyebrows.

“The plan is not to get caught,” Kiara chimes in, making Rafe roll his eyes. This is a point he had brought up to her several times when they were arguing about the plan.

Kiara recognizes that it’s not a great plan, but they’re running out of time.

“Genius,” John B mutters.

“That’s terrible!” Sarah exclaims, swiveling around in her seat. “You guys suck at plans. You should have called sooner.”

“I’m your older brother, Sarah,” Rafe replies, seemingly miffed at the idea of needing her help,

“An older brother that’s terrible at making plans.”

———————————————————————

The boat ride from the dock to Blackstone isn’t even 15 minutes, but Kiara is so anxious that it feels like the journey takes hours. She jiggles her leg so violently at one point that John B scolds her and says she’s going to capsize the boat if she keeps it up.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Rafe mutters under his breath, leaning close and pressing his shoulder to Kiara’s. She tries not to notice the way Sarah stares at them as she nods curtly.

“Remember the plan,” Rafe starts, but John B’s scathing look silences him.

“Drop you off on the southwest side of the island, away from the main dock. You’ll text us when you’re 15 minutes from needing a pickup.” Sarah repeats, spitting her hair out of her mouth as the wind whips it in her face.

John B cuts the motor as they coast up to the small dock on the southwest side, bumping gently against the worn, splintered wood. Rafe and Kiara sit in the boat for a moment longer, working up the nerve to leave the small boat that’s rocking gently on the nighttime waves.

“Don’t die,” John B quips when they finally hop out.

“Good luck!” Sarah whispers.

And then they’re disappearing into the thick, still night air, with only the ripples on the water as evidence that they were there at all. The two intruders stand on the dock for a moment, staring into black nothingness. Kiara is suddenly struck by the fact that she can’t see any stars. She has the urge to tell Rafe they should abandon this dumb mission completely.

“Should we do this?” Rafe sounds as uncertain as she feels.

“Nothing to lose,” Kiara mutters under her breath. And then they head towards the heart of the island, in the direction of the old mansion.

They pick their way through the dense forest ringing the manor, the thick underbrush threatening to topple them with each step. When Kiara stubbornly rejects a flashlight even after tripping over a tangled root, she pretends not to see the smug look on Rafe’s face.

It’s deadly quiet among the trees, and at first there are times when it’s so dark that Kiara only knows where Rafe is from the sounds of his breathing. But as they make their way further inland, the oppressive darkness gradually lightens and the crushing silence eases a bit, although the shift is so gradual that she doesn’t notice for a long time.

As they’re approaching the edge of the woods she turns to say something to Rafe, but he shakes his head and holds a finger to his lips.

Listen, he mouths, pointing beyond the thin line of trees at the forest’s edge. Kiara focuses her attention and hears the faint sound of two voices carrying in the still night air. She squints in the general direction, but she can’t see anything aside from the faint glow from what she assumes is the ancient house.

Rafe makes a series of complex hand motions that Kiara can barely see and definitely can’t decode. She rolls her eyes and creeps forward to the edge of the tree line, ignoring Rafe’s huff of frustration over her left shoulder. She crouches behind a log and squints in the direction of the light, where the driveway is visible from approximately 50 yards away. Kiara’s stomach drops when she just barely makes out two blonde figures walking up the driveway towards the house. JJ’s here. With Groff.

Kiara glances at Rafe as he crouches next to her behind the log. “You got binoculars in that thing?” She whispers. He roots around in the bag for a while, making entirely too much noise in the silence of the night. But eventually he pulls out something that looks suspiciously like a pair of binoculars, a very triumphant look splashed across his face. “I wasn’t being SERIOUS,” Kiara insists.

“Ask and you shall receive. Although you really shouldn’t, since you knocked the go bag earlier,” Rafe whispers, waving them in front of Kiara’s face.

“Just give me the fucking binoculars.” She snatches them out of his hands and holds them to her face.

“Always so rude,” Rafe grumbles. “I get absolutely no respect.”

Kiara watches as JJ emerges from the massive garage, hauling what appears to be two heavy bags and placing them on top of a pile of similar bags in a utility cart. There are probably four or five bags in total. She could be mistaken, but she swears she sees a glint of gold coming from one of the bags in the low light coming from the garage. She watches as Groff points towards the house, directing JJ to close the garage, which he does with a huff. “It looks like they’re leaving. I could be wrong, but they might be taking some gold with them,” Kiara hisses without looking away.

“Let me look.” Rafe nudges her shoulder and holds out his hand for the binoculars.

“Why, you don’t believe me?”

“No, I just want to check the exterior for the easiest entrance point. Even if they leave, we still have to find a way in.”

“And you don’t think I’m capable of doing that?” Kiara replies, pretending to be more outraged than she actually is.

“Jesus Christ. That’s not what I’m saying, Kie.” Rafe pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Kinda sounds like that’s why you’re saying. Is it because I’m a girl?” She’s just teasing him now, but he huffs in exasperation and it gives her a petty thrill.

“Can we table this argument for a time when we’re not trying to avoid detection by evil incarnate and his idiot son?”

“Hey!” Kiara protests in defense of JJ, briefly forgetting where they are. The sound rings out harsh and clear across the empty field between the forest and the house. Rafe clamps a hand over her mouth as they duck closer to the ground and press themselves against the thick log.

“SHIT,” Rafe hisses. Kiara mumbles in protest behind his hand. When he reluctantly lets her go, she lifts her head slightly to peek back towards Blackstone.

She can’t see much without the binoculars, but she can tell Groff is facing their direction. Even from this distance, the sight makes her blood run cold. He peers towards the forest for a while, taking a few steps forward like he’s contemplating heading their way.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Kiara mutters as she ducks down again. “I’m fucking stupid.”

Rafe grunts in agreement, both of their bodies tense and motionless as they wait for the verdict. Kiara can feel the heat of Rafe’s body through her sweatshirt, and she’s equal parts annoyed and impressed she can still notice things like that at a time like this.

Right before Groff steps off the concrete driveway and into the low grass of the field, Kiara hears a voice calling him back. JJ’s voice. And then Groff is turning away and walking down the driveway, seemingly forgetting all about the suspicious noise he heard.

“Looks like the idiot son just saved our assess,” Kiara whispers, a little smugly. Rafe’s reaction seems more instinctual than intentional, his face wrinkling in displeasure and his eyebrows coming together.

“Whatever. We still need to wait at least 5 minutes to make sure the coast is clear before we head in.”

As they wait, Rafe scans the exterior of the gigantic house using the binoculars. Kiara wants to giggle at the way he’s intently focused, like he’s on a life or death mission in a shitty spy movie. She holds it in as long as she can, knowing his patience with her is thin at the moment. But eventually she can’t help herself.

“Find anything useful, Mr. Bond?” She teases in a poor British accent.

He shoots her a dirty look from around the binoculars. “You’re a real comedian tonight, huh? I think I see a busted window. We should be good to go now, they have to be long gone by now.”

Rafe stuffs the binoculars back into his bag and slings it over his shoulder as Kiara creeps forward, tugging her beanie more securely over her forehead. It’s stupid but it makes her feel better, like somehow being well covered will keep her out of sight. The lights that were on in the driveway are off now, so Kiara moves carefully to avoid tripping again in the low light. She hangs back as they near the sprawling estate, letting Rafe take the lead.

“Window’s this way.” He leads them deeper into the shadows on the right side of the estate. It’s cool and breezy in the shadows, and Kiara hears the whistle of the wind as it circumvents the busted window pane and slithers into the house. The whole scene takes on a ghostly quality in the pale light of the moon. Kiara shudders to think what other macabre secrets lie in the belly of this old house.

“Can’t believe he didn’t even bother to fix the window,” Kiara whispers.

“Lucky for us he didn’t. Hopefully he doesn’t notice that this busted window is about to become a little more busted.”

Rafe pulls a long, sturdy piece of wood from an abandoned woodpile nearby and approaches the window. “Stand back,” he says over his shoulder, raising the piece of wood. He covers his mouth with his left arm as he prods at the jagged panes of glass.

There’s a melodic twinkle as shattered glass falls onto the windowsill and the floor below. Once he dislodges all the remaining glass and clears as much of it as possible from the window frame, Rafe throws the piece of wood to the side. Then he pulls his sweatshirt off and places it across the windowsill, and Kiara tries (unsuccessfully) not to admire the way his back ripples under his tight t-shirt as he works. When he turns back to look at her, she fears he might have caught her staring.

“I’ll go first, alright? I want to make sure there are no big pieces of glass on the windowsill and that we don’t have company before you come in. I’ll help pull you in, okay?”

“You don’t have to do that, Rafe. I can go first.” Kiara isn’t sure whether to be annoyed or amused at his attempt at chivalry.

“Too late!” Rafe grabs onto the windowsill and jumps, lithely pulling himself up and through the gaping mouth of the busted window. Kiara hears the crunch of his sneakers on glass as he lands lightly on the other side.

“Show off,” Kiara calls into the house, and she thinks she hears him laugh.

“Come on, I’ll pull you through,” Rafe says, his voice muffled by the wind. And then his hands appear like an apparition out of the creepy house, his smooth, tan skin glowing like a beacon in the darkness. He brushes a few pieces of glass from the top of his sweatshirt before offering both hands to her, his wrists crossed.

Kiara doesn’t want to go head first, so she grabs both of Rafe’s hands for leverage and pushes against the side of the house with her legs, like she’s scaling a rock wall. Her hands feel small and slick in his warm, rough hands.

“Jesus, Kie, you’re going to rip my arms out of their sockets,” Rafe grunts, his face only partially visible in the shadows.

“You offered to do this, asshole.”

Kiara reaches the windowsill and swings her legs over, releasing Rafe’s hands and gripping the window frame as she pulls herself into the house. She winces as a small piece of glass digs into her hand, and she feels Rafe’s eyes focus sharply on her at the sound. His body relaxes slightly when her feet land on the hardwood floor with a sharp crunch.

After Kiara drops into the dark, musty room, they stand a few feet away from each other, everything silent except for the faint whistle of the wind and the gentle sounds of their own breathing. She feels Rafe’s exacting gaze, his eyes so intense that it feels like he’s a human x-ray machine. He’s assessing her, checking for injuries before they move on. He does it seriously, deliberately, like making sure she’s okay is his top priority. She doesn’t know what to do with that.

Rafe clears his throat, his eyes flitting away from her face. “I’m going to go in the hall and check to make sure the coast is clear,” he says after a long moment. Kiara nods as he turns around, his long strides carrying him deeper into the dark house. He rummages around in his bag and pulls out the flashlight, flicking it on and shining its concentrated beam in front of him.

Kiara moves to follow him but is met with resistance as her sweatshirt is pulled sharply behind her. She tries to swivel around to see where it caught on the window, but the motion just twists the fabric around her like a cotton vise.

“Rafe, hold on, my sweatshirt snagged on the windowsill!” Kiara’s whisper has the urgency of a yell.

“What??” He turns around from the edge of the cluttered, dank living room and faces her, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“I’m stuck!” Kiara hisses, forcing down the panic that rises at being caught in place like an animal in a trap. Only five seconds in this creepy ass house and things are already going wrong.

“Alright, stay still so you don’t cut yourself on the glass. I’m coming.” Rafe moves towards her, his eyes shining with concern even in the dark. The flashlight flickers as he takes long strides to close the gap between them. But when he’s halfway through the living room, the eerie quiet is shattered by a grating, ear-splitting splintering sound that makes Kiara’s stomach drop. Her eyes snap to Rafe’s, and they make eye contact for the briefest moment before everything goes to shit.

“Fuck!” Rafe yells as the rotted floor gives way, dropping out from under him. Kiara swears that time slows down for a second; for one moment he’s suspended above nothing, floating and weightless. And then she can’t see him anymore. He plummets out of sight with a dramatic crash and a sickening thud from somewhere below. The silence that follows feels oppressive and wrong, like the house itself has been gagged and bound.

“Rafe?? RAFE???” No reply. No moans of pains, no cursing or calling out. Why isn’t he answering? At the idea of Rafe lying broken and bleeding on the floor, his body lifeless and limp, Kiara feels panic rear like an ugly beast in her chest, so savage that it knocks the breath out of her.

She’s never had to think about what she would do if something were to happen to Rafe - there was a time in her life where she wouldn’t have cared, honestly. But even now, when things are….more complicated, he's always felt so invincible to her, so indestructible. He’s taken a life before, so Kiara never worried about him losing his own. She started to take for granted that Rafe was just…there. All the time.

And after a year of that certainty, now she can’t see him, she can’t hear him, and she doesn’t know if he’s okay. If he’s even alive. She wants to scream. She feels physically sick as she stares at the gaping hole in the floor. She doesn’t think she can do this without him, and she doesn’t want to find out if she can. She needs Rafe to be okay.

Kiara thrashes against her twisted sweatshirt, her heart pounding and her breathing frantic, until the fabric comes free with a harsh tearing sound. She rushes to the place where the floor gave way with no concern for her own safety, looking desperately down into the darkness below.

“Rafe! Fucking answer me! This isn’t fucking funny!” She calls out again, her voice thick with tears as it echoes in the darkness. Still no reply.

The flashlight rolled somewhere out of sight, so she can barely make out Rafe’s limp form on the ground of what she assumes is the basement. She has to resist the insane urge to jump down after him, knowing she’s no use to either of them with broken legs. Kiara can’t tell if he’s breathing from up here, and she’s shaking so hard that her vision is blurred anyway.

“I’m coming Rafe, alright? I’m coming. You’re going to wake up, and I’m going to get you out of here, do you hear me? You’re not going to fucking do this to me. We’re getting out of here.” Her voice is shaking just as much as her hands, so she takes a deep breath before she pulls out her phone and calls John B. While she’s on the phone, she fights against her rising panic and starts looking for a goddamn door to the basement.

If Rafe isn’t breathing when she gets to him, she’s going to kill him.

Chapter Text

Rafe wakes up to a pounding in his head that’s rivaled only by the pounding coming from somewhere above him in the house.

It takes a long time for his vision to clear - not that it helps him see much. Wherever he ended up is oppressively dark and damp, and the overwhelming smell of mildew is basically the only thing he perceives for a while. His flashlight is somewhere far out of reach, but before he can even make a move for it, the yelling and pounding resumes from above, distant but urgent enough that he can make it out.

“Rafe! FUCKING ANSWER ME, RAFE!” Kiara’s voice is thick and hoarse, like she’s been yelling or crying. Maybe both.

“Jesus, my head,” he croaks out. “Kie?” He calls out, a little louder. There’s a long pause, during which Rafe imagines Kiara with her fist frozen in midair, staring at the door in surprise.

“Rafe??” Kiara’s voice is heavy with relief and something a little more desperate. “Thank fuck, you didn’t answer me for like, over 5 minutes. Are you okay??”

“I think I hit my head.” He calls back, as loud as he can muster.

“You think you shit the bed??” Kiara yells through the door.

“You know damn well that’s not what I said!” Rafe groans. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the basement, but the door is padlocked. I’m gonna go into the next couple rooms and see if I can find something to break the lock. John B is on his way, alright? We’re leaving as soon as I get this door open.”

“What about the mission?” Rafe winces as he tries to sit up, propping himself up shakily on scraped elbows.

“Fuck the mission.” Her reply is resolute and immediate. “We need to get you out of here. I’ll be back, alright?”

“Kiara, be careful. Move slow, alright?” Rafe counsels her like he’s not the one sitting on his ass in a hole.

There’s a brief pause. Rafe’s fuzzy brain conjures up the image of Kiara pressing her forehead and her palms to the door, desperate to reach him. “I’ll be back.”

Rafe scoots towards the faint beam of the flashlight, wincing when he tries to put weight on his right ankle. He thinks it might be sprained. He gropes in the darkness for his backpack, which is just within reach of his outstretched fingertips. But the fall must have jostled the bag open, because it’s lying ajar on the ground.

Rafe rifles through the bag for a few minutes, searching for the familiar cold metal of the gun under his palm, but it’s nowhere to be found. He checks every pocket. Nothing. Which means that the gun he brought without telling Kiara is somewhere on the ground in this basement, where Groff can potentially find it. Another thing pointing to their ill-considered break in, as if the gaping hole in the ceiling isn’t evidence enough.

“Shit,” he whispers to no one. “Kiara’s going to kill me.”

As his eyes adjust to the darkness, Rafe notices that his fall was cushioned by a pile of rough fabric. He pulls his phone out of his pocket (shattered screen, of course), and shines it on the items that broke his fall. What he sees makes his stomach drop so abruptly that he feels like he’s in free-fall.

He knows these bags, is intimately familiar with the design because he sees it nearly every day when he goes into the office. They’re canvas totes embossed with the Cameron Development logo, leftover product from a short-lived and unsuccessful marketing attempt that consisted of passing the totes to shops owners, locals, and tourists around town. Why the fuck are so many of these in Blackstone?

Rafe tries to pull one towards him, but it’s so heavy that he almost dislocates his shoulder. What the hell is in here? He tugs the zipper open and his breath catches in his throat. A glint of tell-tale gold, topped with a symbol he knows well from hours of stacking identical bars into a truck to transport them with Ward. 

It could be a coincidence that at least some of the Merchant gold is sitting in Cameron Development bags in the basement of a property owned by Groff, but Rafe is believing in coincidences less and less these days.

He’s about to try to open a bag that’s not as heavy when Kiara’s voice rings out from above, sounding slightly winded. “I couldn’t find bolt cutters or anything, so a hammer will have to do. It’ll take me a minute, but I’m on it.”

“What the hell are you going to do with a hammer?” Rafe hollers, his voice stronger now. Instead of answering, he sees the sharp edge of a hammer bust through the wood of the basement door, letting in a small sliver of light. “Jesus Christ,” Rafe mutters to himself. “She’s busting through the door like this is The Shining.”

“I heard that,” Kiara yells back. “Keep complaining and I’m leaving you down there.”

While Kiara painstakingly brings the hammer to the door again and again, chipping away at the rotting wood, Rafe collects as many scattered items from his backpack as possible without getting up. He’s not sure how much weight he can put on his ankle, and he wants to save his strength for when they need to get up the stairs.

“HAHA! I did it!” Kiara’s triumphant voice is clearer now, and Rafe hears the rustle of fabric as she wiggles through the hole in the old door. Her footsteps pound down the stairs, urgent and uncaring about the noise, and Rafe’s heart pounds like he hasn’t seen Kiara in days. When she enters his field of vision in the low light, he swears he’s never been so happy to see anyone. Relief spreads through his body, making him temporarily forget about the pain radiating from his lower half.

“Rafe,” Kiara whispers, dropping to her knees beside him. “I was so worried.” 

And then she does something that shocks him to his core. She throws her arms around him and buries her head into the crook of his neck. Her skin is slightly damp and she’s shaking, whether from fear or exertion he’s not sure. It takes a second before Rafe’s body cooperates and he’s able to wrap his arms around her, but when he does his grip is firm, grounding. It’s slightly awkward, with Rafe sitting on his butt and Kiara on her knees leaning into him, but in that moment Rafe feels like it’s the best hug he’s ever had in his life. He takes a deep breath, inhaling Kiara’s familiar scent, letting her warmth seep into his chilled skin.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs into her hair, his hand absentmindedly rubbing circles on her back. He feels her laugh slightly, even as she’s still shaking.

“You’re the one that nearly died. I’m supposed to be comforting you,” Kiara says as she pulls away, wiping a stray tear that escapes down her face. She grimaces as she looks at him; judging by the look on her face, he looks as bad as he feels.

“Oh god, you’re bleeding.” Kiara reaches for Rafe, her touch on the side of his head featherlight as she gingerly assesses his wounds. The light caress of her fingers makes him dizzier than the fall did. “Does it hurt?” She bites her lip and her eyes shine with worry.

“Not as much as my ankle does,” Rafe admits. “I’m not sure how much weight I can put on it.”

“It’s alright. We’ll figure it out.” Her voice is gentle, understanding, like he’s something fragile that needs to be handled with care. Usually Rafe would bristle at being spoken to like that, but not with Kiara. Never with her. He leans into her touch, and something he can’t quite identify shifts in her face. “Let’s get you up, yeah?”

Rafe wraps an arm around her shoulders and she winds one around his waist, and together they haul him to his feet. He leans heavily to his left, trying to keep as much weight off his right ankle as possible. Kiara staggers a little under his weight before finding her footing. Rafe winces, looking at Kiara apologetically.

“This is gonna suck. I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t you ever do a three legged race in school? It’s going to be a piece of cake. And John B is waiting at the edge of the forest, keeping lookout. He’s going to help as soon as we get out of the house.” Before they start moving, Rafe leans down with difficultly and snatches the nearest Cameron Development bag and slings it over his shoulder on an impulse. Kiara shoots him a look but doesn’t question him.

They take a few hobbling steps towards the staircase, with Rafe’s cracked phone flashlight helping guide the way. But after a few painful feet, Kiara’s sneaker makes contact with something on the ground, something that’s slick and heavy and ominous-sounding in the dark. Rafe flinches at the familiar hollow sound.

“What the fuck was that?” Kiara hisses.

“Hold on, I think it was…” But Kiara leans down before Rafe can make a grab for it. She picks it up like a dirty diaper between her pointer finger and thumb, eyeing the smooth, black exterior with horror.

“Rafe. Did you bring a fucking GUN?”

“I wanted to be prepared!”

“I knew there was something suspicious about the go-bag.” Kiara’s voice is equal parts amused and exasperated. “Can you balance for a second while I put this thing in your bag so I don’t blow a hand off?”Rafe balances on one leg as Kiara drops the gun in the bag with a disapproving grunt. 

Then she nods at the obstacle in front of them. Rafe thinks that this set of stairs might as well be Mount Everest. “We doing this?”

“Nothing to lose,” Rafe grunts, taking an unsteady step forward.

If there wasn’t a handrail, Rafe is pretty sure he’d have long tumbled back into the darkness, taking Kiara down with him. But they develop a rough system that allows them to make progress, one slow step at a time. 

Rafe grips the banister with his right hand, keeping his right foot elevated. His left arm settles around Kiara’s shoulders while she wraps her right arm around his waist, gripping the banister on her other side. Kiara counts off, and on 3 they lift themselves by the railing as Kiara steps up, half dragging Rafe as he hops from step to step.

It’s slow and arduous work in the musty basement, and the lack of circulation paired with the intense physical activity means that they’re covered in sweat by the time they’re halfway up the stairs. Rafe should probably find it gross that they’re sweating all over each other, that he can see droplets of perspiration as they collect on Kiara’s nose, that he can feel it in rivulets running down his back. He should probably want to back away when Kiara’s hand finds a bare patch of skin on his sweaty back when his sweatshirt rides up. But the contact just makes him shiver, despite the heat wrapping around him like a thick blanket.

Rafe can barely concentrate on the task at hand with their bodies pressed together, with his damp skin sticking to hers like it belongs to the same person. All he can smell is Kiara, the usual amber and vanilla threaded with something salty, something earthy. The combination makes him feel feral, reminding him of the times he’d tasted that skin, of the times he’d caused sweat to bead on her brow the same way it is now.

He’s not proud to admit that these are the thoughts that motivate him as they struggle up the rest of the stairs. By the time they reach the top and wiggle through the crude opening in the door, Rafe is dehydrated, exhausted, and more than a little turned on.

“Oh my god. I’d collapse on the floor if I ever thought we could get up,” Kiara pants.

“I need a second,” Rafe groans, hunching forward with a hand on his knee. “I feel like I just ran a marathon.”

“Take your time,” Kiara quips, looking amused. “It’s not like we’re in the death trap house of a murderer, or anything.”

When they finally struggle out of the decrepit house, it only takes about a minute until Rafe hears footsteps approaching out of the darkness. John B stares at them in shock, his mouth dropping open.

“What the fuck happened to you guys?”

“Rafe got into a fight with the house and lost,” Kiara grunts. John B moves to Rafe’s right side and slings an arm around him begrudgingly.

“Where’s Sarah?” Rafe asks, looking around like his sister might materialize out of the forest.

“With the boat. She’s pissed I made her stay.”

And as they approach the small boat after traipsing through the woods, Sarah does look pissed, with her arms crossed over her chest and her mouth set into a thin line. But her irritation melts as she realizes that Rafe is only walking with the help of both Kiara and John B. She stands up so suddenly that the boat begins to rock.

“Jesus Rafe, are you okay?” Sarah starts to get out of the boat, but Rafe shakes his head.

“Why, do I not look okay?” He jokes, but his voice comes out hoarse. “I’m fine, Sar.”

“I knew this was a terrible plan,” she huffs as Kiara and John B wrangle Rafe into the boat. Once he’s seated, they all sit there for a minute while Sarah watches them huff and puff, like they’re about to blow Blackstone down.

“It might be hard for you to believe, but ‘I told you so’ is not making me feel any better at this particular moment,” Rafe says after catching his breath. 

“Not everything is about you.” Sarah pats Rafe’s knee as John B starts the motor on the boat, carrying them away from the island.

As they make their way back to Kildare, Rafe clutches the Cameron Development bag like a lifeline. Or like a a bomb that’s about to detonate. He’s not sure if John B or Sarah notices the bag, but he can feel Kiara’s eyes on him. He knows he won’t be able to keep it from her for long, but he’s not ready to know what’s inside the bag yet. He’s not sure he ever will be.

———————————————————————

It’s later that night, or maybe it’s early the next morning. Rafe’s not quite sure. Kiara went to bed a long time ago, but he can’t sleep even with pharmaceutical help.

They’d opened the Cameron Development bag he snatched from Blackstone after they got home, an unspoken agreement forming between them on the boat that they shouldn’t open it around Sarah and John B.

Rafe laid the few contents out on the kitchen table as he explained the origins of the bag, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Mostly the things in the bag were junk; old receipts, unused straws and napkins, even a forgotten movie stub, like the bag had functioned more like a large waste receptacle than anything else.

But Rafe had known the sheet of paper tucked in the front pocket was different, could tell by its weight, by its crisp edges and neat folds. He’d fallen silent when he opened the document and saw the things written in his father’s handwriting. And then he’d read and re-read the document until his vision blurred, until Kiara gently pulled the paper that he’d unconsciously started to crush out of his trembling hands.

Rafe had left the room without a word, limping to his room and shutting the door so he wouldn’t have to see the look on Kiara’s face as she read the damning document. As she confirmed her suspicions about who his father really was in yet another reality. The legacy Rafe couldn’t escape.

Kiara hadn’t tried to come into his room, hadn’t pushed him or demanded he talk to her. Rafe feared that maybe she was as disgusted by the Camerons as he was. Maybe she didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

But when he’d emerged a few hours later to go to the restroom, he’d found a bottle of water, an ice pack, and a protein bar next to a note that simply said ‘Ice and eat.’ Rafe had shut himself back in his room before he could do something stupid like cry in the hallway.

Now he’s standing outside Kiara’s room in the dead of the night, staring at the half-open door like it’s the answer to a question he can’t bring himself to ask. He doesn’t know what he wants exactly, doesn’t know what he would say if she woke up and saw him standing here. All he knows is that the pain won’t go away, and everything hurts a little less when he’s around Kiara.

He takes a step forward and puts a hand to the door, but he can’t bring himself to enter the room. Rafe sighs softly in resignation, turning around and limping towards the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. Even after the short journey he’s thoroughly exhausted, so he collapses onto the couch instead of making his way back to his room.

Rafe stares into the darkness for so long that he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him when a shadow appears in the doorway of the living room. He blinks rapidly to clear his vision, but the apparition of Kiara doesn’t disappear. In fact, it gets closer.

She flicks on a lamp and settles onto the couch opposite him without any fanfare. “I heard you walking away from my room. You’re supposed to be keeping weight off that ankle.” Kiara raises her eyebrows disapprovingly.

Rafe scratches his neck, feeling embarrassed. “You’re not usually such a light sleeper.”

“A lot on my mind.” Kiara pauses for a moment, surveying him with eyes that are too alert for this time of night. “Wanna tell me what’s on yours?”

Rafe doesn’t respond for a long time. “You saw what was in the bag. I have to go visit Ward tomorrow.” He shrugs, like the dread isn’t weighing him down with a force stronger than gravity.

“Do you want me to come?” Kiara asks quickly, naturally, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and it makes warmth bloom in Rafe’s chest even as he turns her down.

“Nah, I think I have to do this alone. No matter how corny that sounds.” Kiara ignores his attempt at levity and scoots closer, looking him in the eye.

“Whatever he says, Rafe, whatever he tells you…You’re not responsible for what he did. Not here. Not anywhere. It’s not your fault.” Before he can stop it, a wounded sound escapes from Rafe’s throat. He feels flayed open, every vulnerable tissue and sinew exposed by the words he needs to hear but doesn’t believe.

“But I’m responsible for what I did. I defended him, I…” He shakes his head rapidly, like he’s fighting against memories of every terrible thing he’s done. He looks down into his lap, unable to make eye contact.

“He’s your dad.” Kiara’s not defending what he’s done. She’s not saying it’s okay. She’s just acknowledging the humanity in his decisions, the love and devotion that motivated them, however misguided they were. Kiara places a grounding hand on his forearm, and when Rafe finally looks into her face, her eyes are impossibly warm. “Do you want me to help you get to bed?”

Rafe can’t bear the thought of the oppressive silence waiting for him in his room, so he shakes his head again. “Nah, I think I’m gonna stay out here and watch something.”

“Alright.” Kiara shifts on the couch, and Rafe thinks she’s going to stand up and head to her room. But she just snuggles into the corner and looks at him, nodding towards the remote. “What are we watching?”

Rafe breathes that word in - we. It spreads throughout his body like a soothing balm. He wants to thank Kiara for how kind she’s being, wants to tell her how much he appreciates everything she’s done. But everything he wants to say lodges in his throat. Instead, he just hands her the remote with a small smile.

“You pick.”

———————————————————————

Rafe leaves Tannyhill after a few hours of sleep on the couch, while the sun is barely peeking above the horizon. Kiara is so exhausted that she doesn’t stir, even when he painstakingly makes his way to his room to shower and change. His ankle feels a little better, but he knows he probably shouldn’t be showering on his own. 

But Rafe refuses to ask any more of Kiara, so he gets ready and leaves on his own. She’s still on the couch when he closes the door.

The drive to Raleigh passes in a numb haze. Rafe doesn’t rehearse what he’s going to say, doesn’t write anything down, doesn’t record any voice memos. For once, he doesn’t care about being prepared. He just wants the goddamn truth.

He just stares at the road and lets the memories flood over him, lets the words in the note he found in Blackstone roll like the end credits of a movie in his mind.

Rafe thinks about all the times he stood up for his dad, all the times he’d picked fights with people for talking trash about the Cameron name over the years. He thinks about all the relationships he’d sacrificed in the effort to make his dad happy, all the times he’d ignored friends or girlfriends to do whatever his father asked of him. He thinks about all the people he’s hurt along the way, the things he can never take back.

The truth is, Rafe hadn’t realized how much he’d started to hope that Ward hadn’t done anything wrong here, how much he had started to rely on the idea that his father was innocent. Maybe if Ward was different here, Rafe could be different too. 

Maybe it was possible to make different choices, to be a better person before it was too late. Maybe it wasn’t his destiny to fuck up after all. Maybe it wasn’t his fate to spend the rest of his life atoning for things he hadn’t even wanted to do in the first place.

But as he pulls up and enters the prison, Rafe knows that he was stupid to ever believe that things would be different here. Their family’s sickness is bone deep, embedded in the marrow. The evil’s in his DNA.

With this certainty guiding him, he doesn’t bother with pleasantries when Ward shuffles into the claustrophobic room that’s separated from Rafe’s by thick plexiglass. The tentative smile drops off Ward’s face when Rafe unfolds the note and holds it to the glass, long enough for his father to skim the contents.

After a minute Rafe lets the paper flutter to the counter, but Ward’s eyes stay locked on it.

“I know you were involved with Big John’s death. I’m already assuming the worst, so why don’t you just cut the shit and tell me the truth?”

“Rafe, how did you…” His dad swallows, unable to finish the question. He’s probably surprised that Groff kept the document, that he would be so confident and careless to keep something that would incriminate them both like this; a crude contract written in his father’s handwriting, an agreement to split the Merchant Gold 50/50 ‘upon procurement.’ Signed and dated by Ward Cameron and Chandler Groff a week before Big John’s murder and the gold’s subsequent disappearance.

“I’m sick of the lies, dad.” Rafe grips the phone in his hand tighter, leaning close to the glass. “I think we both know you’re not getting out of here. That you don’t deserve to get out of here.”

“You will not talk to me like that. I am your father, Rafe.” Ward’s voice is stern, but it sounds hollow to Rafe. Empty, like the shell of the man sitting in front of him.

Rafe scoffs. “Yeah? What are you going to do about it? Orchestrate a conspiracy to murder me?” Ward seems taken aback, almost wounded by the accusation. Rafe doesn’t let it faze him. “Why don’t you just do the right fucking thing for once in your life and tell me the truth!” He slams a hand down onto the counter, barely resisting the urge to smash the receiver in his hand.

Ward takes a deep, rattling breath. When he speaks, it’s barely above a whisper. “I didn’t…I didn’t orchestrate anything. And I didn’t kill him. I swear to you, Rafe.”

“But you knew Groff was going to kill him.” Ward drops his eyes. Gotcha.

“Only if he had to. The deal was that if I supplied the resources, Groff had the connections to pull it off. Get the gold, make it clean. I was hoping Big John would cooperate. Maybe agree to split it three ways.”

Rafe laughs cruelly. “You’re such a bad liar. You knew he was never going to agree to that. Big John spent his whole fucking adult life looking for the gold.” Rafe rubs his hand over his buzzed hair. “I’m just going to leave if you’re not going to be fucking honest. And I’ll just tell Sarah that she was right after all. About everything.” Rafe sees the panic flash in Ward’s eyes as he moves to stand up.

“Fine! Fine. I knew…I knew what Groff was most likely going to do. Or arrange.” Ward presses one hand to the glass, looking at Rafe with beseeching eyes. “But you have to understand, Rafe. We were supposed to work together, Big John and I. We were supposed to find the gold together. But he cut me out, said he didn’t trust me…”

“Gee, I can’t imagine why.”

Ward’s penetrating eyes snap to Rafe’s face, and he sees that any pretense of warmth is long gone. His kind, genteel mask has fallen away, leaving the real Ward behind, the one that’s sneering and sanctimonious and forever the victim of his own actions. “You also can’t imagine that feeling of betrayal."

Rafe’s seen this look on his dad’s face a million times, knows what kind of violence it usually entails. But Rafe doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t look away. Not this time. “You wanna bet?”

“I didn’t kill him, Rafe. Groff set me up. I was an idiot to think he was ever going to share the money, but he planted a gun with my fingerprints on it, then he got someone to back up his alibi.” Ward’s face twists, like he’s trying to garner Rafe’s sympathy. “What I did was terrible, and I should face consequences for that. But I’m paying for what he did, Rafe. For murder. You have to help me.”

Rafe doesn’t move a muscle. He just lets the silence stretch like an unspoken question. Do I?  He watches as Ward’s face falls. “Everything I did, I did for my kids. To secure your futures.” His voice is desperate now, pleading.

But his words tear a disbelieving laugh out of Rafe. “You would try to fucking blame this on us. You would tell yourself that you did what you did for the right reasons. Ward the hero, right?” Rafe holds the phone close to his mouth, enunciating every word so his dad doesn’t miss any of them.

“You didn’t do this for us. You did it for you, dad. You did it because nothing is ever enough for you. It wasn’t enough to be wealthy, to be powerful, to have the whole island in your pocket. You had to have the whole world. It wasn’t enough to have one woman that loved you, no, there had to be two. Or was it three?”

Ward’s nostrils flare, and his neck flushes with anger. “I will not be-“

Rafe interrupts him. “I’m not done. It wasn’t enough to love your kids, to let them love you back; no, you had to make them prove it to you, prove that they were worthy of your love. But it was always pointless, wasn’t it? You’ve proven time and time again that you’re incapable of loving anything more than you love yourself.” Rafe throws himself back in his chair, his chest heaving and his eyes shining with tears. He lets his grip on the phone loosen, and for a while he doesn’t think Ward is going to answer.

But he does speak again. When he does, Ward’s voice is soft and his eyes are calm, but Rafe can see the steel lurking just under the surface. His father smiles, but it’s a mean, grotesque twist of his mouth. “You think you’re above all this, but you’re not. You’re just like me, Rafe. You’ll see that one day. And then you’ll understand. Because you’re my boy.” 

Those last words aren’t an endearment. They’re a claim. A threat. A cursed prophecy spoken into existence.

Rafe doesn’t remember walking out of the building. He drives home with blurry vision, his dad’s words ringing in his ears and the proof of the Cameron Curse burning a hole in his pocket. Somewhere along the way he’s struck with the sense that maybe it’s not possible to break the curse. Maybe it’s only possible to survive it.

Something he knows for certain, though, is that Ward is wrong. He doesn’t think he’s better than his dad. Rafe’s proven that he’s not - there are bodies and broken relationships strewn across his past to prove it. The knowledge that he’s no better than his father has all but consumed him for his entire adult life. 

And for the last two years, in the other Kildare, the one where he’s done unspeakable things, he’s been trying to atone for his actions, like doing penance could somehow erase the bloody truth of the past. His and his father’s.

Rafe doesn’t think he’s better than his dad, and he knows he can’t do anything to change the ways he’s fucked up. But here, now, he actually has the chance to do better in the first place, to make decisions that minimize pain, to prevent things from happening that he lives to regret forever. Rafe doesn’t have to be someone he hates here. That other people hate. He can pretend that he’s not rotten to the core. He can contain the sickness before it spreads.

And the shameful truth? What Rafe wants more than anything is to be worthy of the only person that’s ever looked at him like he’s worth saving. He pictures her face the whole way home, trying to keep the image of Ward’s empty eyes and cruel smile at bay.

———————————————————————

Hours later, as he sits bleeding in his car, Rafe wonders if punching someone technically qualifies as ‘doing better’ if that person deserved it.

He had arrived back in Kildare early in the afternoon, pulling up to the Wreck before he really knew he was headed there. Rafe told himself he just needed food, because he was unwilling to admit that what he really needed was to see Kiara. To bask in the way she looks at him like a lizard warming itself in the sun, using her faith in him to restore his own. To fill the empty place that Ward had hollowed out.

But when he stepped out of his car into the muggy afternoon air, his attention had been drawn by a shouting match taking place a little ways away from the Wreck, down by the harbor.

Rafe tensed when he saw a familiar head of brown hair with dumb bleached highlights yelling at his sister. Her arms were folded over her chest in a defensive posture, and she looked angry but calm. John B and Pope stood uneasily a few feet behind her, looking like they wanted to help but didn’t know how. Rafe walked over slowly, trying not to draw attention to himself.

“Are you fucking serious, Sarah? This is why you broke up with me?? What a goddamn joke!” Topper yelled, gesturing dismissively at John B.

“For the millionth time, Topper, no.” Sarah spoke to him like a child, which only made Topper’s face turn a darker shade of red. “I broke up with you because you fucking suck. You were awful to me. John B had nothing to do with it.”

“Yeah right.” Rafe stiffened when Topper laughed and took a menacing step forward. Rafe was only a few feet away from the crowd, but everyone was too preoccupied to notice his arrival. “I always knew you had a thing for lost causes. But I didn’t think you were such a slut that you would fuck around with a fatherless Pogue behind my back.”

Nope. Rafe saw red as he decided he’d heard enough from this fucking guy. Vaguely he noticed John B surge forward too, saw Sarah hold him back and mutter something about how it’s wasn’t worth it while Topper stood there with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

Topper was too preoccupied with Sarah, John B, and feeling fucking proud of himself that he didn’t even see Rafe coming, didn’t have time to brace for the impact of the vengeful fist that made contact with his face.

Topper’s head snapped back as he stumbled backwards, and he would have fallen down if not for his goons that stood behind him.

“What the FUCK, Rafe?” Topper clutched his jaw, his eyes narrowed with surprised fury.

“Why don’t you watch your fucking mouth when you talk to my sister, asshole?” Rafe clenched his fists, adrenaline coursing through his body, ready to throw another punch. Craving the confrontation, the distraction from his own turmoil.

Topper’s voice came out an octave higher than normal, taut with outrage. “Do you know what she did? Who she did it with??”

Rafe scoffed. “You’re just pissed because John B’s a better man than you’ll ever be, Top. Pogue or not. Sarah’s not the only one who knows that.” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sarah and John B whip towards him in surprise.

What he said apparently struck a nerve with Topper, because the Kook surged forward and threw a mean right hook that connected with Rafe’s left eye. Stars exploded behind his eyelids and he staggered from the impact.

But as soon as the punch landed, Rafe realized this is what he really needed. He didn’t want to inflict pain - he wanted to feel it. The pain the would wipe everything else away, would pause the constant loop of thoughts about what Ward had done. About what Rafe had done. He welcomed the pain, so he did nothing to block the next blow.

Topper threw his whole weight into the next punch, a blow to the side of Rafe’s face that sent him tumbling to the ground. He barely heard Sarah yelling through the ringing in his ears. Topper shoved aside one of his cronies and dropped onto Rafe where he was sprawled on the ground, a manic look in his eyes.

Rafe wanted more, and he knew exactly how to get it. “You punch like a bitch,” he said from underneath Topper, and he felt the other boy’s body go rigid with rage. The next blow was an indirect hit to Rafe’s mouth, and he felt blood fly across his face in tiny, warm droplets.

But Rafe didn’t even flinch. He just laughed, showing teeth that were splattered with blood. The sound of his laugh was high and clear, and he watched as Topper’s eyes widened. He probably thought he’d lost it. Maybe he had.

“That all you got?” Rafe challenged, spitting blood from his mouth. Topper’s eyes darkened, and he raised his fist again.

But before Rafe could even brace for the impact, bodies were descending on Topper, prying him off Rafe. His vision was blurry, but it looked like John B and Pope were shoving Topper back and his friends were pulling him away before he did something that made someone call the cops.

Sarah knelt down beside him, helping him sit up with gentle hands. “Rafe, what the hell was that?? You just got a head wound yesterday. Are you trying to get a concussion??” Her eyes shone with worry, but Rafe wasn’t looking at her.

Rafe was watching John B approach with tortured eyes, everything flooding back now that Topper wasn’t beating the shit out of him.

“I’m so fucking sorry, John B,” Rafe choked out around his busted lip. John B crouched down, titling his head to the side without saying anything. He just watched. Waited.

“I went to Central today to see…” A loaded pause. “Ward, he, he…” Rafe couldn’t spit out the words, but John B nodded like he understood.

“He killed my dad?” Rafe still doesn’t know how John B kept his voice from shaking as he said the words, how he stayed relatively calm while acknowledging the act of violence that wrecked his whole life.

“No. But he might as well have,” Rafe admitted in a whisper. And then he buried his face in his hands, his chest heaving with dry sobs. His eyes watered but the tears refused to escape, like they wouldn’t grant him the relief that came with crying.

A soothing hand on his back made Rafe jump, before he realized it was Sarah trying to comfort him. Her face was contorted with sympathetic pain, and there were tears in her eyes. Sarah rarely ever cried, but she was close in that moment.

“I know how badly you wanted it to not be true,” Sarah whispered, leaning against Rafe’s heaving shoulder and pulling him into a sort of half-hug. They sat like that for a while, not saying anything.

When he broke the silence, Rafe expected John B’s voice to be angry or accusatory. He thought he might yell or tell him to fuck off. Maybe even throw another punch. But when John B spoke, his voice was tired but calm. He ran a hand through his brown curls and looked at Rafe with difficulty.

“Listen man…obviously I’m devastated, alright? Obviously none of this is ever going to be okay. Obviously I want to fucking kill your dad.” Rafe winced, but John B continued. “But Kiara told me once that you’re not Ward. I didn’t know if I believed it at the time. But I do now.” The words hit Rafe like a ton of bricks and took his breath away. He hadn’t expected John B to say that to him. And he certainly hadn’t expected Kiara to say that about him.

“I’m trying, man.” Rafe finally forces the words out through a throat that’s constricted with emotion.

John B clapped him on the shoulder, the sudden movement making him jump. “You didn’t have to get your ass beat to prove it, though.” Rafe smiled, but the movement of his bruised lip made him wince.

“We’re lucky if we don’t get served a lifetime ban from the Wreck by Kiara’s parents,” Pope joked from behind John B. He’d been quiet before, watching everything unfold without interfering, but now he stepped forward and offered Rafe a hand. Sarah kept a hand on his shoulder as Pope helped him to his feet.

Rafe muttered his thanks before Pope’s words caught up with him and he froze. “Speaking of. Where is Kiara?”

“Not sure. She was working earlier, but she left a while ago. And then JJ showed up here asking for her not too long after. Maybe he found her.” Pope shrugged.

JJ. Of course. Rafe had sighed without even realizing it, and he swore Sarah’s lips quirked up like she was suppressing a smile. But his head throbbed too much to call her out on it.

Rafe had experienced a month’s worth of excitement within the short span of 24 hours - his near death experience, his night on the couch with Kiara, his visit to Ward in prison, his ass beating by an inferior man. But now that it was all over, the adrenaline finally left him and he felt weak and drained, like his body was shutting down from the overstimulation. 

When Sarah asked Rafe if he wanted her to drive him home, he probably should have said yes given all his cranial injuries in the past day. Instead, he’d gently turned her down. Said that he’d be fine, that he just needed some time alone to reset and get his head on straight after everything.

But sitting in his car, nursing a black eye and a swollen lip as he stares into the setting sun, Rafe knows that’s not possible. There is no straightening to be had while he’s wondering where Kiara is and stressing over what she’s doing right now, no rest while he imagines JJ’s hands in all the places Rafe wants his own hands to be. Alone time won’t banish the thoughts and images swirling in his head. In fact, he knows the silence will just make them worse.

———————————————————————

Rafe settles into his bed at Tannyhill long before midnight, floating somewhere between sleep and wakefulness for hours. He doesn’t know how long he lies there before Kiara slips into his room and joins him, creeping into his bed like they do this all the time. And even though his heart pounds so hard that he worries she’ll be able to hear it, it does feel natural. It feels right.

When Rafe flips around to face Kiara, he can tell what she needs from the look in her eyes. And he knows from the deep aching in his chest that he’s going to give it to her.

It’s not the first time they’ve done this at Tannyhill, but this - this will be nothing like the last time. And Rafe would know, because he remembers it like it was yesterday.

Chapter Text

Kiara saw the look on Rafe’s face when he read the piece of paper he took from Blackstone, so she’s not surprised when she wakes up alone on the couch.

But she is a little surprised at the way it makes her feel to realize he’s gone. There’s a sharp pang in her chest when she opens her eyes to the vacant spot on the couch where he was curled up the night before. Part of Kiara wishes that Rafe would have woken her up and asked her to come with him after all.

And normally that thought alone would be weird, but something had cracked open inside Kiara when she saw Rafe’s limp body on the floor at Blackstone, when she’d actually had to confront the possibility of losing him for the first time.

But maybe something had shifted long before that, sometime between their kiss at the Memorial Day party, the night that Rafe had showed up and pulled Kiara off Barry’s lawn, or when he came without hesitation after the break-in and wrapped her in his arms like she was something precious. 

Or maybe it had been even earlier. Before they’d even come to this place, during the year when they shared their rage and their pain without saying a word.

Kiara’s not sure why or when the shift happened, but it unearthed the nurturing and protective part of her that she thought was buried forever alongside JJ. So she’d been hovering around Rafe since they’d gotten him out of that basement, not wanting to let him out of her sight. Her level of concern vacillated from mild to compulsive by the minute.

Despite the new and strange urge to take care of him, to tend to wounds both internal and external, Kiara had given Rafe space after he read the contract, had told herself she would let him come to her if he wanted or needed to.

But when she’d heard him outside her door, chickening out of entering her room before limping away, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from following him into the living room. And she’d barely been able to contain herself from curling into him when she saw the deep sadness creasing the lines of his face.

Kiara knows Rafe has done terrible, unforgivable things, but she’s only now starting to realize how deep his self-hatred truly goes, the way he’s gutted and scraped himself out to try and rid himself of any traces of Ward. And she hates that Rafe’s going alone to see him now, to face the man whose voice whispers like a devil on Rafe's shoulder. Without a gentler voice to balance Ward out, Kiara doesn't know how it's going to go.

Rafe is able to fake stability pretty well, but Kiara has a feeling that he’s always one harsh blow away from shattering completely. She can see it in Rafe because Kiara feels the same way, every second of every day. And maybe it’s crazy after everything that’s happened, but she doesn’t want him to have to pick up the pieces alone.

But there’s no use sitting alone in his house and stressing about it now. So Kiara stretches her stiff limbs and makes her way to the guest room she’s claimed as her own, getting ready for her shift at the Wreck.

She’s only gone in sporadically since the break-in, and her parents have been understanding about the whole thing, if not a little detached. It’s not like she’s ever really counted on them for support. But right now, Kiara needs something to distract her from the image of Rafe’s tortured face, from the way his hands shook and his back slumped in defeat when he saw the proof of Ward’s betrayal. 

So Kiara heads to the Wreck and does her best to act like a functioning member of society. She speaks when spoken to, she smiles when it seems like she should, and she serves food robotically to tourists whose faces she won’t remember and names she doesn’t know.

Kiara only really snaps out of her stupor when Pope stops by for lunch. She looks around for John B, but it seems like Pope’s on his own today.

“All by your lonesome, young man?” Kiara jokes in an affected Southern accent, draping a dish towel over her shoulder.

“Just passing through, ma’am.” Pope plays along, tipping an imaginary cap before dropping the accent. “John B’s with Sarah.” They wiggle their eyebrows at each other for a moment at their friend’s antics. “Remember when John B used to say he’d never date a Kook?” Pope muses, leaning against the counter.

“We always knew he was a sucker for Sarah. The guy’s living his dream, don’t let him tell you otherwise.” Kiara grins at Pope and starts to punch his order in. “So are you here to mooch of me for lunch, as usual?”

“Yeah, if it’s not too much trouble,” Pope scratches his head, looking sheepish. “And I actually…well, I came by because I wanted to make sure I saw you before I leave for basic training. I leave the day after tomorrow, and I wasn’t sure when you’d be working…” He stares at the counter, avoiding eye contact.

Kiara puts a hand to her chest, feeling genuinely touched. “Pope, you wanted to make sure you got a chance to say goodbye to me? You big softie.”

“Don’t make it weird,” Pope groans. “It’s just… been nice getting to know you again.”

Kiara feels tears spring into her eyes. She walks around the counter and throws her arms around Pope before she can overthink it. He hesitates for a moment before hugging her back. “Yeah, it has been,” she whispers into her friend’s shoulder. A thousand moments of friendship flash behind her eyelids as they stand there, and when she pulls back she has to wipe an escaping tear from her cheek. It could be her vision playing tricks on her, but she swears Pope’s eyes are misty too.

“Alright, enough of the waterworks,” Kiara says with a laugh. “Sit down and I’ll put your order in, alright?”

After Kiara punches in Pope's order and runs a couple meals to other patrons, she’s surprised by the appearance of her mother, calling her over to the kitchen.

“Kiara, I wanted to give you this before I forgot. It’s the new key to your apartment. We had someone change the locks a few days ago.”

At the reminder of the break-in, Kiara’s throat tightens. “Oh…right. Thank you.” She tries to smile, but her face feels frozen in an unnaturally tense expression.

“I also took the liberty of having someone paint the living room while you were gone. The color was too dark, and it was making the whole space a little depressing. Why don’t you head over there and tell me if you like it? If not, we can pick a different color.”

Kiara shakes her head automatically, feeling slightly nauseous at the idea of going back to the apartment. “Well I’m still finishing my shift, and Pope just got his food, so…”

“Kiara.” Anna puts a hand on her forearm, leveling her with knowing eyes. “It’ll be good for you to go back. I promise you, everything is completely fine. Nothing is going to happen to you. Let us handle things here.” Kiara wants to argue, wants to tell her mom that she’s fine with staying at Tannyhill indefinitely, but she can tell by the look on Anna’s face that she’s not going to take no for an answer. So Kiara just nods, and her mom pushes her happily towards the door. “Call me and tell me what you think of the color!”

Kiara unties her apron and heads towards her car with a sigh. “Pope, do you want a ride to your house? I’m heading out,” she calls over to his table.

“I’m not done eating,” Pope mumbles around the food in his mouth.

“Alright. Just don’t come crying to me if you get stranded here.”

“See you tomorrow at the Break?” Pope shouts at her retreating back.

Kiara shoots a grin over her shoulder. “You know it.”

And for a moment, Kiara is almost able to pretend like nothing has changed, like this upside down world has been normal all along and she’s just been looking at it from the wrong point of view.

———————————————————————

When Kiara approaches the apartment, the sun is slipping closer to the horizon. She approaches the shadowy building hesitantly, like it’s as dangerous and decrepit as Blackstone. She walks up the stairs unsteadily, her hands shaking as she uses the new key to enter.

But when she steps inside the apartment it’s neat and nonthreatening, with golden hour warming the space and highlighting the rich undertones of the newly green walls. It smells vaguely of fresh paint and dust. 

Kiara has to admit that her mom did a great job with the color selection; it makes the room look cozy and earthy, softening the space and giving it a personal touch that it desperately needed. The new walls are one of the few things that actually feel like Kiara in this apartment.

She walks slowly around the room, admiring the walls and tracing her fingers lightly over the books she hasn’t read on the shelves she didn’t pick out. She’s suddenly struck with the realization that this could be her home for the foreseeable future. 

Up until this point, Kiara hasn’t really allowed herself to consider the possibility that things could stay they way they are in this timeline forever, but she thinks about it now. The idea settles like an anchor in her chest. She can’t tell if the weight is grounding or dragging her down.

But if she’s going to be living here, Kiara figures she might as well make it a comfortable experience. She walks around the apartment with her Notes app open, writing down all the things that are missing or need to be removed and/or replaced.

Hideous rug in the living room, needs to go. The impersonal pictures of landscapes need to be replaced, maybe with photos of friends and family. She needs to buy another lamp for her room, different curtains that let more light in. The list goes on and on.

By the time she’s done, the last sliver of dusk is slipping out of reach behind the horizon. Kiara realizes she’s basically standing in the dark, and something about the apartment's shadows makes her shiver. Maybe she’s not ready to stay here by herself. She opens her messages and shoots Rafe a text without realizing why she’s doing it.

Kiara: How’s it going?

She tucks her phone away and opens the front door, planning to head back to the Wreck or Tannyhill.

“Hey.” A voice materializes from the dark porch, making Kiara scream so loudly that a dog nearby starts barking. 

“Fuck!” Kiara flicks on the porch light, gripping her chest with the other hand. “Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Yeah, clearly.” The boy on the porch is trying and failing to contain his laughter. The dim porch light dances in his teasing blue eyes.

But Kiara isn’t feeling particularly generous after being scared within an inch of her life. She crosses her arms over her chest. Her tone is cautious, defensive. “What are you doing here, JJ?”

His smile dims and his face sobers slightly. “I haven’t seen you around much. And you haven’t really been answering my texts.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been a little busy.” Kiara sees an opening to pull the truth out of him, so she opts for a direct approach. JJ’s never been good under pressure. “I don’t know if you heard, but my apartment got broken into, so I’ve been dealing with that.”

“Yeah. I heard.” JJ looks down at the ground and doesn’t say anything else. He takes his hat off, twirls it twice in his hands, and then shoves it backwards on his head again. 

Kiara keeps her eyes trained on him, searching for the truth in his expressive face. “Is there something you want to tell me, JJ?” He winces slightly but says nothing. Kiara tilts her head, considering. Then she gestures for him to enter the apartment. “Come in. We’re letting all the bugs in.” They stand a few feet apart inside the threshold, and JJ moves from foot to foot nervously.

“Let me be more specific. Is there something you want to stop lying to me about, JJ?” His eyes flit to hers briefly before returning to the ground. Kiara takes a step forward, trying to keep her voice level and gentle.

“Did you only hang out with me that day to help him break in here?” She holds her breath, still hoping that Rafe is wrong in his suspicions.

JJ finally looks up, his expression pained. “I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be here. To keep you safe.”

Even though it’s basically a confirmation of his betrayal, it’s not what Kiara expected him to say. She takes a deep breath and tries to ground herself. “What was he looking for, JJ?”

His face shutters. “I didn’t ask.” 

“You didn’t ask?” Kiara’s voice is incredulous, unbelieving. It’s obviously a lie.

JJ takes a tentative step forward. “Kie… I know this looks bad. And I’m sorry, okay? I am. But he’s my dad.”

Kie laughs, but it’s a sad, wounded sound that dies on her tongue. “So that automatically makes it okay?”

“I’m not saying that.” JJ’s voice rises in frustration. “But it’s complicated. And I thought you understood that.” 

Kiara’s reply is sharp and immediate. “Don’t turn this around on me.” JJ says nothing, but something flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t look angry or defensive. He just looks chastised, maybe even scared. Kiara softens her tone. “What kind of shit does he have you involved in, J?”

Something clicks into place in her brain, and Kiara feels like an idiot for not putting the pieces together sooner. “Do you know something about Big John?” JJ’s silence feels taut and thin, like a piece of fabric pulled too tight. Kiara stretches, stretches, stretches, trying to tear holes in it. “Is that why you don’t hang out with Pope and John B anymore? Why you can’t?”

“No. Ward did that. Not my dad.” But his voice is unsteady and unsure, like he’s trying to convince himself.

Kiara steps forward and paces a hand on his forearm. “JJ, you don’t have to-“

“Stop.” JJ shakes her hand off. “I’m not here to be lectured, alright? I came to tell you that I’m leaving town. I’m not going to be around for a while.”

Kiara’s stomach seizes. “When?”

“Soon.” JJ rubs a hand over the back of his neck. He looks restless, uneasy. Like he doesn’t want to go. Like he's looking for a reason not to.

Kiara grasps desperately for the right thing to say. “I’m guessing you’re not going to tell me where you’re going.”

“A good guess,” JJ smiles weakly, before his face pulls into an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Kiara, while I’m gone….you need to let this go. Whatever you’re doing. Nosing around, looking for trouble. You and…Rafe.” JJ forces his name out with difficulty, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Looking for trouble? Trouble finds me.” She gestures good-naturedly in JJ’s direction, but he doesn’t take the bait. 

“Groff’s a dangerous guy, Kie. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Kiara would laugh at how corny he sounds, if it wasn’t Groff he was talking about. And something in JJ’s tone makes her blood run cold.

She laughs harshly to cover up the fear that suddenly spikes through her body. “Happen to me? So what, you’re here to deliver a message? To threaten me? Real nice, JJ.”

JJ shakes his head. “No, I’m not trying to-“ 

“Consider me warned. You can go now.” Kiara crosses her arms and nods towards the door, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

JJ surges forward, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her slightly. “No, Kie, you don't understand! He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

Kiara falters, her heart ratcheting into her throat as she looks into his wild blue eyes. “Then why are you here?”

“I’m here because….” His eyes flicker away before settling back on her face. There's something resolute in his expression. “I care about you, Kiara.” JJ’s voice is soft, insistent, as genuine as she’s heard it here.

“What?” Kiara wonders if JJ can feel her shaking as he grips her shoulders. She’s desperate to believe him, but she’s not sure that she can.

“I wanted to tell you before I leave…I like you, Kie.” The words hit her straight in the chest, cracking her heart open. She can’t tell if what's leaking out is happiness or pain. “Things with you feel so…”JJ shakes his head, searching for the words. “It’s like no time has passed. Is that crazy?”

“No. It’s not,” Kiara whispers, and when his eyes follow the movement of her lips she knows he’s going to kiss her.

Kiara has known JJ for over a decade, has seen millions of expressions cross his mischievous features over the years. And the way he’s looking at her is familiar, a comforting relic of the not-so-distant past; unlike the night in the lighthouse, she sees the genuine care in his eyes, the connection that goes beyond physical want. It’s not the naked devotion she was used to seeing in the years before he died, the unconditional love. But it’s closer. It’s something.

So when JJ pulls her in and cups her face with one hand, Kiara lets him. She closes her eyes as he presses his lips to hers, trying to lose herself in his familiar touch, his familiar taste. JJ’s lips are warm and a little dry, and he smells like salt air and sunshine. He digs his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, slipping his tongue into her mouth when Kiara’s lips part in a small gasp. She tries to open herself to him, wanting to bask in the tender warmth that she’s been craving for so long. But JJ's words won't stop echoing like a gunshot in her head.

It’s like no time has passed. 

But fuck, that’s not true, is it? It feels like she's endured a lifetime without him, and Kiara can’t keep the memories at bay. They flood back even stronger now with JJ's body pressed against hers. The body that feels so familiar and yet so foreign after everything she's been through. 

Sleepless nights alone in their bed, waking up screaming again and again from nightmares of holding his lifeless body. The rage, the devastation, the all-consuming emptiness she felt as she stood over his unmarked grave. Rafe, shovel in hand, looking at her with unreadable eyes. Rafe, there on her worst nights. Rafe.

And then JJ slips a hand under her shirt, his rough fingertips exploring her abdomen, and Kiara freezes. He’s touching her in the same place where he was stabbed, in the very same place where Kiara pressed her trembling hands and tried desperately to stop the bleeding as the life drained out of him.

Kiara steps back with a jolt, her chest heaving and her eyes shining with tears. “JJ…I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry. I need you to go.” Her voice comes out cracked and distorted, like it's a different person using her mouth and telling JJ to leave after a year of wanting the opposite. 

JJ’s forehead creases. He looks confused and more than a little hurt. “Kiara, if this is about the break-in-“

“Please just GO, okay??” Kiara is yelling now. “Please.” JJ looks at her for a long moment, and Kiara struggles to keep from crumbling under his heavy gaze. And then he nods and turns around, walking out into the inky night without another word.

Kiara collapses against the door and slides to the floor, her head on her knees. She’s sobbing but no tears are coming out, like her body is trying to exorcise something it can’t name. Everything is caving in on her again, and she thinks this time she might not be able to claw her way out. This time she might be buried alive in the rubble, and she’s not sure she’s strong enough to pull herself out. She’s not sure she even wants to. 

Kiara stays like that for a long time, curled up into herself on the floor. She’s still trying to breathe normally when her phone vibrates twice. She chokes on a dry sob of relief when she sees the name that appears on her phone. 

Rafe: Shit show. The usual. 

Rafe: But I’m home now.

Kiara’s out the door before she even realizes where she's going.

Home. It’s not a place for her anymore. So she drives towards the one person that gives the word any meaning in this fucked up place.

———————————————————————

24 hours after Rafe lingered in her doorway, Kiara is doing the same thing in the entrance to his room. Before she can talk herself out of it, Kiara slips into bed behind Rafe, close but not quite touching him. She feels his body tense and his breathing stutter. He’s awake, like she knew he would be.

Rafe flips over so he’s facing her, his eyes alert and searching. He doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just looks at her with eyes that see too much no matter how hard she tries to hide. “Are you okay?” He finally asks, like he’s not the one bloodied and bruised. Always checking. Always putting her first.

For once, Kiara doesn’t want to hide from him. “No. Are you?” She winces at the sight of his bruised jaw, his red eyes. Then she reaches for Rafe’s busted lip, her fingers brushing his chin lightly.

“No,” he admits in a whisper, and Kiara knows he’s not talking about whatever led to these injuries.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Rafe shakes his head. “Not particularly. Do you?”

Kiara laughs sadly. “No.”

“What do you want?” Rafe’s swallow is the only thing that betrays his nervousness. His face is smooth, unreadable, but something burns just below the surface. Something wild and barely contained.

And when his eyes flit to her lips, Kiara notices. It’s all the confirmation she needs. She finally closes the space between them, and Rafe doesn’t push her away. Not this time.

It’s not the first time they’ve done this at Tannyhill, but this- this is nothing like the last time. And Kiara would know, because she remembers it like it was yesterday. 

Chapter Text

THEN

~Rafe~

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T KNOW?”

Rafe had just delivered news he figured was not going to be well-received, so he didn’t even wince when Kiara yelled and slammed her hands down onto the desk in front of her.

He just ran one hand over his buzzed hair and kept his expression neutral. “The guys I had tailing Groff said he just vanished. They haven’t seen him in days. But I’m sure he’ll turn up again-“

“Oh, you’re sure, are you?” Kiara’s laugh was cruel and jagged, aiming to cut. “Maybe you should have gotten better fucking guys, Rafe, and then you wouldn’t have to give me bullshit excuses! I knew you were just going to fuck. this. up.”

Kiara stepped forward and punctuated each word with a shove to Rafe’s shoulders. Only after the third shove did he move to stop her, catching her wrists and holding her away from his body.

“Stop, Kie,” Rafe said calmly, even as Kiara struggled ferociously against his grip.

“Fucking make me, Rafe,” she spit, the heat in her words matching the fire behind her eyes.

He wasn’t often caught off guard, but Rafe froze in surprise. He took in the flush that creeped up from Kiara’s neck and colored her cheeks, like she’d said more than she meant to. Make her? What was that supposed to mean?

And then Kiara was crowding his body against the bookshelves in Tannyhill’s library, and Rafe wasn’t capable of thought anymore.

Instead of shoving him again, she fisted his shirt between her clenched hands and pulled him into a bruising kiss. It was all tongue and teeth and spit, barely a kiss at all, but Rafe surprised himself when he moaned into Kiara’s mouth.

When she reached for the button on his jeans, Rafe’s long fingers clasped around hers, stopping her on instinct. He didn’t think she was in the right headspace for this. But then he saw the look on her face.

Rafe knew she was doing this in a desperate attempt to numb the pain, that in some fucked up way she might even be punishing herself for what happened to JJ. Rafe knew she thought his death was her own failure, no matter how many times he’d told her that was fucking insane. She was spiraling, and she wanted to validate her shame and guilt by fucking someone she hated.

Rafe could sense all this without words; he could tell from the anger in her eyes, the tension in her body. He could sense it because he’d done the same thing with other people.

He knew he shouldn’t help her dig the hole even deeper, shouldn’t give her the satisfaction of using him in such a cruel, callous way.

But Rafe also knew he wasn’t strong enough to stop her. Not when his desire for her was bone deep and primal, shameful and suppressed but ever-present, the feeling growing and mutating since they were young.

He couldn’t tell her ‘no’ when he was desperate for whatever she would give him, even if it was just rotten scraps from the table of self-loathing.

He was just as selfish as she was, just as reckless and angry, but the difference was that he had done unspeakable, awful things. Things he could never make up for, not really. Not with words.

So Rafe didn’t stop Kiara. Instead, he helped her take his pants off, knowing that it would wreck him beyond repair, that it would remind him that he could never really have her even as he pressed inside of her.

But she needed his body to quiet her mind, and that was something he could give. The only thing, really.

They didn’t kiss after that first time. His lips barely even made contact with her skin. The whole thing was angry and frenzied, desperate. Kiara pushed his pants and boxers to the ground in one swift motion, dragging a hand against the bare skin of his cock. The harsh friction made him shudder.

The slide of her hand was rough, borderline painful, but he instantly hardened at the contact. She stared at him, her eyes nearly manic with rage as she jerked him off without lubrication. Something he couldn’t name burned in his chest at the look her face, the desperation he saw there.

Rafe moved to pull Kiara’s shirt off, but she slapped his hands away.

“Fuck off,” she growled, ripping her shirt and bra off as she dropped to her knees. She closed her lips around the head of his cock and bobbed up and down a few times until he hardened completely in her mouth.

Then she spit on his dick unceremoniously as she rose to her feet again, the whole sequence of events making Rafe’s head spin.

She was moving so fast that Rafe barely had time to process when Kiara pushed him onto a nearby chair. But Rafe still pulled off his own shirt as Kiara dropped her pants and lowered herself down onto his length.

He only snapped out of his shock when the tip of his hard cock dipped into her wetness, ripping a broken moan out of his throat.

Rafe grabbed her hips to stop the motion, and Kiara struggled against his grip. “Wait, Kie. Shouldn’t we, like…” They were about to fuck raw, and Rafe knew he should stop it. That he should be the responsible one, even though he could barely think straight with his cock so close to her tempting heat.

“Shut up. Don’t wanna hear a fucking word out of you.” Kiara used his shoulders for leverage and sank down onto him, making them gasp in tandem. She was so tight and wet around him that it made Rafe’s head spin. Fuck if he was going to argue when she felt like that.

Once Kiara acclimated to the stretch, she started to bounce on Rafe’s lap with purpose, her moans tangling with his in a lewd symphony. He gripped the soft flesh at her hips, letting her set the pace.

“Need it like this until I cum,” Kiara panted into the air between them. “Then you can do whatever you want.” Rafe grunted, mostly focusing on keeping his eyes open. He didn’t want to miss any of it - the way Kiara bit her plush lower lip to keep from crying out, the way sweat beaded at her temples but didn’t fall, the glow of her caramel skin in the low light.

She was so fucking beautiful, and he had to bite his tongue to keep the words from slipping out. Rafe didn’t think it would be well received at this particular moment.

Kiara threw her long hair over one shoulder and moved a hand up to Rafe’s neck. The feeling of her nails digging into the sensitive skin sent heat spiraling through his whole body. “Forget how to form words? This pussy feel that good?” Kiara breathed the words out, barely above a moan.

“You told me not to speak, asshole.” On an impulse Rafe captured one nipple between his teeth and the other between his pointer finger and thumb. He thrusted up into Kiara as she continued to grind on his cock, making her groan loudly. The sound twisted Rafe’s insides into a tangled knot of desire.

He learned that you could easily tell when something felt good for Kiara - she was very vocal when overstimulated, the words spilling out like she had no control over them. “Fuck, oh my god, right there,” she encouraged when he angled his hips and fucked up into her with more speed. “Fuck. Just like that, Rafe.” He loved the way his name sounded coming out of her mouth, like a filthy prayer that could only be answered with his body.

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock Kiara, that’s it. Don’t hold back. You need this. You need me, don’t you?” Kiara groaned but didn’t contradict him. And although she’d told him to keep quiet, Rafe felt the way she clenched around him as he spoke.

So he kept talking, wanting to push her towards the release he knew was building. “Gonna cum untouched, aren’t you? And you fucking hate that, don’t you? How good I feel inside of you?” He used the hands on her hips to force her down harder onto his length.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kiara grit out through clenched teeth, her head thrown back and her tits bouncing in Rafe’s face. “But keep doing that. Don’t stop.” The slide of his cock inside her was smooth and effortless now, and she stared at the ceiling, her face contorted with pleasure.

“You gonna cum for me, Kiara?” Rafe cupped her perfect breasts in his hands, running his rough fingertips over the smooth skin with something like reverence.

“Oh fuck, yes. Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted, as her movements became irregular and frantic. And then Kiara was pulsing around him, her bare skin hot and sticky with sweat as she pressed against Rafe, her head dropping onto his shoulder.

She moaned into the crook of his neck, almost snuggling into the damp skin, and the closeness unlocked something ravenous in Rafe. Something insatiable, something that wanted to swallow her whole.

So he lifted Kiara while she was still pliant and boneless from her orgasm, helping her to her feet and leading her to the desk a few feet away.

She shook damp strands of hair from her face and looked at him with hazy, fucked out eyes. God, she was so gorgeous that it hurt to look at her. He needed to get away from that perfect face.

“What are you doing?” She finally asked, still out of it.

“You told me I could do whatever I want. And I want to fuck you until you cum again.”

So Rafe flipped Kiara and pressed against her body until she was face down on the desk. She probably thought he just wanted it rough, that he wanted to fuck her from behind to assert some kind of dominance over her, but she couldn’t be more wrong.

Rafe didn’t want Kiara to see his face anymore. He was scared of what she might find there, scared that his walls would finally crumble and she would see what he guarded inside the wrecked fortress of his heart.

~Kiara~

She’d reached for Rafe that night at Tannyhill because he was there. Not in the gross, callous sense; not because he was the only one there, the only option to sneak in a quick fuck.

No, she’d wanted him because he was always there, a quiet, steady, grounding presence in her life. Watchful. Waiting. He was there whenever she said she needed him, and often when she said she didn’t. Even when she yelled at him to leave, told him she hated him, he’d stay.

He was the one person she could never successfully push away. And that did something to her, something she couldn’t exactly name.

So when Rafe said that the Groff’s trail had gone cold, when the pain and the anger became too much to bear, when it felt like she was going to die if she didn’t find some sort of release valve, she’d reached for him.

Because she needed something solid, something real beneath her hands. Because she didn’t how Rafe felt about her, but she knew he always gave her what she needed. She knew they could talk without speaking, and she was so tired of trying to use words to describe things felt only in the body, in the bones and in the viscera.

And then she’d seen the want in Rafe’s eyes, the desperation that was concealed only slightly better than her own, and she’d known he wouldn’t turn her down.

He was lonely, too. He wanted and needed things, too, even though he would never ask. If he wanted to be the martyr, if he wanted to act like this was his penance, that was fine. Kiara was no saint.

She didn’t hate him, even though he thought she did. But she was angry, and she was desperate, and that made her mean. She didn’t care. Rafe had been mean to her plenty.

So Kiara slapped his hands away when he tried to touch her, told him to fuck off even as she felt her own wetness gather between her legs.

It had been 8 months since JJ’s death, months longer than that since she’d had sex, and she didn’t want anything to stop her from feeling Rafe move inside of her, didn’t want anything to numb the sensations after too long without them.

She needed it all, the friction and the heat and the stretch. So Kiara had insisted they fuck raw and tried not to feel like the worst person in the world.

Kiara had to begrudgingly admit to herself that Rafe was both thicker and longer than she was used to, but she welcomed the pain as she adjusted. It kept her focused and grounded, allowed her to keep her mind from spiraling.

At first she didn’t want Rafe to talk, thinking his voice in her ear would be a constant reminder of her own shame. But the way he looked at her was too intimate, too raw, and even closing her eyes didn’t free her from his intense gaze.

And fuck, he looked so gorgeous that it made her angry, with sweat running down the defined lines of his chest and abdomen, his blue eyes lidded and heavy, his full lips pink and parted.

Kiara needed a distraction from that face, the one she’d always thought was beautiful even when she hated him. And Rafe’s filthy mouth did the trick, especially when he spoke in that raspy tone she’d never heard before.

She expected shame or regret to hit her somewhere along the way; when the moans and expletives spilled out of her mouth like a filthy dam had been broken, when she finished on Rafe’s cock with a full body shudder and guttural moan she’d never heard herself make. She braced herself for the disgust when Rafe pulled her off and pushed her face first onto the nearby desk, her cheek on the smooth wood and her ass in the air.

But all Kiara felt was relief, paired with something she could only describe as greed. She wanted more. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel anything except Rafe, in and around and on top of her body.

So she sighed with happiness when Rafe grabbed the back of her thighs and pulled her into him, his cool rings digging into the soft, sensitive skin.

“Fuck, look at you all spread out for me.” Rafe’s voice was thick and low, almost a growl. Kiara moaned loud and long when he smacked her ass with one large palm, and she was glad he couldn’t see the blush that crept into her cheeks. He seemed to like the effect it had on her, because he did it again, this time on the other side.

“You like that, huh? You’re fucking dripping for me. You act like you want to be in charge, but you really just want to take whatever I give you, right?” Another smack. Yes, a traitorous voice whispered in Kiara’s mind.

Or maybe she said it out loud, because Rafe grunted in satisfaction before he wrapped one hand around her waist and one around the back of her neck. Then he shoved inside Kiara in one sharp motion, all the way to the hilt.

The angle was new and intense, and she let out a long, unintelligible moan that was only slightly muffled by the desk and the hair falling in front of her face.

“You take my cock so well, Kiara. Such a good fucking girl,” Rafe muttered between thrusts, and Kiara couldn’t help the way she clenched at his words. He fucked into her with purpose, so hard and fast that she could feel his sweat as it dripped onto her back.

Rafe whispered filth instead of sweet nothings. He didn’t try to make it anything it wasn’t, didn’t call her beautiful or pretty or try to be romantic. He didn’t check in more than was strictly necessary, only muttered the occasional “like that?” or “does that feel good?”

He didn’t ask for more than Kiara could give, like he knew exactly what she needed and how much she could take. Almost like they’d done this before.

Rafe didn’t ask her if she was okay or if she needed to stop, and Kiara was grateful for that. She needed him to keep going, but she didn’t trust herself enough to say it without her voice breaking.

He only hesitated once, when Kiara gripped the edge of the desk and winced as her hip bone jutted into something sharp on the desk. His hips stuttered slightly, and he almost stopped.

Kiara couldn’t have that, so she shifted her body a little and put her hands over his, gripping his wrists where they held onto her waist.

She turned her head as his hips returned to their punishing rhythm, and she could just see him out of the corner of her eye. Flushed, coated with sweat. Looking otherworldly, almost angelic.

Rafe saw her looking and bent down, sinking his teeth into her shoulder as he snaked one hand around to play with her clit.

“Fuck, oh my god,” Kiara moaned. Even the light pressure on her neglected clit sent her hurtling towards a second orgasm, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she lost control entirely.

Before she did, words came bubbling to the surface of her consciousness, words that were definitely weird to say in the middle of desperate, angry sex. But she let them slip out anyway.

“Rafe…thank you.” Kiara felt him falter for the smallest moment, heard his sharp intake of breath against her shoulder. But then Kiara was unraveling completely and she forgot that he had reacted at all.

“I’m gonna cum, Rafe,” she gasped, gripping his wrist as her whole body clenched and unclenched, the feeling so intense and mind-numbing that she felt like she was floating above her body.

“Kiara…where do you want me to finish?” Rafe sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth, but Kiara was too blissed out to answer. “I need you to tell me now, Kie.”

“On me,” she managed to mutter through the haze. “Anywhere on me.”

And then he pulled out, cursing softly as he finished onto the smooth skin of her lower back. The emptiness was so sudden and complete that it ripped a silent gasp out of Kiara. And it was only then that she started to cry.

She wasn’t sure exactly why she was crying in that moment, but later she would develop a strong suspicion. The tears weren’t from regret, or from sadness, even. She was crying because she hadn’t thought of JJ the whole time Rafe was inside her, and she hated herself for the relief she’d felt.

Kiara stayed pressed into the desk, not wanting to face Rafe, not able to face what she’d done or how much she’d enjoyed doing it. He didn’t say anything for a long time as he hovered behind her.

But he kept his hands on her back, rubbing tiny, soothing circles onto the skin. If she wasn’t so exhausted and distracted, Kiara would have been confused by the tender gesture.

“I’ll get you a towel,” Rafe said eventually, exiting the room quietly and allowing her to collect herself in peace. Kiara had never been more grateful to him than in that moment.

They’d never spoken of it after, and eventually it began to feel more like a dream than reality, like some broken fragment of another life that fell through the cracks and landed at the feet of two equally broken people.

~

NOW

~Rafe~

Rafe lays on his side mirroring Kiara, still in disbelief that she climbed into his bed. Shocked that this is reality, not a dream or some warped memory from a different when.

He holds his breath as Kiara closes the gap between them, scared that any sudden move might shatter the moment, might remind her of the person she’s trying to kiss and make her think better of it.

But when she presses her lips to his with gentle confidence, angling to try and avoid the worst of his injured lip, Rafe forgets all his doubts. He ceases to exist outside of this bed, outside of Kiara’s orbit.

She tastes just as sweet as he remembers, but she feels completely different this time. Her lips are soft and insistent instead of distracted, hungry and searching instead of vengeful.

Kiara parts her lips as she moves them against Rafe’s, making soft, needy sounds into his mouth that make his body feel like it’s sinking into lava. Her touch on his arm is light, like she’s scared of breaking him. Too light.

So Rafe grips Kiara’s waist and pulls her closer, his fingertips digging into the soft skin at her hipbones where her tank top doesn’t quite reach. He pulls back slightly to run his tongue along her bottom lip, wanting to taste the remnants of every moment he’s ever spent away from her mouth. Kiara moans louder as her tongue tangles with Rafe’s, gripping his bicep like she’s trying to ground herself.

Rafe’s pretty sure he’s hard already, but he tries not to act too excited, calming himself with a deep breath before pulling Kiara into another searing kiss.

As Rafe’s lips move against hers, he’s almost able to forget that his lip is throbbing and his face is aching from Topper’s enthusiastic fist. Almost. But he winces as Kiara grips his bruised jaw, and he watches with dread as her face twists with concern.

“Rafe…” He’s already shaking his head, but she continues undeterred. “Maybe we should wait. Your lip, your head…” Her fingers ghost over his bruises and her eyes take inventory of them with concern.

“The only head that matters is perfectly fine,” Rafe jokes, but Kiara doesn’t crack a smile. “I don’t want to wait anymore, Kie. Please.” She’s still hesitating, and the words rush out before he can stop them. “I’m tired of pretending like I don’t want you, every second of every day.”

So much for not acting too excited.

Kiara stares at him for a long moment, something churning just under the surface of her skin. Her eyes are wide, shining with emotion, and she’s breathing heavily like she can’t get enough air.

And then she’s crowding into his space again, forcing his head back as she trails wet kisses along his jaw and down the column of his neck. He thinks he hears her mutter something about ‘at least letting her kiss it better,’ but he can’t hear much outside of the blood roaring in his ears.

“Fuck, Kie,” Rafe groans as she sucks a mark onto his neck, his fingers gripping her bare back as she uses her tongue to soothe the tender skin.

“What’s one more bruise on top of all the rest?” Rafe’s impressed that he still manages to roll his eyes. “Stop me if anything hurts,” she whispers into his skin. He barely suppresses a laugh.

“Unlikely. Feels so fucking good.” Rafe grips Kiara’s ass as she trails kisses along his clavicle, pressing into the supple skin with greedy fingers.

Kiara surprises him by throwing one leg over his and pulling him closer, reducing the space between their bodies to a few inches.

Some part of his brain short circuits, and Rafe’s pushing down her thin shorts and lacy underwear before he’s even conscious of the movement.

He hisses when he dips two fingers between her legs experimentally. “Shit, you’re fucking soaked, Kiara. I’m surprised I couldn’t feel it through your shorts.”

“What can I say? You have sexy collarbones.” She gasps shakily and grips his shoulder when he starts to move his fingers in and out of her in a steady rhythm, the wet sounds of his thrusts filling the quiet room.

Rafe stretches her out with two fingers before adding a third, drinking up her moans and trying to elicit new ones with such singular focus that he doesn’t realize Kiara’s trying to stop him until she grabs his wrist.

“You okay?” Rafe sounds winded, breathless. His fingers twitch of their own accord, trying to earn more sounds from her pretty mouth.

Kiara’s chest is heaving, and she sounds just as breathless. “Rafe, you don’t have to…we can skip to the good part.” Satisfaction flashes through Rafe when he realizes she’s just as desperate for this as he is.

But he’s not going to rush. Not today.

“It’s all the good part, Kiara. I want to take my time with you.” He moves his thumb experimentally over her clit, watching the way her muscles tense and her eyelids flutter.

“Says the man that can barely see out of one eye.” Rafe chuckles breathlessly at the way she still manages to tease him, even now. He starts moving his fingers inside of her again, keeping his thumb on her clit.

“Fingers work fine, though,” he grunts.

“Better than fine.” Kiara grips his bicep as he angles them forward, putting pressure on her front wall. “Oh fuck, Rafe.”

The wetness between his fingertips is painfully tempting, and Rafe curses himself for getting injured today of all days. He wants to dive down and get lost between her thighs. “Fuck, I really want to taste you, Kie. This fucking lip is getting in my way.”

Kiara’s mouth twitches into a small smile at the way he’s basically whining. Then she reaches down and moves Rafe’s hand out of the way, dipping two fingers inside of herself before bringing them to his lips.

“Open.”

Rafe’s mouth drops open, partially in shock and partially in obedience. His cock throbs painfully as Kiara shoves her fingers into his mouth, running them along his tongue so he can taste her. He moans loud and long, and she pulls them out with a satisfied smirk.

“Diabolical,” Rafe groans. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Kiara’s eyes shine mischievously in the low light. “Not before I have my way with you.”

Rafe uses the hand on her hip to pull her on top of him, adjusting so that her smooth, bare legs settle on either side of his body. “Have away, then.”

Kiara opens her mouth, closes it again. Then she tugs on his shirt without saying anything, and Rafe helps her pull it over his head before she reaches for her own.

Before he can even blink again, she’s shoving his boxers off. There’s nothing separating them now, and Rafe can feel the wetness between her legs as Kiara straddles him, completely naked.

He shivers despite the heat building in his chest, reaching for Kiara and pulling her into a wet, messy kiss.

When she pulls away again, one hand braced on his sternum, he knows what she wants. And Rafe is more than ready to give it to her.

Even in the light of the moon, looking at Kiara feels like staring into the sun. “How do you want it?” He asks, voice soft but firm, his fingers gripping her hips as he waits for an answer.

Rafe doesn’t want to fuck tonight. He wants to worship Kiara, and he wants her to lead him to the altar.

~Kiara~

“How do you want it?” Kiara is tempted to respond by telling Rafe that he can pick, as long as he hurries up and fucking puts it in already.

But she doesn’t want him to think she doesn’t care, even though the position really doesn’t matter; what matters is how it feels to do this again, to be with him like this again.

All that matters is the comforting press of his body against hers, the bone-deep familiarity that feels like coming home, that feels like the only thing she can trust anymore. The only thing that’s real.

But she doesn’t know how to tell Rafe any of that.

“I just want to look at you. We’ll figure out the rest,” is all that comes out.

And maybe that sounds a little pathetic and a little desperate, but Kiara is too far gone to care.

Too tired. Tired of pretending like she doesn’t want this, like her body doesn’t slot against Rafe’s like they’re two halves of the same whole. And tonight she is desperate, but not to forget.

Not anymore.

Rafe is looking at her like his brain has stopped functioning, so Kiara reaches between them and takes him into her hand, rubbing his hard, flushed cock against her slit and watching with satisfaction as he moans and writhes under her.

“Kie,” Rafe grits out after a minute of teasing, looking pained. “I can’t wait anymore, baby.”

Kiara’s entire body heats at the term of endearment, at the way it sounds so natural slipping out of his mouth. “Then don’t,” she whispers.

She sees the hunger in his eyes as he lifts her hips and pulls her down onto his length, barely giving her a moment to adjust before settling into a bruising rhythm.

“Fuck baby,” Rafe groans as she meets his thrusts, bouncing on his length with stubborn determination. “You’re so fucking tight. Your pussy feels so perfect around me, like it was made to take this cock.”

Before she can respond, Kiara gasps as Rafe hits a particularly sensitive area inside of her. She grinds down onto him with purpose, wanting to find the spot again, her fingernails digging into the soft skin of his stomach.

“Oh fuck, Rafe. Right there.” She bites her lip and throws her head back, continuing to shower him with praise even as she stares at the ceiling. “Just a little more, oh my god. Yes. Feels so fucking good, Rafe.”

Rafe stops thrusting entirely as Kiara hunts for her release, letting her find the rhythm to take her there. She grinds down onto him until her ass is flush against his pelvis, until his thick cock is as deep inside of her as she can take it. Kiara finds the spot that makes her see stars and holds Rafe in place as she moves, the pressure so delicious that she never wants to stop.

But when he grips her hip with one hand and brings the other to thumb at her clit, it doesn’t take long before she’s crying out and finishing with a full body shudder. Rafe hisses and palms at her chest as she clenches around him, his expression lingering somewhere between euphoric pleasure and blissful pain.

Kiara leans forward, still recovering from her orgasm but drawn to the sight of Rafe lying under her. He looks unfairly gorgeous, his bare skin shining with sweat and his eyes hazy with lust. Kiara drops her head to his chest, licking the sweat off his collarbones to make him squirm.

“Fuck, Kiara,” he moans, and she smiles triumphantly before pulling back. Rafe’s not even moving inside of her, but she can feel her arousal building again as she stares down at the defined lines of his chest and stomach.

She nudges one of his impressive pecs playfully. “Alright, your turn to do some work, tough guy.” Kiara expects him to flip her over immediately, to take advantage of the opportunity to set the pace. But Rafe just lays there, slack-jawed, like he’s the one that just had an earth-shattering orgasm.

“What?” She pokes him again. “Why does your face look like that? The expression, not the injuries.”

His rakes his gaze over her body, his eyes looking bright and translucent in the faint moonlight. “You’re just so fucking beautiful, Kiara. I can’t believe…that this is real. That I get to see you like this.”

Kiara laughs to smother the emotion that climbs into her throat, that burns behind her eyelids as he stares at her like something sacred. “Damn Shakespeare. You really got all the lines tonight, huh?”

Rafe shakes his head once, his expression earnest and serious. “Not lines. Just the truth.”

And then he flips Kiara over in one smooth motion, pinning her to the bed and settling between her legs. Rafe wraps one strong arm around her lower back and pulls her against his chest into a searing kiss. He bites her bottom lip as he presses into her again, every thrust deep and hard as he fucks her into the mattress like he wants to leave an imprint of her there.

Kiara moans into his shoulder, loving how small and powerless she feels under his body, letting herself be overwhelmed by his touch and his scent.

Rafe fucks the way he does everything else - intensely, passionately, recklessly, completely. Kiara wants to be consumed, and Rafe doesn’t know how to do anything less than swallow her whole.

“Kie.” Rafe pulls back slightly, breaking the spell he cast over her. Kiara mumbles in protest, trying to pull his chest back against her own.

But Rafe cages her with his arms and forces her to look him in the eye. Kiara finds it hard to withstand his scorching gaze, his eyes as hot and intense as a blue flame.

“Tell me you mean this.” He grips the side of her face, his long fingers tangling in her hair as he continues fucking into her with shallow thrusts. “Tell me…you wanted it to be me. Even if it’s not true.”

Kiara feels herself shatter, and only Rafe’s grip on her body keeps her from falling apart entirely. She grips the hand that holds her face, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch.

She wants to apologize, wants to tell him she would do things differently if she had the chance, would put him through less pain if she could.

But Kiara doesn’t know if that’s true, exactly. Changing any of that might change this. And all she knows is that she’s grateful to be here with Rafe now, that she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Wouldn’t know how to be.

So Kiara grips the small of his back and pulls him close, pressing a soft kiss to his parted lips. “Rafe. I wanted it to be you. I needed it to be you.”

“Kiara…” She sees it in Rafe’s eyes, can taste it on the tip of his tongue. The confession she’s not ready for, the thing she knows but won’t allow herself to realize yet.

“Just be here with me,” Kiara whispers into his mouth, trying to keep her panic at bay. “Like you always are.”

Rafe’s hips stutter for a moment. And then he presses his sweaty forehead to hers, the fingers of his right hand tenderly pushing strands of hair out of her face as he nods.

When Rafe pulls back and presses Kiara’s legs up towards her head, he fucks into her with renewed intensity. His thrusts are deep and slow and deliberate, drawing moans from the deepest part of Kiara’s chest as he hits spots inside her she didn’t even know existed.

Her breathing speeds up and her eyes roll back into her head as he trails kisses up her thigh, her calf, her foot, seeking any bare skin he can find.

Rafe looks sweaty, breathless, and absolutely wrecked as he picks up the pace, and Kiara knows it’s not going to be long before he finishes.

She watches as he lowers his eyes to the intersection of their bodies, hungrily staring at the point where his cock disappears into Kiara. He looks desperate and feral, like he’s jealous of any part of him that can completely disappear inside of her. Like Rafe would climb into Kiara and take residence in her body, if he could.

Kiara almost reaches for her clit before realizing it’s not necessary; watching Rafe watch them fuck is about to send her over the edge.

“Rafe. I’m gonna…cum again.” She digs her nails into his bicep as he nods, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I know, baby. Me too.” He presses a kiss to her thigh and it unspools something tangled in Kiara, something needy and insatiable. She needs more of him. She needs it all.

“Inside, Rafe. Do it inside,” Kiara nearly begs. Rafe sucks in a sharp breath, his pupils so blown that his eyes look black.

And then he’s collapsing onto her body, filling her with his warm release as Kiara pulses around him. Kiara grips his neck and forces his lips to hers, moaning into his open mouth as his cum spreads deliciously inside of her. Rafe licks into her mouth until his hips stutter to a stop.

Then he pulls back and stares at her while they both try to catch their breath. After a long moment of silence, thick with words unspoken, Rafe leans in and grips Kiara’s face in both hands. He presses his lips to hers in a devastatingly tender kiss.

Tears spring into Kiara’s eyes, so she holds Rafe against her chest when he tries to pull away, not wanting him to see the wetness on her cheeks and start asking questions she doesn’t have the answers to.

He squirms in her grip half-heartedly, chuckling lightly. “Kie, let go. Let me go get you a towel or something.”

“Nope. Not letting you go. You’re gonna run away,” Kiara mumbles into his buzzed hair.

Rafe tries and fails to lift his head from her chest. “This is my house, Kie. Where exactly would I be running to?” His voice is tinged with fond amusement instead of arrogance, like it might have been in the past.

“Stay.” The word comes out sounding more desperate than Kiara wanted, but she can’t bear to separate from him, not even by an inch.

Her head is blissfully silent, her heart improbably clear, but she knows all the peace will evaporate as soon as Rafe is out of arms reach. She needs him here to touch her body, to ground her so she doesn’t get lost in the shuffle of other times and other places.

She thinks she feels Rafe tremble in her grasp, his breath hot on her neck. “Always,” he whispers into her skin.

Rafe pulls out but stays wrapped around her, his head on her chest and his arms around her middle. They stay like that for a long time, breathing in tandem, not caring about the mess.

The warmth of his body and the solidity of his presence shelter Kiara from the harsh reality outside this bed, if only for a little while.

Kiara feels so safe and comfortable that at some point she slips into the purgatory between wakefulness and sleep, her breathing steadying and her eyelids fluttering shut.

But she still notices when Rafe shifts, when he settles behind her with an arm slung over her waist.

He presses a tender kiss to her head, and it takes all of Kiara’s depleted willpower not to react. “What you said before? You were wrong. I could never get you out of my system. God knows I’ve tried.” Rafe whispers the confession into her hair, thinking she’s asleep. “You’re in my bloodstream, in my fucking bones. You’re the best part of me, Kie.”

Kiara feels something inside her shift, violently and completely. She doesn’t know if she’s falling apart or coming back together, if she’s losing something or finding it. She wonders if it’s possible for both to be true at the same time.

Chapter Text

Rafe wakes up alone in his bed, and it’s such a cliché that it almost makes him laugh.

But he’s still shaking from the nightmare he had, the memory already hazy but the impact still fresh, so he doesn’t feel particularly amused. 

Rafe sits up and runs a hand down his sweaty face, barely conscious of the sheet falling around his bare waist. Flashes of the dream make him wince and stir a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

He doesn’t believe in coincidences, doesn’t really believe in omens or fate, but Rafe doesn’t have a good feeling about the things he remembers from the dream.

Gritty sand, blistering sunshine, blood on his hands. Blood everywhere. Kiara’s face twisted into a smile or a grimace, but he can’t remember which one.

Kiara.

He runs a hand over the indent left by her body and finds the spot is cool. No trace of her warmth, like she took all the heat when she left the room.

A painful lump lodges in his throat, a jagged pill he can’t quite swallow down. She’s gone. She left without saying goodbye. 

And if it was anyone else, Rafe wouldn’t care. But it’s Kiara, so it derails him completely.

Rafe cradles his head in his clammy hands, trying to remember how to breathe. He feels the darkness creep up from the edges of his vision, threatening to swallow him whole. 

It takes a while, but something finally breaks through the foggy veil - the smell of coffee tickling his nostrils. Someone’s making coffee downstairs.

Rafe’s body follows his nose, like a bloodhound picking up a scent. He pulls on a pair of loose sweatpants and jogs down the stairs, his torso and feet still bare.

“Oh hey,” Kiara says casually when he barrels into the kitchen, glancing up at him with a mug of coffee in her hand and a warm smile on her face. Her hair is thrown up in a haphazard bun, and one of Rafe’s old, oversized t-shirts hangs off her frame. She’s all soft edges and smooth skin, her long legs bare under the shirt. Rafe is so relieved to see her that it renders him speechless for a moment.

“Took me a second to figure out how to use your machine. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that yours is way fancier than mine. Sorry if it tastes like shit.” She turns back to the machine and grips the coffee pot. “You want some? I’m sure you’re super tempted now.”

Rafe crosses the room without a word, wrapping his arms around Kiara and pulling her into his body with a deep sigh. He buries his face in her hair, breathing in her scent and relishing the warmth of her back against his chest.

Kiara chuckles lightly, setting down the coffee and reaching up to grip his forearms. Rafe’s heart swells when she leans into his touch, and his arms tighten around her possessively.

“Hey, are you okay?” The words are tinged with concern, and she’s not laughing anymore. “You’re shaking, Rafe.”

“Yeah, I’m good, I’m good. Just uh..a little cold,” Rafe lies, sucking in a breath to steady himself. Kiara nods and picks up another mug, untangling herself only enough to pour Rafe a cup of coffee.

She turns around and places the mug in his hands with a smirk. “Probably because you’re half naked. Not that I’m complaining.” Her eyes run a scorching trail over his body as she sidles to the kitchen island, plopping down in one of the stools in front of an abandoned bowl.

As Rafe watches Kiara walk around the kitchen like she owns the place, something deep in his chest aches. The happiness he’s experiencing is so intense that it almost feels like pain. 

“Is that cereal?” He leans against the counter with his elbows, his lips quirking upward into an amused smile. “Where did you even find that?”

“In some cabinet. I hope you don’t mind, I was just starving. Figured it was better to scavenge than to abandon ship completely,” Kiara’s clearly joking, but Rafe’s stomach turns again as he remembers waking up alone. He grips his coffee cup tightly and speaks before he loses the courage.

“When I woke up and you weren’t in bed, I thought you’d left.” He keeps his eyes down, fingers tapping anxiously on the ceramic mug. “I was scared you were regretting it, like you did last time.”

“What are you talking about?” Kiara asks around a mouthful of cereal, her spoon frozen in midair.

“In the other when, the time in the library when we…” Rafe gestures between them vaguely with one hand. “You…you cried. I heard you.” He runs an anxious hand over his buzzed hair. “And I figured you wouldn’t want me to say anything, but I hate the thought of making you feel like that again. Of making you feel like that, ever.”

Rafe stares at the counter, replaying that night in his head. How he had hovered as Kiara laid there, her chest heaving with silent sobs. How he’d wanted to comfort her but fear had stopped him, the fear that he would only make things worse. The way he always did.

Rafe remembered how much he had hated himself in that moment, how he had expected her to pull away from him in disgust, how he knew deep in his bones that he didn’t deserve to touch her.

Rafe had cursed himself for not being strong enough to deny Kiara in the first place, and then for not being brave enough to ask her if she was okay. But he couldn’t risk the possibility that she might tell him she regretted being with him to his face, knowing he’d never recover from that. So he’d said nothing, and he’d left the room like a selfish coward.

“It wasn’t regret, Rafe.” His head snaps up, searching Kiara’s expression for any sign that this might be a cruel joke. “I was overwhelmed, yeah, and emotional. It was the first time I’d had sex since…JJ.” She stabs at her cereal, looking uncomfortable but sincere. “I don’t know if I was proud of myself, necessarily, but I didn’t regret it. I haven’t regretted anything we’ve done together.”

Rafe sucks in a silent breath, her words hitting him like a sucker punch to the temple. Everything he thought he knew is shattered into pieces, scattering broken fragments of memories around in his brain like loose marbles.

When Kiara looks up from her coffee, her warm brown eyes are sparkling with amusement. “Except maybe going to Blackstone and almost getting you fucking killed. That’s a solid candidate for things I regret.”

Rafe tries to smile as he stares at the wall behind Kiara’s head, but his mind is reeling. He’s barely able to keep himself upright as the past few years rearrange themselves like haphazard Jenga pieces in his mind.

“You alright?”

“Yeah it’s just…a lot to process.” He’s talking about this vital piece of information that he’d misinterpreted, that had left him licking his wounds and recovering from a rejection that never really occurred in the first place.

What would he have done differently if he’d known she didn’t regret it? What does it mean for them now?

But Kiara thinks Rafe is talking about Blackstone, and her expression darkens.

“Should we talk about what happened with your dad? And maybe what happened to your face?” Rafe brings a hand to his jaw unconsciously. He slips into a stool facing Kiara, trying in vain to avoid her accusatory gaze.

Rafe starts with the easier of the two questions. “The bruises and shit are from Topper. I pulled up to the Wreck after coming back from Raleigh-“

“You went to the Wreck?” 

Rafe tries to look casual as he shrugs. “You were already gone. But Topper was being a piece of shit to Sarah, yelling at her and calling her a slut and a bunch of other bullshit. So I beat John B to the punch. Literally.” He bares his teeth in a humorless grin.

“Jesus Christ. I hope Topper looks worse than you do. I fucking hate that guy.” Rafe hides his smile, endeared by the way the casual endorsement of violence falls out of Kiara’s mouth. He can’t imagine the girl he knew a year ago saying the same words, but it’s somehow still so her.

“I only threw one punch. Turns out I wasn’t much in the fighting mood.” Kiara leans across the counter and brushes his jaw with her fingertips, and even the slight contact is enough to make him shiver.

“No.” Kiara runs her eyes over his face, assessing him with that all-seeing gaze. “Just in the mood to get beat up on, to have someone else do the punishing for you.” Rafe flinches and backs away, staring at Kiara with barely disguised hurt. The words grate like sandpaper against his exposed heart, rubbing it raw. “I wish you would have called.” Kiara’s eyes excavate all the shit he’s tried to keep buried for so long, and her tone is equal parts sad and disapproving.

“And said what, Kie?” His words come out insolent and angry. “Of course Ward was involved. I don’t know why I thought he was capable of being a better person here. Same shit, different reality.”

Just like how you’re trying to act like you’re a better person here, right? This is why Rafe had needed Topper’s fist. He’d needed the pain to silence the whispers from deep inside his mind, the whispers that sound suspiciously like his father’s voice.

“Rafe…” Kiara’s eyes are softer now, all the sharpness tucked away.

“It’s fine, Kie. He basically said Big John screwed him out of his part of the gold, said they were supposed to work together. So he gave Groff the money to get rid of him and Groff did the rest. Ward said Groff framed him, planted a gun with his prints, had someone corroborate a false alibi. All that shit.”

Kiara focuses on his face more intently. “False alibi?”

“Yeah, that’s what he said. Not that his word means much at this point.” Rafe’s laugh is hollow.

“That’s fair.” Kiara runs a hand down her arm, her brows pinched in thought. “But based on what JJ said…well, Ward might not be lying about this.”

“Yeah?” The word comes out sounding sarcastic, which is not a great start. “And what did JJ say? You saw him yesterday, right?” Kiara raises her eyebrows in a silent question. “Pope,” Rafe adds by way of explanation.

“Pope’s got such a big fucking mouth,” Kiara sighs. The fact that she didn't want Rafe to know she was with JJ pulls something taut inside of him.

“You can spare me the gory details, if that makes you feel better.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Kiara tightens her messy bun. “He…he came to my apartment when I was there checking the locks, doing a few other things to appease my mom. I’m guessing Pope told him I left the Wreck and he made an educated guess.”

Anger flashes through Rafe’s whole body and settles under his sternum. “Yeah, or he fucking followed you. He came while you were alone?” He grips the counter so hard that his knuckles turn as white as the marble.

“Yeah, I was alone.” Kiara looks at him and squares her shoulders as something defiant flashes in her eyes. “And before you even start, yes, I let him in. It’s JJ.”

It’s JJ. The way she says it so casually, so resolutely, cuts Rafe to the core. The way that she associates JJ with everything good in the world, anything pure and trustworthy. The way she says his name like a promise, like a cure. It’s instinctive.

Instinctive, the same way people associate Rafe with anything crooked, rotten, or broken. The way they say his name like a curse, like a condemnation, like an affliction.

It’s Rafe. The fuck-up. The madman. The murderer.

Rafe tries desperately to drown the voices in the rising tide of his anger. “What was it you said before, Kie? You should have fucking called me!” He slams a hand down onto the counter.

Kiara glances down at his hand without flinching. “Yeah, maybe. But JJ never would have told me anything then.”

Rafe takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to rein himself in. “Did you feel safe?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t feel threatened by him, especially because he said Groff didn’t know he came. But he basically admitted that he helped with the break-in at my apartment, and I get the feeling he knows more about big John than he lets on. He also said that they’re leaving town soon, and that I…” Kiara swallows, looking up at him hesitantly. “That we need to stop nosing around. He told me that Groff’s dangerous. He seemed really freaked out.”

Rafe’s nostrils flare, and he half stands up out of his chair without realizing it. “He fucking threatened you?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. He told me that he…” She hesitates, drops her gaze. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What, Kie?” Something in Rafe’s stomach tenses, like he’s bracing for the floor to collapse underneath him again.

“He told me that he cares about me. That he doesn’t want me to get hurt. And then he kissed me.” Kiara grips her cold coffee in both hands like she needs a lifeline.

“Of course he did.” Rafe’s throat is so thick with emotion that he can’t even force out a scoff.

Kiara narrows her eyes. “I told him he had to leave. Nothing happened, Rafe.”

“But he wanted it to.” A vein throbs in Rafe’s temple as he strains to keep his swirling emotions in check.

“Does it matter?” Kiara’s tone is defensive but her eyes are hard to read. Rafe can’t tell if she’s issuing a challenge or a comeback, if she wants to push the matter or dismiss it entirely.

“It does to me.” Rafe runs a hand back and forth over his head, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Especially if that’s the reason you came here last night.”

Kiara grabs Rafe’s chin, forcing him to look at her. His heart pounds painfully when he looks into her eyes and sees the genuine hurt there. “Don’t do that.” Her voice is gentle but insistent. “I came here because I wanted to see you, Rafe. Because I wanted to be with you.” She doesn’t let go until Rafe nods. He tries desperately to ignore the emotion building in his chest, feeling a little like that super-volcano under Yellowstone he’d read about once. A caldera, they’d called it. 

The Cameron Caldera, heading towards eruption.

“I don’t know what JJ wanted or what his goal was when he came to my apartment. But it seems like he’s having a lot of doubts about everything. I’m going to text him, try and meet up today.” Something flashes in Rafe’s eyes as Kiara talks, something dark and dangerous. “I’ll try to finish our conversation and convince not to leave town with Groff. All he needs is a little push to…Why are you looking at me like that?” Kiara trails off as Rafe clenches and unclenches his jaw, trying not to lose his shit.

“You can’t be fucking serious, Kiara. After JJ told you that he helped with the break in? After he basically admitted that he knows more than he’s saying about Big John’s murder? After he told you Groff is dangerous, after he fucking threatened you?? You’re still going to go to him?” They both hear the double meaning in his words, the thing that he’s really angry about but won't say outright.

He’s not just upset because JJ’s dangerous. He’s angry because Kiara’s always going to go back to him.

“What do you think I should do, Rafe? Nothing?”

“JJ probably thinks you’re like, going to the police after you ran away last night. It’s dangerous, Kiara. You shouldn’t be contacting him.” He knows immediately that this was the wrong thing to say. 

Kiara stands in an instant, outrage propelling her to her feet. “Don’t fucking tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing. JJ wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Once again, you don’t know that! That’s just what you want to believe.” Rafe’s on his feet now too, running a hand down his face in frustration. “Jesus Christ. I know you always throw caution to the wind when JJ is involved, but I didn’t expect you to be so fucking stupid about this.” There’s venom in each word he spits in Kiara’s direction, and Rafe hates the way he sounds so much like the person he used to be.

Maybe you’re still that person, the voice whispers. Maybe nothing has changed.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? JJ’s in danger, Rafe! Am I just supposed to do just sit back and let Groff manipulate him?” They’re standing toe to toe now, the air thick with anger and something else, something raw and acrid and explosive.

“Have you ever considered the fact that JJ’s dangerous too? That he might not give a shit about you? That he might have been an accomplice to a murder, or worse??”

Kiara’s face shutters completely, leaving her almost unrecognizable. “Says the actual murderer.” Her voice is calm, even.

Something rears its head from the darkest part of him, something primal and instinctive. Something vengeful.

Rafe bites down on his tongue so hard that he tastes blood, but it’s not enough. “Yeah well, seems like you have a type.”

“Fuck you, Rafe.” Kiara shoves him so hard that he stumbles, giving her the opportunity to slip past him and make her way towards the stairs.

Rafe follows close behind, reaching for her arm. She shakes him off and starts jogging away. “Don’t walk away from me, Kie!”

“OR WHAT?!” She calls over her shoulder, climbing the stairs two at a time. “This was a huge fucking mistake. I never should have asked you to get involved in this.”

“Well it’s too goddamn late for that!” Rafe’s on her heels now, propelled by the rage boiling under his skin. “Just answer me this, Kiara. How far are you willing to go for him? Are you willing to sacrifice yourself in the process? Who you are, what you believe in, what you want??”

He’s on the second to last step when Kiara wheels around to face him, staring down from the landing at the top of the stairs. There’s an accusatory glint in her eyes.

“That’s rich coming from you. What do you want, Rafe? Why did you even give me the crown?? Why did you even agree to help me if you fucking hate JJ so much?”

Rafe grips the banister as his whole world tilts on its axis. Fuck it. He’s tired of saying anything except the truth.

“Why do you think, Kie??” She shrugs like she really doesn’t know, like it’s not the most painfully obvious thing in the world, and it snaps something loose in Rafe.

“I don’t give a shit about JJ, but I fucking love you, Kiara!” He’s yelling now, climbing the last few stairs with a heaving chest and tears clouding his vision.

He barely sees it when Kiara shakes her head, when she backs away and looks at him like he’s just confessed something terrible. She looks shocked, like it couldn’t possibly be true. Like Rafe couldn’t possibly be capable of loving someone.

“No, you don’t…”

“No. You don’t.” Rafe points at himself with two shaky hands. “But don’t tell me how I feel, Kiara. I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Kiara folds her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowed with skepticism. “Was this before, during, or after the time you were engaged, Rafe? Tell me that!”

“Sofia wanted me, at least before she knew me well enough to know better. And I didn’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone my whole life, Kie.” Something flits across Kiara’s face before she shoves it away, some shred of empathy she won’t let herself feel right now.

“No, no. You don’t get to play that card. You made the decisions that isolated you. You made our lives hell. You choked me, you almost killed Sarah, you killed…” She swallows, unable to finish the sentence. And Rafe sees that thing in her eyes, the thing that everyone else has when they look at him. It almost breaks him on the spot.

“Do you think I don’t know that, Kiara? Do you think I don’t spend every moment of every day hating myself for what I’ve done? Do you think I’m not desperate to be someone else? To be someone better? Someone good, someone trustworthy, someone that people don’t fucking despise? Do you know what I would give for you to say my name the way you say JJ’s?”

Kiara’s arms drop to her sides and her carefully composed expression cracks open. “I was half out of my mind all the time, and I was such a piece of shit, Kie. I know that. I can’t take it back, and I can’t make up for it. And it fucking kills me.” Rafe takes a deep breath, trying to summon the courage to continue. “But I’ve been trying to…be someone better. I’ve been trying to prove to myself, prove to you, that I don’t have to be what I was. That you can trust me. That you can rely on me.”

Kiara bites her lip, and it almost looks like she wants to respond. But what is there for her to say? Caught between a dead man and a murderer, Rafe thinks ruefully. I don’t envy her.

“I wanted you to have the Crown because I figured…even if it was a long shot, there was a chance it could do more for you than I could. Even if you wished for me to die instead of JJ, then at least you would’ve been fucking happy.” Rafe laughs as tears start falling down his face. “Maybe then I would’ve finally made up for some of my shit.”

“Rafe-“ Kiara takes a small step forward, but Rafe shakes his head.

“When we ended up here with JJ still alive, when I remembered everything, I knew that you would choose him every time. And that was okay with me.”

“That’s not fair, Rafe. You know that’s not fair.” Kiara’s voice is shaking, and tears glitter on the edge of her bottom lash line.

“None of this is fucking fair! Do you think it’s fair to make me watch you keep doing this shit? Sacrificing everything you believe in, sacrificing yourself? The Kiara I know would never be okay with any of this.” Rafe’s voice is shaking too, but he can’t tell if it’s from rage or relief.

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do, Rafe,” Kiara snaps, pulling her shoulders back. “And you of all people don’t get to lecture me about morals.”

“I don’t give a fuck about morals, Kie!” Rafe throws his hands in the air, exasperated. “You’re intentionally missing the point. I care about you, and you’re putting yourself in danger. Don’t you fucking understand that I can’t be a part of it anymore?”

“Strange way of showing that you care, Rafe!” Kiara’s voice is a little shrill and a little desperate. “You love me but you’re just what? Walking away? You’re finally giving up on me?” She laughs, but he hears the hurt lurking just underneath the surface.

Rafe scoffs incredulously. “Giving up on you? Everything I fucking do is for you!”

“Really?” Kiara’s almost sneering. “Because it sounds like you’re doing this for yourself. Because you’re mad at me, and you’re jealous of JJ, right?” Rafe knows that she’s just trying to hurt him, that he shouldn’t give her a reaction. But the words explode out of him before he can swallow them down like he has so many times before.

“Of course I’m jealous of JJ, Kiara! I always have been. But I’m not an idiot. I know where I fall in the hierarchy of things.” For the space of one breath, Kiara softens. Her hand twitches like she’s going to reach for Rafe.

But his next words are already rushing out like a poisonous oil spill, coating them both in slippery darkness. “I know you would never feel the same way about me that I do about you. Whether he’s dead or alive, I could never compete with the love of your life. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

Kiara absorbs the words like a slap, her body lurching backwards with a shocked gasp. Rafe feels the distance like a physical weight as she stares at him. His heart lurches as she starts to cry, as he bears witness to the pain he caused. The familiar self-hatred sucks all the anger out of him.

“You’re so fucking selfish, Rafe! Stop making this about you, about either of us! None of this is about how we feel. It’s about helping JJ, about helping your dad, about stopping Groff. We said we would change things. Make them better.”

“What if we can’t, Kie? What if we can only make things worse?” Rafe whispers the words that have haunted him since they came here, that rattle around in his mind night after sleepless night. “What if what’s gone is gone?”

Kiara backs towards the guest room that’s filled with her things, trembling all over. “You’re wrong, Rafe. You’re fucking wrong.”

“Maybe. But I can’t help you destroy yourself, alright? I’ve fucked up enough shit in my life. I don’t need to fuck things up for you, too. And if I can’t stop you, then I can’t help you.” 

But Rafe might as well be talking to a wall at this point. Kiara is throwing her things haphazardly into a backpack, not even stopping to wipe her tears as they continue to fall. 

He stands motionless in the hallway as she strips his shirt off her perfect body, getting dressed in her own clothes before slinging the bag over one shoulder. The whole ordeal feels like it happens in seconds and takes an eternity.

“Fine. I’ll do it on my own. I don’t need your fucking help.” Kiara shoves Rafe’s shirt into his chest and pushes past him, jogging down the stairs without looking back.

It takes a long time for Rafe to unfreeze, and she’s almost out the door when he forces his mouth to cooperate.

“That’s not the JJ you know, not really. Even I can see that. Open your fucking eyes, Kiara. Before it’s too late.” He calls down the stairs, his voice jarring in the absolute stillness of house. 

A moment later, the front door slams shut. The finality of the sound reminds him of his uncle’s funeral, of the sickening thud of nails driven into a coffin. Anything he had with Kiara is buried six feet under.

Rafe feels like he should cry, or scream, or break something, even. But he can’t. He poured himself out at Kiara’s feet, and now his well is empty. There’s nothing left. He’s just an empty vessel, a hollow imitation of person with a beating, functioning heart. 

———————————————————————

Rafe’s not sure how long he stands in the upstairs hallway as his whole body shakes, feeling like his heart has been ripped out of his chest.

But it’s long enough for the shadows to lengthen in the hallway around him, for his limbs to grow stiff and heavy from disuse.

When Rafe finally shakes his head to clear the static, he’s so lightheaded he nearly topples over.

The shirt Kiara threw at him is sweaty and wrinkled after being bunched in his hand for hours, but he pulls it over his head anyway. It still smells like her. The realization sends him staggering into the nearest wall, one hand clutching his chest.

Like some kind of twisted Pavlovian response, Rafe pulls out his phone. He swipes away a few work emails and ignores a text from Barry. Nothing from Kiara. Maybe there never will be again.

Rafe slams his phone down onto the wooden floor of the hallway and listens with satisfaction as the glass splinters. But it’s not enough. He leaves his broken phone facedown and walks stiffly to Ward’s office in the fading light.

He knows he should eat something, maybe take a shower, but his feet carry him to the oak cabinet in Ward’s office like it’s a survival instinct. Or maybe a self-destructive one.

He snags a decanter filled with amber liquid and takes it to his room. And then Rafe sits alone in his too-big bed, staring at the place where Kiara’s body was pressed against his not even 12 hours ago. One hand twists into his sheets while the other brings the bottle to his lips in a desperate motion.

He hasn’t drank like this in over a year. He told himself he never would again. But Rafe can’t stop replaying the look on Kiara’s face as she backed away from him, can’t stop picturing the way she’d trembled from his words as tears ran down her face.

Fucking monster, Ward’s voice whispers distantly.

Rafe relishes the burn as the whiskey scorches a path to his stomach, savoring the way it makes him splutter and brings tears to his eyes.

This is what I deserve, he reminds himself. For being a selfish coward, for being stupid enough to push away the only person that ever looked at him like he was worth something.

But in the end, she’d looked at him the same way everyone else did.

Rafe knows Kiara will never love him the way he loves her. But as he passes out sometime in the early evening, the whiskey decanter tumbling to the ground out of his limp hand, he thinks with the last of his fading consciousness that he never would have deserved her love anyway. So it’s better off this way.

It’s only after he wakes up late the next day, when Sarah comes knocking on his door with wild eyes and Kiara’s name on her lips, that Rafe realizes how wrong he was.

Chapter Text

Kiara drives until she can’t see the road through her tears anymore.

She probably shouldn’t have started driving in the first place, with her whole body shaking and tears flowing unimpeded down her cheeks, but she needed to get away from Tannyhill. Away from him.

But the silence in the car just amplifies the echo of his words, the words that detonated like a bomb in the temporary calm of Kiara’s mind, upending everything and leaving her in the wreckage.

I don’t give a shit about JJ, but I fucking love you!

I fucking love you.

Kiara shakes her head, trying to dislodge the memory of Rafe’s ferocious glare, the conviction with which he’d said the words that he thinks he means.

I love you.

No matter if he means them or not, they’re still tantamount to betrayal, and remembering them makes Kiara’s blood boil.

Because this wasn’t the fucking plan. This wasn’t the mission. They had agreed to work together, both here and in the other when, to fix the things that could be fixed and to destroy the person that had broken the rest beyond repair.

It wasn’t supposed to be about them. It wasn’t supposed to be this goddamn complicated. And now it’s fucking with her head, distracting her from the things that are actually life and death, making her stupid heart ache and her chest feel like it’s caving in when the stakes have never been higher for JJ.

Kiara pulls over onto the shoulder of the road and lets out a feral, livid scream from the center of her chest, hitting the wheel with the palm of her hand until the horn goes off. Because fuck Rafe for making her worry about him too, for making her care that she’s hurting his feelings when she’s spent most of her life hating his guts.

And when Kiara’s voice is finally raw, when the tears have slowed to a trickle and she slumps against the wheel, she feels the other part of the betrayal slip into the fringes of her consciousness. She hears the small, whimpering voice in the back of her mind that tells her she can’t do this without Rafe.

Without asking for it, without wanting it, Rafe had become the bedrock of her sanity, the one person she could count on when everything else went to shit. 

And for a few blissful moments, things had been good. Things had been steady and constant between them, easy. Rafe had held Kiara’s broken pieces between his warm hands and made her feel like a complete person again, someone good and pure and whole.

And now he’d fucking ruined it by pulling away from her, and he had the audacity to act like he was doing it for her own good. Patronizing bullshit. Because all she really needed was for him to stay.

Kiara steadies her breathing and tries not to think about the fact that she’s technically the one that left him.

She pulls out her phone with hands that are slightly steadier than before, ignoring the fact that there are no messages from Rafe. That there might never be again.

Kiara taps on her messages with JJ and stares at the blinking cursor with heavy eyes, considering her next move.

More of Rafe’s harsh words echo in her mind, words that held nuggets of truth that she can’t bring herself to dig for. Excavating them would throw everything into question.

Sacrificing everything you believe in, sacrificing yourself? The Kiara I know would never be okay with any of this.

Kiara tells herself that it was just Rafe backsliding, that he was trying to guilt her into giving up, into not going back to JJ after the night they’d shared.

But deep down Kiara knows that’s not the whole truth. Rafe had called her out on something she’s been secretly fearing for a long time, a scary possibility that’s kept her up at night during the last year of hunting Groff.

The real possibility that she’s turning into someone darker, someone cruel, someone with no clear sense of right or wrong. Someone with no boundaries and no limits, no place she wouldn’t go in pursuit of some twisted sense of justice or in desperate protection of those she loves.

Someone with a savior complex and no real sense of self, just a bone deep need to fix and protect, no matter the cost. Kiara had seen that side of herself even when JJ was still alive, when he was in trouble and she would stop at nothing until she could make everything okay for him again.

And it had been justifiable most of the time, when the stakes were low and the only thing she sacrificed was her own wellbeing. It was worth it to make sure JJ was okay.

But now?

Rafe’s voice reaches out from the darkest corner of her mind, pleading for Kiara to think with her head instead of her bleeding heart.

Have you ever considered the fact that JJ’s dangerous too?

JJ had helped Groff break into her apartment, no matter his reasoning. And Kiara doesn’t know the extent of JJ’s involvement with Big John’s murder, but she can tell he knows more than he’s saying. If he’s willing to protect Groff for murder, what else is he capable of?

Kiara shakes her head sharply, like she can knock the idea out cold. But it won’t relent, like a stubborn itch that won’t go away no matter how hard she scratches.

That he might not give a shit about you? That he might have been an accomplice to a murder, or worse??

She tries to think about something else, anything else except for the conversation she’d just run away from, but fragments keep snagging on the edges of her brain like shards of glass.

The worst one of all? The most haunting? The thing Rafe had said in a whisper instead of yell, with his eyes full of regret and pain.

What if what’s gone is gone?

If they really can’t fix anything, if JJ is caught in Groff’s web and nothing can untangle him, if he’s destined to go down a different path with the same end, then all of this has been for nothing. All the pain and the suffering, hers and Rafe’s and JJ’s. 

If they can’t make anything better, if they can only make things worse, than Kiara would have to grapple with the fact that they’re stuck in a place that’s even more fucked than the mess she was desperate to leave behind.

Kiara won’t accept that. She can’t accept it.

And at this point, what else is she expected to do? How is she supposed to take ending up here, with JJ still alive and Groff within reach, as anything else except for a sign to step in? To protect JJ with everything she has?

Kiara doesn’t have an answer, and she doesn’t have an alternative. So she types out a message to JJ and sends it before she can second guess herself.

Kiara: can we meet up soon? I need to talk to you. it’s urgent.

She hesitates briefly, then sends another message.

Kiara: there are some things about Groff you need to know before you decide to leave town with him. I’m worried about you.

And then she throws her car in drive, shoving down the irrational urge to drive back to Tannyhill and tell Rafe she doesn’t want to do this without him.

She has to, so she will.

———————————————————————

Later that night, dusk is settling over the Break, and Kiara watches as glowing embers drift lazily into the dark purple sky.

She keeps her eyes up and breathes the smoky bonfire air deep into her lungs, trying to keep her mind clear. She’d shared a blunt with Sarah and John B earlier while Pope looked on with fond disapproval, and it had helped for a while.

But now everything is starting to creep in from the periphery again. The fight with Rafe that had sliced her open; the lack of a response from JJ like salt poured in the wound.

Kiara had barely managed to drag herself out of her apartment, but she’d told Pope she’d be here. And Kiara is a person who does what she says she will - that’s one thing that hasn’t changed.

Sarah stumbles up to her and breaks her reverie, trudging through the sand and flinging damp clumps into the air. She throws an arm around Kiara, nuzzling into her neck like an excited puppy.

“Kie, come take another shot with me and John B!” She whines, trying to pull Kiara out of her folding chair. She points to John B, who waits obediently with a bottle of cheap tequila nearby. “Pope is DD tonight, so we can drink to our heart’s desire!”

“This is Pope’s going away party. Shouldn’t he be the one doing shots?” Kiara teases with an amused smile, letting Sarah pull her towards the two boys.

“Don’t want to risk having any substances in my system when I leave tomorrow,” Pope says solemnly.

“You’re so cute, Pope,” Sarah sighs, reaching up to pinch one of his cheeks. “I’m so sad we didn’t have more time to get to know each other before you left.” Pope splutters a little but doesn’t pull away.

John B swats at Sarah with his free hand. “Yeah, but I’m sure he’s anxious to get away from you, psycho. Unhand Pope!” But he’s laughing and so is Kiara, even though it almost feels unnatural after the day she’s had.

“Nah, Pope’s way too patient with all of us,” Kiara notes, smiling at her friend. “He always has been.”

“What are we going to do without you, man?” John B brings one large hand onto Pope’s shoulder, spilling tequila on the ground in the process.

Pope shrugs. “You two are going to keep hooking up. Kiara’s going to keep hooking up with Rafe. Same shit, different day.”

“Ew!!” Sarah claps both hands over her ears, looking scandalized.

Kiara’s whole body temperature spikes ten degrees. “JESUS!” Her voice echoes in the dark. “I’m not hooking up with Rafe, Pope!”

Not anymore, at least.

But the mention of Rafe rips off the haphazardly placed bandaid and exposes the gaping wound. Kiara winces and glances at her phone, like it’s muscle memory. She’s surprised by a different name appearing on her screen.

JJ: I’m scared, Kie. I don’t want to leave with him.

JJ: meet at the place I took you to?

And he sounds just like he used to, when he was alone and lost and needed her help. Kiara doesn’t hesitate. She stuffs her phone in her pocket and heads for her car.

Kiara: on my way

“Kie, where are you going?” John B calls after her.

Pope jogs to catch up, his brow creased with concern. “Was it the thing I said about Rafe? I’m sorry Kie, I was just messing around.”

Kiara shakes her head too quickly, trying to think of an excuse. “No, no, I know you were just kidding. Just uh…something came up. I…my mom texted. She needs me home. Some emergency with the Wreck, or something.” She stumbles over her words unconvincingly.

“Anything we can do to help?” Sarah asks, still a little unsteady on her feet.

Kiara plasters a fake smile on her face. “Don’t worry about it guys, seriously. Stay and have fun.” She grabs Pope by the shoulders and pulls him into a firm hug. “Pope, I’m going to miss you. Don’t be a stranger, okay?” She mutters into his shoulder, letting herself be totally present for the space of a few moments.

“Bye Kie,” Pope whispers into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. 

When he pulls back, he looks between Kiara and John B with a grin. “P4L?”

“P4L,” they repeat in unison, turning to each other and performing the handshake they all still know by heart.

“I’m feeling a little left out here, guys!” Sarah pouts, so they pull her into a group hug. Kiara basks in the familiar warmth of her friends, and for a moment she lets herself imagine that Cleo and JJ are here too, that everything is back the way it was. The way it should be.

JJ.

Kiara extricates herself from the hug with difficulty, but the text from JJ burns a hole in her pocket and propels her into action.

“Love you Pope! Come back in one piece!” She shouts over her shoulder, forcing herself not to look back.

“I’ll try!” He calls back, a bittersweet smile in his voice.

Kiara hops in her SUV and speeds to the lighthouse with singular focus, trying to ignore the uneasy whisper in the back of her mind that sounds a lot like Rafe.

Kiara barely remembers parking her car, but her feet carry her to the dock near the old lighthouse without waiting for her mind to catch up.

JJ is waiting for her when she jogs to the waterside, his blonde hair glinting in the dim glow of the lamps as he stares out at the black ocean.

When he turns to face Kiara, his blue eyes are full of fear and pain, something raw and broken and fresh. His expression freezes Kiara’s blood in her veins.

“JJ, are you okay?” Kiara reaches for his arm instinctively, wrapping her fingers around his bicep. “What’s going on? I got here as soon as I could.”

To her surprise, JJ pulls her in and wraps Kiara in a hug so tight that it squeezes the breath out of her lungs. His body feels rigid against her, every muscle pulled taut.

“I want you to know that I meant everything I said to you,” JJ whispers into her hair, and Kiara absentmindedly brings a soothing hand to his back. “I’m really sorry, Kie.”

“It’s alright, Jayj.” Kiara tries to pull back, but JJ keeps her locked in his arms, a little more tightly than necessary. “What are you-“

Kiara doesn’t hear the footsteps behind her until it’s too late. And then a sharp impact to the back of her head plunges her into darkness, ensuring that she doesn’t hear anything at all.

———————————————————————

When Kiara comes to, the first thing she’s aware of is the throbbing pain in her head. The second is the sensation of something rough biting into the skin of her wrists.

She’s inside now, somewhere dim and dank, and it takes her a while to realize she’s sitting down. Her wrists and ankles are bound to a chair, and as her vision clears she realizes Groff is standing on the opposite side of the small room, watching her.

Kiara winces when something damp presses against the tender spot on her head. JJ appears in her field of vision a moment later, holding a limp, bloody rag. He avoids eye contact as he drops it into a bucket nearby.

A ragged sound of anger tears itself out of Kiara’s throat, and she finally starts to struggle against her restraints.

“JJ, what the hell? Are you fucking kidding me? Let me go!!” She intentionally refuses to acknowledge Groff, but he steps out of the shadows and addresses her anyway.

“JJ’s the only reason you’re alive and not dead in a ditch somewhere. So I’d be a little more grateful if I were you.” His voice is smooth and smug, and it makes the familiar rage flare in Kiara’s stomach. There’s fear there, too, but she refuses to give into it.

“WOW, thank you so much. I’m feeling so very grateful while I’m tied up and imprisoned in…in…” She really takes in the space for the first time; the solitary lamp on the floor illuminating the room, the hole in the ceiling where water drips through in an irregular rhythm, the weathered wood floor.

“The lighthouse.” Kiara trails off, her heart dropping as she shifts her gaze to JJ. He stares at her feet, biting his lip with his hands clasped together uncertainly.

“Very good, Kiara. Brava. Excellent powers of observation.”

Kiara ignores the jab. “You’re doing this because I know too much, right? Because I know what you did? That you killed Big John? That you planted a gun with Ward’s prints? That you crafted a fake alibi to cover your ass?” She kicks her feet harder, causing the chair to lift off the ground.

JJ’s eyes flicker up to her face as Groff stalks over to her chair. He slams it back onto the ground and grabs Kiara by the hair, hard enough to make her wince.

“I’m doing this because you keep sticking your nose in places it doesn’t belong!” Groff snarls from behind her. “First you steal from my office, then you break into Blackstone and trash the place?? Did you think we wouldn’t notice the gaping hole in the fucking floor?! And even after all that, we warned you. JJ told you to stop. But I guess you’re a person that has to learn through experience.”

“Dad, stop. Let her go.” JJ’s voice is shaky and weak, but Groff does what he asks. He smooths his hair down as he walks around to the front of her chair, and Kiara glares at him as every square inch of her head throbs.

“I fear you have your facts wrong anyway, Ms. Carrera. I wouldn’t know the first thing about planting a weapon!” Groff exclaims theatrically, waving his hands in the air. “And how can my alibi be false when I have my dear son to corroborate it for me?”

Kiara whips to face JJ again, and their brief eye contact tells her everything she needs to know. He may have lied about many things, but JJ is scared of Groff. All he really wanted was the dad he never had, and now he’s in over his head.

“Face it - you can’t prove anything, Kiara. Even if they didn’t have Ward’s DNA on the ‘murder weapon’, which they do, it would still be my word against his. And I can be very persuasive.” Groff’s smile is all malice and sharp teeth.

Kiara jerks in her chair again as she scrambles for a new approach. “JJ, JJ listen to me,” she begs. “You don’t want to do this. I know he’s your dad, but he’s not a good person. You’re better than this, Jayj. You don’t need to do what he asks. You don’t need to go with him.”

“DON’T talk to him!” Groff’s sharp yell echoes in the small space. “In fact, don’t talk at all. I need you to listen, and listen closely.” Groff crouches in front of Kiara so he can look her in the eye.

“My son and I are leaving for a while, but I won’t be hard to reach. And if I hear anything about you or your little boyfriend nosing around, or going to the police, or causing any other kind of trouble, I won’t just come back to kill you.” His voice is low and menacing. “I’d think of your family, Kiara. Your friends. Don’t let the Cameron boy rope you into this. This isn’t your fight.”

The mention of everyone she cares about sends panic and outrage spiraling through her body. “Like hell it’s not!” Kiara yells in Groff’s face, bucking in her chair with renewed intensity. “Rafe’s going to kill you for this.”

“Hmmm,” Groff taps a finger to his chin as he stands up. “Not if I kill him first. JJ lobbied pretty hard for your safety, but the Cameron boy is fair game.”

Kiara freezes immediately, fear gripping her insides. Groff cocks his head in interest, looking amused. “Now you stop struggling. Interesting. Struck a nerve, did I?”

“Don’t you fucking touch him.” Kiara’s voice shakes despite a valiant effort to keep it steady.

“Do what I say and I won’t have to. It’s really quite simple, Ms. Carrera.”

“Fuck you,” Kiara grits out through clenched teeth. But Groff just smiles, like she’s not even worth worrying about.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have pressing business to attend to.” He glances at his watch. “Someone should be coming to get you in the next 12 hours or so. If you’re lucky.” He has the audacity to wink at her, and Kiara lunges at him with a snarl.

“Remember what I said, Kiara. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll say you didn’t get a good look at whoever did this.” Groff backs towards the spiral staircase and gestures for JJ to approach Kiara.

As he hesitantly walks up, she throws out one last desperate attempt to get through to the boy she’s known for more than half her life.

“Ask him about what really happened to your mom, JJ! Ask him! And watch as he lies!” Both JJ and Groff freeze in place for a moment, and Kiara watches fear and rage flit through Groff’s eyes. She swears she also sees begrudging admiration there too, and that, more than anything else, causes chills to erupt all over her body.

JJ’s face scrunches in confusion as he glances at his dad, who tries to laugh off her comment.

“Nice try, young lady. But I’d be quiet now, Ms. Carrera.” Groff’s voice is deadly calm, but she can hear the storm brewing underneath. “Or else people will only find out you’re up here after it’s too late.” Kiara can only see the glint of Groff’s cold eyes as he disappears across the dark room.

“Since I know you’ve been nosing around, I’m assuming you know what we’re after. I’m going to be more powerful than you can possibly imagine once we get what we’re looking for. And I’m not going to let anyone stand in my way. You’d do best to remember that.” His footsteps on the metal stairs sound far away to Kiara, like he’s already slipping out of reach.

“Come on, son,” Groff calls. “Get it done and let’s go.”

Kiara feels JJ’s warm, uneven breath on her neck as he crouches behind her, loosening the ropes around her feet without taking them off entirely. “I’m so sorry, Kie. It’s going to be okay. Someone’s going to come for you.”

As he gets up and walks away, a million things run through Kiara’s mind. She wants to yell at JJ, to curse him out, to tell him to come back so she can explain everything. But she can’t choke out any of that.

“I did this for you, JJ.” He looks at her one more time, his eyes clouded and his mouth downturned. And then he disappears out of sight, leaving her alone in the dark.

“I did it for you.”

You know, no good deed goes unpunished. Just like in Barbados, right Kie?

Kiara can’t even tell her mental hallucination of Rafe to fuck off.

In this case, he’s not wrong.

———————————————————————

After hours of sitting and staring at nothing, too wired to sleep but too tired to do anything else, Kiara feels a little delirious. She thinks the sun should be coming up soon, but she has no way to know for sure. Her phone is long dead, and it’s not like there’s a clock in this old lighthouse.

She focuses her attention on the bottle of water with a straw poking out of it, perched on a windowsill a few feet away. She guesses her captors added the straw so she could drink without her hands, which are still bound to the chair. How considerate.

JJ had loosened the ropes around her feet, so after a sustained period of wiggling and struggling, Kiara was able to kick the ropes free. She’s capable of limited movement now, able to hop and scrape her way to the windowsill without using her hands. If she needed to, she could also probably make it to the handy bucket they left in the corner, the one that she’s thankfully still too dehydrated to use.

Needless to say, it’s a pretty shitty set up.

But Kiara has long burnt through the worst of her rage, leaving a smoldering feeling of betrayal in its wake.

This is certainly the most pissed she’s ever been at JJ; angrier than the time he’d broken an arm by falling out of a tree she’d told him not to climb, or the time he’d tried to break John B out of prison without backup, or even the time he’d disappeared without a trace for four days. 

JJ wasn’t always a considerate friend or boyfriend, wasn’t always known to think about Kiara when making his decisions. And he was often prone to making reckless and dangerous choices, to the exasperation of all the Pogues. 

But he was always brave, kind, and fiercely loyal. To be so utterly betrayed by this version of JJ blindsided her with such intensity that Kiara still can’t quite believe it.

All things considered, she can’t deny that she’s responsible for a decent amount of the blame.

Yes, Kiara had trusted the JJ here wholeheartedly, even when he had given her every reason not to. Yes, she had truly believed she could get him to turn his back on Groff if she tried hard enough. She had been naive, stubborn, and too optimistic, only seeing what she wanted to see.

And for a while Kiara had been fuming about all the ways things had gone wrong as she stared at the interior of this stupid lighthouse, had been cursing herself and JJ and Groff in a steady rotation. 

But then she had thought about the fear in JJ’s eyes, the hesitation and the regret she saw there. She thought about the fact that Groff used him for the fake alibi, that JJ probably knows how dangerous his dad is and is scared to go against him. So most of Kiara’s acute sense of betrayal faded too, after hours of contemplation and rumination.

As the first rays of faint dawn light peek through the cloudy lighthouse windows, Kiara has a realization. And she starts to laugh hysterically, her chest and stomach shaking as tears spring into her eyes.

She’s laughing because Rafe had been utterly, completely right after all, and it hadn’t even taken 24 hours for everything to go to shit without him.

She can picture the look on his face now, and the image of his exasperated ‘I told you so’ expression is so vivid that it feels like he’s in the room with her.

There’s no denying it now - Kiara had indeed been fucking stupid about all of this.

When Rafe had said the words during their fight, she’d taken them as a condemnation, as an insult to her intelligence, as a vindictive challenge of her loyalty to JJ.

But now she realizes that Rafe had been angry because he was scared for her, that he really does care about her wellbeing more than his own.

And the acceptance of that truth leads Kiara down a path she couldn’t let herself follow before, her idle mind clinging to thoughts of Rafe like a lifeline.

She finally stops laughing as memories flash through her mind in quick succession, frantic but clear, razor sharp like they happened yesterday and not a lifetime ago in another when.

~

The time that Kiara was at a playground near her house when she was just a kid, barely even 8 years old. Her friendship with the Pogues was fresh but already meaningful, and Kiara felt like she’d found somewhere she finally belonged after years of feeling different from the other kids.

Usually Kiara would play somewhere closer to her friends, but the babysitter insisted she didn’t have time before her other job, so she took her to a playground in Figure 8 instead.

Kiara had been approaching the monkey bars when a bigger kid appeared next to her, shoving her out of the way and taking her place in line.

“Freak!” The kid had sneered, looking down at her from the first step of the bars. “Why don’t you go play in the Cut with the other losers?”

Before Kiara could even open her mouth to respond, the kid was flying through the air and crashing into the mulch with a muffled thud.

“Didn’t your parents teach you to wait your turn? Back of the line. Now.” An older, taller boy was standing over Kiara’s tormenter, blocking the sun and casting her in shadow.

Rafe was only 11 but he spoke like someone twice his age, his voice calm and authoritative. His dad owned half the island, after all, but Kiara hadn’t known that at the time.

He turned to Kiara with his unflinching blue eyes, holding out his hand to help her up. The people behind her in line cowered and stepped back, but Kiara wasn’t afraid of him like they were.

“People call me names, too. Don’t let it get to you.” Rafe had told her solemnly, like someone had passed the same wisdom onto him.

“I don’t care what they think,” Kiara replied, immediately and unthinkingly, gripping his hand and rising to her feet.

Rafe had smiled at that, and it made him look his age. “No you don’t, do you?” His eyes were warmer now, almost friendly.

“Rafe! I want to go home!” Sarah called from somewhere else on the playground, sounding a little like she was going to burst into tears.

Rafe sighed almost imperceptibly before turning back to Kiara.

“Next time someone pushes you, push back.” And then he was gone. The whole thing was over so quickly that it made Kiara wonder if she’d imagined the whole thing.

~

When Kiara was in 5th grade and Rafe in 8th, there was another incident. She’d been minding her business in the cafeteria at the Kook middle school, when a kid in her grade had come up and thrown his carton of milk on her, coating her shirt and hair in thick, sticky liquid.

“Pogue-lover!” The kid had yelled in her face. His friends snickered behind him like it was all part of a cruel dare.

Kiara stepped forward calmly as she wiped milk from her eyes, ready to make the kid pay. She already wasn’t the type of person to just sit back and take things.

But it wasn’t necessary for her to do anything. Because Rafe materialized from somewhere else in the lunchroom, tripping the kid as he tried to run away and sending him sprawling onto the linoleum tiles.

Then Rafe snagged an empty tray from a table nearby, bringing it down onto the kid’s head with enough force that the flimsy plastic snapped in half.

Ten minutes later, Rafe and Kiara sat in chairs outside of the principal’s office while the kid that started it all cried in the nurse’s office.

“Why did you do that?” Kiara finally asked, with milk still dripping from her hair onto the ground below. “You hate Pogues, don’t you?”

“Not as much as I hate bullies,” Rafe had replied with a shrug, like that explained everything.

But Kiara had seen the way his fingers gripped the edge of his chair, had seen the fading bruise on his jawline that she’d later realize had come from Ward.

So she hadn’t thanked him, but she’d felt an odd sort of solidarity with him in that moment.

Kiara had gotten a warning and three days of detention while Rafe had been suspended for a week, even though she’d explained that he didn’t start the incident. He’d simply finished it.

The whole thing had only cemented Rafe’s reputation as a wild card, as a loose canon whose temper preceded him. But he had done it for her, and Kiara would never quite know what to make of that.

~

Just like she hadn’t known what to do on the night in Morocco after they’d buried JJ, over a year ago now. She’d stayed awake shivering, whether from cold or emotion she couldn’t tell, for hours after everyone else had gone to sleep.

Almost everyone.

Kiara hadn’t known anyone was still awake; if she had, she would have tried harder to stifle the sobs that wracked her body in desperate waves.

But it was too late to muffle her cries as footsteps crunched behind her, so all she could do was freeze in place while someone placed an additional blanket on top of her shivering form.

Whoever it was didn’t say a word, so Kiara turned to look at their retreating form with baffled curiosity. She watched as Rafe settled back into his spot on the sand without looking back.

And when sunlight illuminated the scene the next morning, Kiara realized that Rafe had gone the whole night with only his jacket for warmth.

The sight had caused something to spring to the surface of her consciousness that she quickly stuffed away, something taboo and dangerous and untouchable.

~

Kiara had been unable to stomach Rafe’s feelings then, and she can barely handle them now. But she also can’t deny the obvious truth anymore.

“Oh god,” Kiara whispers into the judgmental silence of the lighthouse. “Rafe loves me.”

And now Kiara has no idea when she might see him again. She doesn’t know if he knows that she’s missing, or if he’d even care if he did know.

She may have pushed him too far this time, to a place even his stubborn, formidable love can’t pull them back from. If he doesn’t want anything to do with her anymore, Kiara knows she’ll have to live with that. Even if it kills her.

But with nothing else to do, Kiara imagines seeing Rafe again, imagines holding his clenched jaw between her hands until the muscles relax, imagines pressing a kiss to his Cupid’s bow and making his breath stutter.

She imagines telling him she’s sorry, that she’s taken him for granted, that they can figure everything out as long as they do it together.

With the image of her body curled into Rafe’s dancing behind her eyelids, Kiara finally falls into a fitful slumber.

She doesn’t know that on the other side of the island, Rafe is about to lose his goddamn mind.

Chapter Text

Rafe’s a light sleeper, so he wakes up as soon as the pounding on the front door begins.

But it’s not nearly as strong as the pounding in his skull from his fearsome hangover, the one precipitated by the now-empty whiskey decanter that lies discarded on his floor. So Rafe groans and presses a pillow over his head, willing whoever it is to fuck off and leave him to suffer in silence.

But the pounding only grows louder and more stubborn the longer he ignores it, giving him a clue to the visitor’s identity. The annoying persistence is hereditary. Sarah. 

She doesn’t often come here for no reason, so eventually Rafe gives in. He drags his unwilling body out of bed, throwing on the first clothes he comes across before trudging down the stairs.

He yanks open the door and glares at his sister, squinting into the sudden light accusatorially.

“Jesus Christ, Sarah, WHAT? I just woke up.” Rafe gestures down at his plaid pajama pants.

Sarah rolls her eyes, her hands coming to her hips. “First of all, it’s noon, so don’t give me that attitude.” Then she bites her lip and looks down, her expression shifting into something anxious. “Second of all, have you heard from Kiara?”

Hearing her name so soon makes Rafe feel like he’s punctured a lung - it sucks all the air out of him and makes it hurts to breathe. “No, but I’m not really expecting to,” Rafe admits. “Why?”

Sarah ignores his obvious distress and sighs in frustration. “Shit, I was really hoping she was here.”

In an instant, Rafe’s mind clears, his hangover all but disappearing. All of his senses switch into overdrive at the worry in Sarah’s voice. “Is something wrong? Is Kie okay?” 

“I don’t know.” Sarah runs an anxious hand through her hair. “She left really suddenly from the Break last night, and she was acting weird on the way out.”

“Weird how?” Rafe’s whole body tenses, like a rubber band stretched too tight. Was it because of their fight? It’s not like he’s exactly acting normal, either.

“I don’t know, secretive? Skittish? She said her mom needed her to come home, but I just stopped by the Wreck and Anna hasn’t seen her at all. Hasn’t even heard from her. And…” Sarah pauses, assessing Rafe with hesitant eyes. “You’re not going to like this, but she’s not answering her phone. And her location is unavailable. I don’t know. It’s all weirding me out.”

Every hair on Rafe’s body stands at attention, fear seizing his insides like a vise. “Have you checked her apartment?” He grips the handle of the door so hard that he thinks it might snap in half.

“No, but I was heading there next.” But Sarah doesn’t move to leave, and Rafe realizes that she’s scared. The fact that she’s even here right now is a silent request for her big brother to come with her, and he struggles to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Rafe waves her inside, struggling to keep his voice even. “Let me get dressed.”

As he climbs up the stairs to his room, Sarah calls out to him. “Something doesn’t feel right. I have a bad feeling about this, Rafe.”

“Yeah. Me too.” For Sarah’s sake, Rafe hopes he doesn’t sound as terrified as he feels.

———————————————————————

Rafe was relatively calm until they pulled up to Kiara’s apartment and saw that her car wasn’t parked outside. Then the dread settled in his stomach like an anchor, dragging him down into the depths of panic. They knocked on Kiara’s door for a long time, but he and Sarah both knew she wasn’t in there.

Now Rafe’s glad that they drove separately, both so they can scour the island more efficiently and so he can lose his shit in peace. They decided to split up, with Sarah searching spots on Figure 8 while Rafe looks around the Cut. He didn’t explain why he was so insistent on going to the Pogues’ side of the island, but he didn’t want to risk Sarah running into Groff or JJ on her own.

Rafe’s too distracted to play music from his phone, so he tries to find a radio station as he drives towards the Cut. After a while he gives up, settling for a station that’s mostly static, intermixed with random bursts of heavy metal. It feels appropriate, given his current state of mind.

Rafe fidgets constantly, unable to keep still; his fingers tap anxiously against the steering wheel, he glances at his phone again and again, and he checks his mirrors compulsively even though there’s no one else on the road.

He can’t help it - the shifting position of the sun behind the darkening storm clouds feels like a countdown clock, a taunting reminder that he’s running out of time. That he has no idea where the woman he loves is, with seemingly no way to find her.

“Where the fuck are you, Kiara?” He mutters, wiping sweat from his forehead even with the air conditioning blasting in his face. “Help me out here, baby.”

On a hunch, Rafe turns down a street that he hasn’t been on since Memorial Day weekend. He pulls up to the Maybank house, stopping so suddenly that his car kicks up a cloud of dust.

It looks borderline deserted, and no cars are parked outside. “Shit,” he curses under his breath. He almost pulls back onto the road when a flash of white against the screen door catches his eye.

For a brief, thrilling moment, Rafe thinks it might be an eviction notice, and the thought almost makes him smile. But he doesn’t see the familiar red lettering, and a nagging gut feeling tells him that he needs to take a closer look.

He climbs out of the Rover and approaches the Maybank front door, where a sheet of unlined printer paper is taped to the screen. Neat words are printed at a slight angle in the center of the page.

Once Rafe’s within arm’s reach of the door, close enough to read the note, shock freezes him in place for a moment. Then he pulls the note off the door gingerly, like the paper itself is radioactive, his hands shaking with rage and disbelief.

Next time, she dies. You’ve been warned.

The note’s not signed, and it’s not addressed to anyone. But Rafe knows who it’s from, and he knows that he was the one meant to find it. That smug, sanctimonious son of a bitch left it here for him.

“MOTHERFUCKER!!!” Rafe shouts into the stillness, and the answering silence makes him even more angry. He slams his fist into the screen door so hard that he punches a ragged hole in the material, but it’s not enough to vent the searing rage coursing through his body. Not even close.

He stalks back to his car and throws open the trunk, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out a wrench from an old toolbox. Rafe reaches the closest window in a few long strides, swinging the wrench and breaking the glass in one smooth motion. He moves to the next window and swings even harder this time, letting out a guttural, angry yell as he shatters the glass.

Rafe blacks out a little as he smashes all of the exterior windows of the Maybank house in quick succession. Six windows later, his chest is heaving, his arm is aching, and his hands are bleeding from small fragments of broken glass. 

The anger is still coursing through him, hot and raw and corrosive, but now he can feel the fear running through it like a twisted backbone. He hurls the wrench through one of the gaping holes as hard as he can, letting out one final howl of frustration and rage and grief.

Part of him wants to drive to the nearest store, buy some gasoline, and set the whole place alight. He can picture the glow in his mind’s eye, the satisfying way the smoke would curl up into the sky as the fire left nothing but ashes in its wake.

But Rafe knows he’s already wasted enough time as it is.

So he wipes his bloody knuckles on the front of his jeans and slides back into his car, ignoring the tear that slips out of one eye. He pulls out his phone and texts Sarah before he can change his mind.

Rafe: I’m guessing you haven’t found anything. We need to regroup. Meet back at Tannyhill.

He throws his phone on the passenger seat before he can type out what he really wants to say: I’m going to commit a murder unless someone calms me down. I think I already committed several felonies.

———————————————————————

As he drives home, Rafe tires of the maddening static and slams his fist into the car’s radio, not expecting it to actually do anything.

So he’s surprised when the station changes and a familiar song crackles out of the speakers. Rafe’s heart seizes in his chest. 

This isn’t his favorite version of Fast Car, the legendary original by Tracy Chapman, but the familiar chords still bring a memory rushing to the surface of his consciousness.

It’s a memory of Kiara that’s equal parts devastating and comforting. But it changed everything for Rafe, and thinking about it soothes him just a little. So he lets himself replay that night as he drives mindlessly, with Fast Car playing faintly in the background.

~

There’s a nonzero chance that Kiara doesn’t even remember the night she saved Rafe’s life.

It was the weekend of Rafe’s 18th birthday, and he was hiding out during a party that was supposed to be for him. Kiara was only 15, and she had no idea what she was getting herself into when she stumbled onto that roof.

Rafe was teetering on the edge, both literally and figuratively, and he hadn’t even realized how badly he needed to be pulled back onto solid ground.

He wobbled on the precipice of his sanity as he toed the ledge of the roof outside his bedroom, but music poured from the speaker on his phone like it was just another Friday night. His Liked Songs were on shuffle and Fast Car was playing. It was a song that usually soothed him, but it didn’t that night.

He was high enough from the blunt he’d smoked earlier that it didn’t startle him when someone cleared their throat behind him. Rafe turned around, smiling distractedly. He felt disconnected from his body. “Oh hey, Kiara. What are you doing up here?”

Rafe could barely see it as she raised her eyebrows, her brown eyes wide in the low light. “I came up here to find a quiet place to smoke. I don’t even know why I came to this party in the first place, because I…” Kiara blinked a few times, like she just realized what she was looking at. “Wait, what the fuck are you doing, Rafe?”

“Looking at the stars.” Rafe gestured up at the clear night sky like it was obvious, like he wasn’t 6 inches from plummeting to his death.

“Well can you look at the stars a little farther from the edge of the roof? You’re going to break your neck.” Kiara said the words lightly, but there was an edge to her voice. 

A long beat of silence passed between them, and then Rafe tilted his head, deep in thought. “How do you think it feels to die?”

Kiara took another step forward, and Rafe could finally see her face in the light of the moon. She scanned his face, like she was assessing the threat, trying to figure out if he was being serious. “Probably pretty bad, dude. What the fuck did you take? How high are you?”

Rafe waved a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. Back to the matter at hand.” He turned away from her, staring out across Tannyhill’s sprawling lawn. “It might hurt for a moment. But if you did it right, then it would just be nothing after that. And I think that might be kinda nice.”

“Rafe. Can you please back away from the edge? You’re freaking me out.” Kiara finally dropped any pretense of joking, and Rafe could feel that she was only a few feet away from him.

“Don’t you think feeling nothing would be kind of nice, Kiara?”

“Rafe.” Kiara’s voice shook, but Rafe barely registered her fear. “Please do not kill yourself right now. I am really not equipped to handle that.” There was a brief pause, and then she spoke again. “Isn’t this whole party for you?”

Rafe turned towards her with a sigh. “It’s not like it matters. It’s all bullshit. My dad forgot it was my birthday. Sarah can barely look at me. And my mom? Took off years ago. I certainly didn’t matter to her.” Some part of his impaired brain acknowledged that it was embarrassing to dump on Kiara like this, but Rafe was too far gone to care. Too tired after years of holding his broken pieces together.

Kiara paused, like she was gathering her thoughts. “There’s no denying that that fucking sucks. And I’m sorry.” Her voice was softer than he’d ever heard it. “But if you…give up now, Rafe, then things are never going to get better. Shit will just have sucked, and then you’ll die, and that’s it. Forever. You’re screwing yourself out of the chance to ever experience the good stuff.” 

Kiara’s tone was sympathetic but firm, and she wasn’t looking at him with pity, just grim understanding. And that was a relief in its own way.

Rafe swallowed harshly before speaking the words he feared to his core. “What if shit just sucks forever?”

“I think that’s statistically unlikely. Shit has to suck less at some point.”

“Is math supposed to be comforting to me right now?” Kiara’s mouth twitched upwards, like she wanted to smile but wouldn’t let herself.

“That’s not the point. The point is…I may not know much, but I know this. Things can always get worse. But they can always get better, too. Whatever you’re feeling…it’s not always going to feel like this, Rafe. I promise.”

Then she reached out and tugged on his forearm, her gentle touch cracking something open in his chest.

Years later, Rafe would wonder if that was the moment when he had started to fall in love with Kiara, with her quiet strength, her resolute kindness, her innate self-assuredness. It’s less embarrassing than the alternative - the very real possibility that he had started to love her when they were kids.

“Just come with me, alright? Let’s go inside.” Kiara coaxed him, fingers still wrapped firmly around his arm, and Rafe let himself be led away from the edge of the roof.

Doing what Kiara asked felt a little like letting go, and the sensation was freeing. Addicting. He wasn’t ready to stop feeling that way.

Rafe hesitated outside of his window. “Didn’t you say you were coming up here to smoke? Do you want to…”

Kiara barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you being serious?” Rafe just shrugged.

“Will you refrain from catapulting yourself off the roof if I indulge?” Kiara teased, and it pulled a genuine laugh out of him. She looked pleased with herself as they perched on the sloped section of the roof directly outside of his window.

“Scout’s honor.” Rafe put a solemn hand to his chest as Kiara pulled out a blunt and lighter.

She shot him a skeptical look as she balanced the blunt between her teeth and shielded it against the wind, lighting it easily. 

“You’re no fucking Boy Scout,” Kiara scoffed after she took a drag, handing it to Rafe with steady fingers.

He was still high from his last blunt, but he took a deep pull anyway, holding the smoke in his lungs until it burned. “Got kicked out. Behavioral issues.”

Kiara’s laugh was a startled sound, genuine and light. It made Rafe fucking glow to know he’d pulled that sound out of her. “You don’t say.”

“This is good fucking weed.” Rafe muttered as he took a final drag, letting the weightlessness spread through him like a sedative.

“I know.”

They sat in silence as Kiara kept smoking, listening to the chirp of crickets and the faint pulse of the music inside the house.

Rafe finally cleared his throat and broke the silence, feeling embarrassed. He pushed his bangs back from his face, an old nervous habit. “Sorry about all this. I just get a little…” He tapped his temple, like that explained everything. 

“Sure.” Kiara nodded, her eyes a little glazed over. “We all have a lightly suicidal roof moment every once in a while. It’s your birthday, you can die if you want to.”

She winced, even as Rafe let out a laugh from deep in his belly. “Sorry. Too much?”

“It’s all good, Kiara. I deserve that.”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “Now that we’re trauma bonded for life, you can just call me Kie.”

“Kie. I like that.” Rafe stared at her as she finished off the blunt, her cheeks rosy and her skin glowing even in the low light.

When Kiara turned to look back at him, her eyes were intense, appraising. “You know, everyone thinks you’re terrifying.”

“Yeah? And what do you think?” Rafe barely even registered that he was holding his breath.

Kiara nodded like she had decided something important. “I’m not scared of you.”

Rafe laughed softly. “Well, I’m scared of you.”

“Good.” Kiara smiled, and she looked so beautiful that Rafe couldn’t breathe. They looked at each other for a few more moments, the air between them heavy with something thicker than the lingering smoke.

“Let’s get you inside, birthday boy,” she said finally, slapping his knee. “I think that’s enough excitement for one night.”

Rafe scratched his head as they got to their feet. “If you could not mention this…”

Kiara rolled her eyes, looking almost offended. “I won’t tell anyone. I don’t think I’ll be in Kook spaces much anymore, so I wouldn’t worry about it.” Rafe tried in vain not to be disappointed.

Kiara slipped through the window easily, quiet as an apparition. As Rafe pulled himself into the room after her, he almost expected her to disappear. But she was there once his feet landed on the ground, solid and real. 

Kiara looked at him with a tenderness that he’d never seen before. Not directed at him, at least. “But Rafe…it’s okay to need help. No one can survive alone.”

Rafe swallowed several times, trying to shove down a surge of emotion. “Thanks, Kie.”

“Stay away from elevated surfaces for the foreseeable future, okay? For me?” Kiara smiled again, warm and knowing, and then she slipped out of his room. 

Rafe stared after her for a long time, willing her to come back. But she was gone, leaving Rafe with only her words echoing in his mind.

For me.

Yeah, he’d definitely started to fall in love then. And it was a long way down.

~

Rafe realizes with a jolt that the memory on the roof with Kiara is the only one he distinctly remembers from both whens.

He’s not sure how that works within the space-time continuum, if that night on the roof literally split the fabric of time, but he’s absolutely certain that it happened in both versions of his life.

Back in the other Kildare, Rafe hadn’t listened to Kiara’s advice. He didn’t ask for help, even as his addiction ramped up and his mental health spiraled out of control.

Instead, he lost himself to substances and the will of his father, and he watched as Kiara grew to fear and despise him over the years. He trapped himself in a self-sabotaging cycle, where other people validated the things he already thought about himself. 

But even there, where things rapidly spiraled from bad to worse, Rafe never forgot what Kiara said. He carried it with him like an invisible talisman.

Things can always get better.

He never quite gave up, even when he was surrounded by murder, theft, and heartbreak, even when he caused it. Part of Rafe still held onto the hope that he could climb out of the bottomless hole he had dug for himself.

In this version of his life, he had listened to Kiara. Rafe had confessed to his dad that he was struggling, had started therapy and medication after a long period of resistance from Ward.

Obviously he hadn’t fixed everything - he still had a strained relationship with his sister, a murderer for a father, and a failed engagement. But he had learned that things don’t magically get better. He had to put in the work every day, had to claw tooth and nail to be a better version of himself.

And maybe Rafe would never be a person worth saving. But he’d never stop trying, and he had decided not to give up that night on the roof.

Kiara didn’t even know it, but she had saved him over and over again, in big ways and small ways. 

And as he grips the steering wheel now, Rafe knows he’ll stop at nothing to do the same for her. 

———————————————————————

Rafe gets to Tannyhill before Sarah does, but someone else is waiting for him in the driveway. He grits his teeth and steps onto the concrete driveway, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the silence.

“Why the long face, country club?”

Rafe wishes he still had the fucking wrench.

“I’m not in the mood today, Barry.” Rafe presses a hand to his temple as his sometimes-friend, sometimes enemy approaches, his smile as unsettling as ever. “So can you just tell me why you’re here or fuck off?”

“Don’t worry slick, I won’t take too much of your time. I just came to give you this.” Barry saunters over and hands him an envelope. He watches with interest as Rafe breaks the seal and pulls out a set of car keys attached to a small slip of paper.

Rafe’s lived with her for long enough to know these are Kiara’s car keys. And he recognizes the handwriting instantly - it’s the same author as the note from the Maybank house, the one that’s sitting crumpled on the floor of his passenger seat.

Rafe lunges forward and grabs Barry by the collar, pulling him in until he’s only a few inches from Rafe’s livid face.

“What the hell, country club?!”

Rafe’s voice is sharp and calm, but his eyes are blazing with fury. “I know I’ve been pretty fucking chill for the past couple of years, but don’t make the mistake of forgetting who I am. What I’m capable of. Where the fuck IS SHE BARRY?” Spit flies from Rafe’s mouth, making Barry flinch, but he doesn’t give a shit. 

“Damn, bro! Haven’t you ever been told not to shoot the messenger??” Rafe shakes Barry with one hand and brings his other back like he’s going to hit him, and it does the trick. “I swear I don’t know nothing, bro! Groff gave this to me before he left town and paid me to bring it to you. He said to wait until after 2 p.m. That’s all I know, man!”

Rafe forces Barry to look him in the eye before dropping him onto the ground, reaching for the note and reading it for the first time.

Silent in the day, bright at night, I show the perils that hide from sight.

He stares at the scrawled note with outraged confusion. “What is he, a troll under a goddamn bridge?? What the fuck is this supposed to mean?”

“It’s a lighthouse, right?” Rafe hadn’t realized that Barry was reading the note over his shoulder.

“What?” He stares at Barry like he has two heads.

“Bright at night, showing things that hide from sight. Gotta be a lighthouse, right?”

Rafe freezes as the wheels turn rapidly in his head. There are only two lighthouses on this island, and one is crawling with tourists. There’s no way Kiara could be there. So that only leaves-

He drops the note in the grass and jogs to his car, not hearing anything except a high-pitched ringing in his ears. Not seeing anything except Kiara’s face behind his eyelids every time he blinks.

“You’re welcome!” Barry calls after him, a little too smug for Rafe’s taste.

“You’re lucky I don’t run you over with my fucking car!” He calls out the window. “Go home, Barry!”

Rafe drives towards the other side of the island with singular focus, his jaw clenched so tight that the muscles start to twitch. He almost doesn’t register that his phone is ringing, and he barely picks it up before it goes to voicemail. He winces as his shattered phone screen nicks his finger.

“What’s up, Sar?” His voice sounds strained and too high, even to his own ears.

“Rafe, where are you? And why is Barry here?” Rafe curses under his breath. In his rush to get to the lighthouse, he forgot he was supposed to meet Sarah at Tannyhill.

“Fuck, tell security to get him out of there.” He pauses. “Sarah, I think I know where Kiara is. I’m going to go get her, okay?”

“Wait, where is she? What’s going on?” Sarah’s voice is a little shrill.

Rafe hesitates, running a hand down his face as he decides how much he should say. “Sarah, do you trust me?”

His sister hesitates for an uncomfortable moment. “I mean, I guess?” Rafe rolls his eyes even though Sarah can’t see it. “Yes, yes I trust you.”

“I need you to stay at Tannyhill and wait for me.” He continues before Sarah can argue with him. “I’ll be back, okay? And Kiara will be with me.”

“Fine.” Sarah’s reply is curt and impatient. “Be safe, Rafe.” She says it like a command, not a request, and then she hangs up.

Rafe drives towards the island’s decommissioned lighthouse as raindrops start to patter against his windshield. There’s a storm coming, but it’s nothing compared to the one currently brewing inside of him.

———————————————————————

“KIARA!! KIE!! Can you hear me?!” Rafe pounds on the weathered door of the old lighthouse.

But if she responds, Rafe can’t hear her voice over the sound of the wind and the steadily increasing rain.

He pauses for a moment, resting his forehead against the door as rain falls in sheets around him, drenching his thin t-shirt and making his jeans feel heavy around his waist. He’s already yanked and pried at the padlock to no avail.

Rafe remembers the toolbox in his trunk. He jogs through the downpour to his car, hoping desperately for a pair of bolt cutters to magically appear among the other tools. No such luck.

Rafe curses under his breath as he surveys his options - screwdrivers, wrench (smaller than the one he smashed the Maybank windows with), a hammer. After a moment of consideration, he snatches the hammer and returns to the lighthouse door. He’s not exactly sure how helpful hammers are with padlocks, but he can always pull a Kiara and bust through the door, The Shining style.

He brings the hammer down onto the padlock, but the ache in his arms and the water running down his palms makes it slip in his grip. His first couple swings are weak and pitiful, and Rafe feels panic rising fast in his chest. He doesn’t know how long Kiara has been here, but it has to be over 12 hours at this point. He needs to get to her now, and he’s never going to break the lock at this rate.

Rafe takes a deep breath and readjusts his grip on the hammer. He summons all the rage he can muster from the past couple of years, the rage he let himself feel and the rage he suppressed, willing it all to the surface now. 

He thinks about holding Kiara in his arms not even 48 hours ago, thinks about the creases around her eyes as she laughed and the way she bit her lip as he kissed her skin. He thinks about Groff and JJ grabbing her with rough hands and tying her up, hitting her, maybe even something worse.

The eruption he’s been waiting for finally comes, and Rafe unleashes onto the padlock with a strength he didn’t even know he had. He brings the hammer onto the padlock again and again, not even registering the way his hands sting and his forearms ache, focusing on the lock like it’s the representation of all the evils he’s ever faced in his life.

Rafe has failed so many people over the years - his mother, his father, his sisters, himself. He failed so often and so intensely that he started to think it was all he was capable of, his default setting that no amount of re-programming could ever fix.

But Kiara’s voice in his mind from that night on the roof stirred something in him. She had challenged his defeatist attitude, his sense that he would never be good or normal or enough for anyone. 

And when Rafe finally stopped fighting his magnetic pull to her, when he allowed himself to be sucked into her orbit, he realized that just standing next to her made him feel like someone worth saving. With Kiara, Rafe is reborn; transformed by her warm smile, baptized by her soft hands and lips. 

And now this padlock is the only thing standing between Rafe and the only person who he’s ever truly loved. Even if she doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore, even if she rejects him the way he always expected her to, he’ll still owe Kiara his life. He always will.

The padlock finally cracks apart and falls to Rafe’s feet with a muffled thud. His body carries him through the unlocked door with the desperation of a man drowning.

“KIARA??” His voice comes out hoarse.

“Up here, Rafe!” Her voice is faint from the top of the lighthouse, but it’s unmistakably her. Rafe’s heart stutters at the way she recognizes his voice immediately.

He takes the spiral steps two at a time, even as he stumbles in the darkness over and over. He can feel the distance between them like a lit fuse in his chest, and he needs to get to Kiara before he detonates.

When Rafe bursts through the door of the small room, the first thing he feels is relief - that she’s alive and in one piece, that she’s alert and responsive and upright. But immediately afterwards he feels a deep, smoldering rage, the anger like a sharp knife to the heart. Seeing her with her hands tied behind her back, looking frail and exhausted, makes his blood boil.

Kiara raises herself slightly from her slumped position in the chair, managing a weak smile. “Fancy seeing you here,” she jokes. And the fact that she’s trying to make him feel better, even now, draws a choked, wounded sound out of Rafe’s throat.

“Kie, holy shit.” He runs up to the chair she’s tied to, positioned near one of the tiny windows. He crouches down to peer into her face, anxiously searching for scrapes and bruises. “Are you okay?”

It’s a dumb fucking question, and Rafe curses himself for asking. But Kiara just snorts in response, nodding down at her body.

“Never better.” She shrugs, but the motion makes her wince. “Would love if you could get my hands untied, though.”

Rafe shuffles around to the back of the chair, pulling out his pocketknife and sawing through the braided rope. He gingerly holds her red, raw forearms to help keep the knife steady. “Jesus Christ, Kie, your wrists are so chafed. How long have you been up here?”

“It was dark when I first got dumped here, and now it looks like it’s getting dark again…so a day?”

“It just looks dark because of the storm. It’s still the middle of the day,” Rafe replies as he works on the rope.

“So maybe like 18 hours? Fuck if I know. I was definitely unconscious for some of it.” Kiara tries to laugh, but Rafe feels the way her arms tense in his grip. He sucks in a sharp breath as he finally saws through the rope, putting the blade away as Kiara rubs her wrists and winces.

His voice is clipped and angry when he speaks again. “Those motherfuckers.” He wants to say more, wants to scream or trash the place, but he doesn’t want to upset her even more.

So Rafe takes a deep breath and moves to face Kiara as she rises shakily to her feet, lurching forward after hours of sitting down.

Rafe steadies her with one hand on the small of her back, keeping her upright as he gazes at her with concern. There’s a light sheen of sweat covering her face and her eyes are slightly glassy.

“Easy, baby, easy.” His voice is soft and soothing, the endearment slipping out easily. Rafe hides the rage beneath his tenderness, gripping Kiara’s face gently between both hands. “Did they hurt you? Let me see, Kie.”

He moves her slightly so he can scan her face, neck, and head for injuries. Kiara is pliant in his grip, her hands coming to rest loosely around his waist.

“Groff hit me in the head, but it’s not that bad.” But she winces, and the anger threatens to suffocate him again.

Rafe’s grip tightens as he brings his searching eyes back to Kiara’s face. “Like hell it’s not. How dare he put his fucking hands on you.” He can’t keep the tremor out of his voice. “I’m gonna, fuck, I’m gonna…”

Kiara’s gaze is more focused now, and she’s looking at him with an expression he can’t quite place. “You came. I didn’t know…” She swallows with difficulty. “I didn’t know if you’d care.”

Something twists sharply inside of Rafe, threatening to tear him apart. She really has no idea. 

Even after he confessed, even after he’d said the three words that had ripped through his chest like a bullet wound, she still can’t comprehend the depth of his feelings for her, the way he’d tear the whole world apart if it meant keeping her in one piece. 

“Kiara, baby, of course I care.” Rafe whispers, pressing her into his chest and holding her there like she might disappear again. “You have no idea how much I….” He swallows harshly, willing tears not to spring into his eyes. “Kie, I’d lose my goddamn mind if anything ever happened to you.”

Kiara grips the hand that rests on her right cheek, leaning into his touch and closing her eyes. “I was scared I’d never see you again. I know that sounds stupid, because it’s only been like, a day. But when I woke up here…”

Rafe shakes his head. “It doesn’t sound stupid.”

Kiara looks at him with her wide, warm eyes, her expression so raw and vulnerable that it hurts to look at her. “Rafe, I’ve been thinking…” She laughs once, the sound full of regret. “All I could do is think, and I’m so, so-“ 

He cuts her off before she can finish. “I know. You don’t have to say it.”

And then he’s leaning forward into her space, pressing his lips to hers and  swallowing her apologies before she can utter a word.

A distant part of Rafe’s brain expects Kiara to pull away, but she pulls him closer instead, fisting her free hand into his damp shirt and pressing her chest flush against his. The relief is immediate, flooding his whole body like a painkiller.

The kiss isn’t as gentle as it should be, considering what she’s been through. But neither of them seem to care.

It’s desperate and messy, like they’re making up for lost time, like they’re expressing all the fears and regrets and apologies with their bodies instead of their words.

When Kiara teases her tongue into Rafe’s mouth, he groans and drops his hands to her hips, pulling her against his rapidly hardening cock.

Her moan is the most delicious reward, and Rafe just wants to pull more sounds out of her. Without thinking, he drops a hand to her shorts and unfastens the button. Kiara watches with hungry eyes and parted lips as he teases a finger inside the fabric of her underwear.

But the smooth slide of her skin against his rough fingertip snaps him back to reality, and he pulls away with a jolt.

“Shit, I’m sorry Kie.” He runs a shaky hand down his face. “This isn’t the time, obviously. We need to get you out of here-“

Kiara grabs his hand and pulls it back to her body. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” The desperation in her voice makes something feral emerge in him, something animalistic and primal. “Just touch me, Rafe. Make me feel something good.”

Rafe’s brain short circuits as he spins Kiara around by her belt loops, pulling her into his chest. She lets out a small gasp when he drops into the chair behind them, tugging her shorts off in one smooth motion as he pulls her down into his lap.

“Rafe,” Kiara moans, throwing her head onto his shoulder as her hands grip his thighs.

“I got you, baby. I got you,” he whispers into her hair, trailing kisses down the column of her neck as he pushes her underwear down her thighs with greedy fingers. “I’m here now.”

Kiara gasps as he teases one finger against her entrance, dipping it in experimentally as he rubs at her clit with his thumb.

Rafe grips her hip with one hand, keeping her in place as he pushes two fingers into her heat, the slide easier than he anticipated. Kiara shifts in his lap as she gets used to the stretch, rubbing against his half-hard cock. 

Rafe works his fingers in and out with reverent focus, drinking up every sound he draws from her mouth. “That’s it Kie, you’re doing so good. So fucking good. You take my fingers so well,” he murmurs in encouragement, adding a third finger.

“Fuck, Rafe,” Kiara pants, turning her head and looking at him with lust-filled eyes.

“You sound so perfect when you say my name,” Rafe groans, picking up the pace of his fingers. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Kiara.”

She lurches forward and captures his lips in an open-mouthed kiss, all tongue and teeth and desperate want. When she pulls away, her chapped lips are coated with Rafe’s spit. The sight makes him groan loudly.

“This feel good, Kie?” He brushes her clit with his thumb and watches as her eyes roll back. “You want me to keep going?”

Usually Rafe would expect her to give him attitude, but Kiara is too far gone to argue. “Yes, please, Rafe. Don’t stop.”

“How could I stop,” Rafe grits out, working his fingers in a steady rhythm and putting more pressure on her clit, “when you ask so nicely? Such a good girl, Kie.”

Kiara shudders in his lap, and Rafe can tell by the way she clenches around his fingers that she’s close.

“That’s it, baby,” Rafe purrs, moving his thumb insistently over her clit. As he watches Kiara’s face contort with euphoric pleasure, something desperate and needy grips him. ”I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t come for you. I would burn the world down for you,” he whispers into her ear. 

Kiara lets out a loud sound somewhere between a sob and a moan as she finally reaches her orgasm, throwing her head back against Rafe’s shoulder as she pulses around his fingers. He works her through the waves of pleasure, muttering soft encouragements into her ear as she writhes in his lap.

Rafe expects her to be drained of energy when she comes down from her high, but Kiara surprises him by pulling up her underwear and spinning around in his lap, straddling him between her smooth thighs. She looks down hungrily between them, her fingers reaching for his belt.

But before she can loosen it all the way, a bright flash of lightning illuminates the small room, followed closely by a loud boom of thunder. It shakes the small room and makes Kiara yelp.

“Shit!” Rafe exclaims, his hands squeezing her waist.

She looks at him with slightly panicked eyes. “What happens if a lighthouse gets struck by lightning?”

“I’d rather not find out,” Rafe responds resolutely, lifting Kiara gently by the waist and setting her on the ground. He runs a hand down his face, feeling the sweat that’s gathered here. “We should get back anyway. Sarah is waiting at Tannyhill.”

The mention of his sister brings them back to painful reality, and they move towards the staircase quietly. Rafe keeps a steadying hand on Kiara’s forearm as they make their way down.

It’s still raining when they emerge from the lighthouse, and they’re both drenched by the time they get back to Rafe’s car. They sit in silence as Rafe cranks the heat, the heaviness of everything that happened settling over them like a wet blanket.

Rafe doesn’t speak until they’re halfway to Tannyhill. “What the fuck are we going to tell Sarah?”

Kiara stares at him for a long moment, before bursting into hysterical laughter. “Why, you don’t want to tell her the truth?” She wheezes, clutching her stomach. “Why ever not?”

Rafe bites his lip, looking at her disapprovingly. “It’s not funny, Kiara! I was losing my mind all fucking day.” But eventually he can’t help but join in.

“Yeah, well. At least you weren’t staring at a piss bucket for 18 hours,” Kiara retorts between laughs, brushing a stray tear from underneath her eye.

“THAT’S what the bucket was for?” Rafe asks, horrified.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t use it. Too dehydrated.” Kiara keeps her tone light, but Rafe can hear the tension in the words, senses the way her body stiffens in her seat.

He stops laughing immediately, glancing over at her suspiciously neutral expression. “I’m….so fucking sorry Kie.”

“I would say it’s okay, but I don’t need to lie to you.”

Rafe reaches over and grabs Kiara’s hand from her lap, bringing it up to the center console and lacing their fingers together. 

“What do you want to do?” He asks with a gentleness reserved for Kiara alone. He waits patiently for her response, even though he already knows the answer.

“He threatened everyone I care about, Rafe. The Pogues, my parents, you.” Warmth blooms in his chest. “Groff can’t get the Crown. It’s too much power for someone so fucking evil.” Kiara bites her lips and looks over at him apologetically. “I have to go after them, Rafe. I’m sorry, I know you-“

“I’ll make the arrangements. I’ll go wherever you want, Kie, do whatever you want. As long as we’re together, alright? We’re not splitting up again.”

Kiara looks relieved and grateful, and Rafe lets her believe he’s doing this out of the goodness of his heart. But he has another motivation. 

Rafe’s going to kill Groff before he can ever lay another hand on Kiara. He’s going to make that motherfucker pay. 

Chapter Text

The story they concoct to explain Kiara’s whereabouts is admittedly not a good one. But Rafe and Kiara are both too tired to come up with something better. So they walk into Tannyhill with resigned trepidation, armed with the shitty story like two soldiers going into battle.

Kiara pulls the hood of the old sweatshirt Rafe grabbed from the backseat over her unruly curls, trying to cover the blood matted in her hair. She makes brief, anxious eye contact with Rafe right before the door swings open. Sarah glares down at them from the doorway, her arms folded over her chest and her mouth set in a harsh line.

But as she takes in the state of them, standing drenched and shivering under the covered porch, her face softens a little. And she doesn’t start grilling them with questions until they’re settled in the too-bright kitchen, after giving Kiara a hug that's equal parts angry and relieved.

Kiara zones out as Rafe fields all of Sarah’s questions, her chin resting on the heel of her hand. She struggles to keep her body upright and her eyelids more than halfway open. But their story doesn’t exactly account for her current level of exhaustion, so she tries to look a little more alive when Sarah shoots a skeptical look in her direction.

“So let me get this straight,” Sarah reiterates, looking between Rafe and Kiara. “Kiara’s car broke down on her way home from the Break last night, out on some backroads. But her phone died and she couldn’t call anyone, so she waited in her car all night for someone to pass. It was morning by the time someone finally came, and only THEN was she able to use this person’s phone to call a tow truck? And they dropped her off at her parents’ since she was carless?” Every syllable from her mouth drips with incredulity.

“Right,” Rafe affirms. He avoids eye contact as he moves around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients from the fridge and counter like his life depends on it.

“So why didn’t her parents see her this morning?”

“By the time the tow truck dropped her back at the house, they were already gone for the day.”

“So why didn’t you text or call me back once you got home, Kie?” Sarah asks, exasperated. “I called you like, one thousand times.” Kiara opens her mouth to respond, but no plausible or reasonable excuse forms in the useless lump of grey matter she used to call a brain.

“She passed out as soon as she got home. Didn’t charge her phone until later,” Rafe lies smoothly, stirring something in a frying pan that Kiara is too tired to identify.

“Why do you keep ANSWERING FOR HER??” Sarah gestures between them with frustration. “Kiara, why do you look like a zombie right now? What the fuck is going on?”

“Just tired, Sar. Had a crazy 24 hours,” Kiara shrugs weakly, forcing the words out with no small effort. “I’m really sorry about going AWOL. It won’t happen again.” This is probably also a lie, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that right now.

“Well, what happened with your family? You had an ‘emergency,’ right?” Her hands fly to her hips indignantly. “And why did Rafe know where you were before I did?? How did he know?”

“Sarah, Sarah,” Rafe interrupts her, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger. “Just chill with the questions, alright detective? Kiara’s exhausted, I’m exhausted. All that matters is that she’s okay, yeah?” His tone softens a little as he looks at his sister’s crestfallen expression. “We really appreciate everything you did today.” He nudges Kiara’s arm as he pushes a plate of avocado toast in front of her, wordlessly encouraging her to say something.

“Rafe told me how worried you were. I’m honored,” Kiara tries to smile, but her face doesn’t move the right way.

“God, you guys are being so WEIRD!” Sarah exclaims, throwing her arms up. “You don’t want to tell me the truth? Fine. Just don’t expect me to come running the next time you’re in trouble.”

Kiara pouts in Sarah’s direction. “Don’t be like that. You love us,” she says around a bite of toast.

“Us, we. Did I miss the wedding? You two are acting super fucking domestic.” Sarah stares down at Kiara’s plate like it’s a personal offense. “Did you really only make her food and not me?”

Rafe scratches his head, and Kiara tries not to smile as he scrambles for a response. “Well, I can-“

“It’s FINE, I was just leaving anyway. It’s not like you’re my big brother or anything.” She picks up her purse and tosses it over her shoulder, heading for the door with an offended huff.

But Kiara grabs her around the waist and pulls her into a tight hug before she can leave. “I love you, Sarah!”

“Yeah, yeah. I love you too.” Sarah pats her head, grudgingly but fondly. It reminds Kiara a little of the way she’s seen her pat her daughter’s head, in the version of their lives where Sarah is a mother now. The reminder makes her head feel even foggier. “But buttering me up isn’t going to work. Know that Detective Cameron is on the case, and I’m going to figure out what you two are hiding from me.”

Sarah backs out of the room with narrowed eyes, bringing her fingers up to her eyes before turning them on Rafe and Kiara in an ‘I’m watching you’ motion.

Once she’s out the front door, Rafe turns towards Kiara with a straight face, his head cocked to the side.

“Do you think we should give her a hint?” He screws up his face and taps a finger to his chin in faux contemplation. “It could be nice to let her guess at least one of the hundred things we’re hiding. And I think the whole ‘alternate universe’ thing might even stump Sherlock Holmes over there,” he finishes dryly, and it sends Kiara into a delirious fit of laughter.

“You’re terrible,” she wheezes, swaying a little and nearly tumbling out of her chair from pure exhaustion.

Rafe rests his elbows on the island, looking at Kiara intently. “You should go shower, Kie,” he says, and his voice is so gentle that it makes Kiara’s chest ache. “I’ll clean up.”

“Rafe…” She wants to argue, wants to say that he’s done too much already. But the words stick to her tongue like molasses.

“Go.” His blue eyes are like a melting glacier. “I’ll eat something and then I’ll come up.”

Kiara relents without a word, but as she passes by she presses her face into Rafe’s back, muttering something like a thank you between his shoulder blades. She hears him suck in a sharp breath as she pulls away, heading for the stairs.

She showers in a daze, zoning out for so long that steam fills the entire bathroom like thick, suffocating fog. She barely remembers getting out and pulling on one of Rafe’s old UNC t-shirts, the soft, worn fabric brushing against her thighs as she settles in Rafe’s bed.

Kiara must doze off at some point, because she wakes up when Rafe slides into bed next to her. When she raises her head to look at him over her shoulder, she sees droplets of water glistening on his chest in the low light.

“Fuck, sorry. I was trying to be quiet. Don’t kill me.”  He winces, his expression apologetic.

“What took you so long?” Kiara croaks, settling back onto her pillow.

“I ate, I showered. And I…” Rafe hesitates. “I called our pilot.” Kiara’s body stiffens. She turns to face him, feeling more awake. “We’ve been keeping up on maintenance and repairs on the plane, so we should be good for a takeoff tomorrow, if that’s what you want.” She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, unable to tell if she’s anxious or relieved.

“But you know Kie…” Rafe settles on the bed so he’s facing her, lying less than a foot away. “JJ probably doesn’t even have a passport, and Groff is probably wanted in like, 12 countries. They’re probably not taking the most direct route. We could wait for a few days, let you rest…”

He reaches out and brushes a hand gently over the back of Kiara’s head, ghosting over the wound there. But she shakes her head before he can finish his sentence.

“No. We’re already behind. I don’t want to risk losing them.” Her voice is resolute, probably a little too sharp. Rafe doesn’t even flinch.

“I knew you would say that,” Rafe replies softly, brushing a damp strand of hair out of Kiara’s face. “Everything will be ready tomorrow.”

His tenderness brings something raw to the surface, something that chafes and burns when it’s held too close. Kiara can’t stand to look at him, can’t handle the friction in his gaze. “Rafe…” she squeezes her eyes shut. “Don’t be annoying about this, but you were right.” He chuckles, the sound soft and low.

“You said it, not me,” he teases. “I’m just glad you’re safe, Kie. That’s all that matters.”

Kiara backs away from his hand, looking at him with solemn eyes. “It’s not though. Not really. This whole thing…everything that’s happened, it’s my fault. When Groff held you at gunpoint. Blackstone. Us ending up here in the first place…all of it. All because I…because I can’t…I’m sorry,” she finishes in a whisper. She shakes her head and clamps her lips shut, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Rafe doesn’t reach for her again, like he doesn’t know if he should. He just watches her with an inscrutable expression.

“How were you supposed to know, Kiara? You just wished for JJ to be alive again. You didn’t exactly ask for any of this.”

His voice catches on the last word. Kiara wonders if he’s not just referring to the alternate reality, if he might be talking about what’s happened between them, too. But Kiara’s can’t bring herself to follow that line of questioning, can’t even begin to think about the tangled net she’s trapped herself in. Not yet.

“Do you hate me?” She whispers into the silence, making Rafe’s brow furrow. “For pushing this, for insisting we follow them? For not being able to let him go?”

Kiara is too tired to filter herself properly, and the words slip out. Not being able to let him go. The word is like a hot knife to her own heart, so she braces for Rafe to get upset, maybe even angry.

But he just exhales shakily, his smile small and sad in the light of the moon.

“No. I don’t blame you. I don’t know if I’ve ever really let go of anything in my life.” Rafe laughs weakly. “And when it’s something like this…sometimes the worst part is wondering what you could have done differently, right?” Kiara sees the faraway look in his eyes, and she knows he’s thinking about Ward. “Now…at least you don’t have to wonder.”

“What if I’m just fucking everything up? What if we…stop Groff and nothing ever goes back to the way it was?” Kiara’s voice is hushed and uncertain, a small tremor threading itself through the words.

“Well, would you want it to?” Rafe asks reluctantly, like he doesn’t really want to know. 

The answering silence is tense, thick with hazy memories and unsaid words, with broken promises and shattered dreams. Kiara hates herself for not being able to answer, for letting the question crack the space between them like a fault line, pushing them apart.

But she keeps her gaze on Rafe, refusing to look away. She knows she has to give him that, at least. His eyes drift to the ceiling for a moment before returning to her face.

“Every choice has consequences, Kie. We don’t always know what they’ll be or what they’re going to look like ahead of time, but we have to be prepared to pay the price for whatever we choose.” Rafe looks into her eyes, really looks, like he’s charting the path to an answer that doesn’t exist. “Are you?”

Because she knows him, Kiara knows what he’s really asking.

Can you live with killing Groff?

If things get too complicated with JJ, can you live with losing what we have?

“I don’t know,” Kiara whispers, her voice raw and rough as a scream. “But it’s something I have to do.” Rafe nods with an acceptance that reads a little too much like defeat, and it makes Kiara’s stomach drop. “You don’t have to come, Rafe.”

She doesn’t mean it, but it seems like something she should say. She looks down at her hands, holding her breath. Part of her expects him to back out now that she’s given him permission, to tell her that he’s finally had enough.

But Rafe reaches over and tilts her chin up. “What did I say earlier, Kiara? There’s no way in hell you’re going without me.” He pauses, letting the words hang in the darkness like a guiding light, reminding her that she’s not in this alone. “Plus, I think it’s only fair that the guy supplying the weapons and the transportation gets to come.” His tone is lighter now, teasing, but no less sure.

Kiara smiles, just a little, even though her heart sits in her chest like dead weight. She opens her mouth to answer, but her exhaustion hits her like a freight train, running any train of thought right off the tracks.

Rafe senses it. Of course he does.

“What do you say we get some sleep?” He uses the fingers on her chin to move Kiara’s up and down in a nod.

Kiara rolls her eyes and flips over, more than happy to oblige. Then she reaches back and grabs Rafe’s arm, hauling him closer so his chest is pressed against her back. She hums in approval as he wraps around her, one arm slung over her waist and his ankle draped over her calf.

“Thank you. For everything,” Kiara mumbles, fighting the leaden sleep that pulls at her eyelids.

“Don’t mention it,” he mutters into her hair, his voice thick with something Kiara is too tired to identify.

“Rafe…I always knew,” Kiara whispers into the stillness. “I was never scared of you. I saw the good.”

His fingers tighten around her waist like a reflex. He flinches like someone who’s used to disparagement instead of praise, who has only ever heard their name said like a curse. Kiara grips the hand around her waist, holding it against her like a promise.

“I knew I was right about you, back then. Even if you didn’t.” Kiara distantly wonders if he even remembers that night on the roof all those years ago, the night she’d looked into Rafe’s Cameron’s sad eyes and had felt the inexplicable urge to kiss away his pain.

If he answers, Kiara doesn’t hear it. She falls into a deep, dream-filled sleep, dreams full of blood-soaked sand and distant screams. 

But with Rafe’s warmth and solidity surrounding her, they feel like simple nightmares instead of omens. 

At least for now.

———————————————————————

The first thing Kiara feels in the morning is something warm and hard pressing into her stomach.

She must have flipped over to face Rafe at some point, throwing a leg around him and pulling their bodies closer together in her sleep. As she slowly wakes up, it takes her a while to realize it’s Rafe’s morning wood pressing into her stomach. When she finally figures it out, she lets out a sound somewhere between a moan and a laugh. Men.

Rafe stirs at the sound, ever the light sleeper. Kiara follows the movement of his long eyelashes as he blinks the sleep from his hazy eyes, her gaze much too intense for this early in the morning. 

But something about him looking so soft and sleepy, so vulnerable and unguarded, makes heat flare in Kiara’s stomach. This is a side of him no one else gets to see. This Rafe is just for her.

“Mornin’,” Rafe rasps, his voice heavy with sleep. He glances down between the two of them after a second, and he actually blushes. The fact that he’s acting bashful snaps the last bit of Kiara’s self control, opening the floodgates of her desire. “Sorry…about that.”

She yanks Rafe into a searing kiss, tightening her leg around his waist and digging her nails into his bare back. 

Rafe groans softly into her mouth as Kiara pulls back, her own cheeks flushed now. “I’m not,” she smirks.

He stares at her lips, a little stunned, as Kiara runs her hands down his taut chest to play in the waistband of his shorts.

“Are you awake enough to fuck me?” She asks, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his collarbone as she slips two fingers underneath the elastic.

“Shit, Kiara,” Rafe moans. “As if I would ever say no to that?”

She backs away despite Rafe’s protests, settling on her back and scooting against the headboard.

“Well, get to it then,” she jokes, Rafe’s old t-shirt riding up her thighs as she bends her knees.

“Whatever you say, ma’am,” Rafe jokes back in an affected southern accent. It reminds her a little of the one Pope had used just a few days ago, but the effect Rafe’s drawl has on her body could not be more different.

Kiara bites her lip without realizing it as Rafe rolls over and settles between her legs, watching his muscles ripple with appreciation. It takes her a while to realize he’s staring at her in disbelief.

“You’re kidding. You fucking like that?” Rafe asks in his normal voice.

“I didn’t say that,” Kiara protests, but her face turns bright red.

“It’s written all over your face, little miss.” The drawl is back. “You want this cowboy to take you to the rodeo?” Rafe smirks, pulling himself up between her thighs, closer to where Kiara feels steady heat building.

“Oh my god. Stop talking immediately,” she groans, hiding her face behind her hands.

But she peeks out from behind her fingers long enough to see Rafe’s devious smirk as he pulls Kiara’s underwear off past her ankles.

He licks his lips as he stares down at her long legs, spread smooth and bare underneath him. “That, I can do,” he grunts, twisting the fabric of the shirt in one hand as he lowers his mouth to her body, licking at her clit with featherlight pressure. 

“Oh fuck.” Kiara throws her head back, bumping it against the headboard.

Rafe winds one hand around her thigh and brings her closer to his mouth, but the pressure on her clit is still maddeningly light.

He glances up at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he withholds from her intentionally. “Rafe, stop teasing,” she begs.

“Oh baby, I would never,” he says with mock sympathy. “Not like you did to me last night.”

“Not fair,” Kiara whines, wiggling in his grasp. But before she can remind him that she was kidnapped, thank you very much, Rafe grips her thighs so tightly that it stings, bringing his tongue back to her clit in wide, flat strokes. She sighs in relief, gripping his shoulder with desperate fingers.

He laps at her clit with a steady rhythm for a while, drawing embarrassing moans out of Kiara’s mouth, before he drops lower and plunges his tongue into her pussy. He works it in and out as she writhes beneath him, one hand twisting into the rumpled sheets.

“You taste so fucking good,” Rafe growls against her, the vibration against her cunt making her shudder. “But I need you a little more wet for me.”

He licks at her again as he presses two fingers inside her, curling them at the perfect angle to massage her front walls.

“Rafe, oh my god,” Kiara chokes out, his name almost a sob. “I need you inside. Please.”

“I love when you ask so nicely,” Rafe mutters, still working his fingers in and out in a steady motion. “But I need you to come first. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah, I-I think so.” Kiara pants, screwing her eyes shut as the pressure builds between her legs.

“No, no. Look at me, Kie.” Rafe commands. Kiara looks at him slack-jawed, too far gone to argue. “I want to see your face when you finish for me. Do it now,” he purrs, dropping his head and licking intently at her clit as he twists his fingers inside of her.

Kiara manages to huff slightly in indignation. “I can’t just- oh fuck,” she cuts herself off, the combination of his mouth and fingers sending her over the edge. The surprising, intense orgasm makes her mind feel like static and her body feel like putty.

“That’s it, that’s it. That’s a good fucking girl, Kiara. You listen so well,” Rafe murmurs as he works her through it. “You’re so pretty when you come, baby.”

When Kiara finally stops clenching around his fingers, she sits up and pulls Rafe’s shirt over her head without a word. She throws it on the floor and reaches for him, hauling him up her body towards her waiting lips.

They kiss for a while, their movements unhurried and languorous, and Kiara licks into Rafe’s mouth as he grips the side of her face. “I can taste myself on you.” She wasn’t even trying to rile him up, but Rafe moans loud and long, like it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.

Kiara laughs, shoving his shoulder playfully. “Flip me over, cowboy. Fuck me like you mean it,” she whispers, her eyes half-lidded and sultry.

Something darkens in Rafe’s gaze as he grabs her by the waist and flips her around, pressing her into the bed with his long fingers splayed across her back. “Shit Kie, you can’t say stuff like that,” Rafe groans against her ear, his voice low and rough.

“What are you going to do about it?” She smirks over her shoulder, watching greedily as Rafe rids himself of his underwear. He grips her hips and shifts forward, slotting himself between her folds. 

“Exactly what you want me to do,” he growls, staring down at the naked expanse of her back with hunger. “You’re fucking dripping for me, Kie.” He rubs his cock against her slick entrance for a few excruciating moments, until it’s clear he can’t hold himself back anymore. 

Rafe lifts her hips slightly as he kneels above her, slipping inside her and pressing as deep as he can go in one swift motion. Being filled so completely and suddenly pulls a sharp gasp out of Kiara, nearly knocking the wind out of her.

“Oh, fuck,” she moans, dropping her head onto the bed as Rafe’s hips find a punishing rhythm.

“Fuck, Kiara. You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I was right before. This pussy was made for me.” Kiara clenches at his casual possessiveness, the way he always seems to want to swallow her whole.

Rafe fucks into her sharply and desperately, like he’s trying to imprint himself on the inside of her body, like he’s trying to tattoo his grip onto her skin. Kiara half-sobs into the duvet from pleasure, biting down on the fabric to keep from screaming.

“Nah, nah, let me hear you baby. Let me hear how much you fucking love this cock.” Kiara moans something wanton and unintelligible, unable to form words as Rafe pounds into her with abandon. She feels her own arousal start to build again, deep and slow, burning beneath her skin like an incurable fever.

Rafe slaps Kiara’s ass appreciatively, pushing her deeper into the mattress. “Look at that gorgeous ass shake. Goddamn, Kiara.” The praise feeds her arousal like kindling to a fire, but she’s needs stimulation on her clit to turn into a full-on blaze.

Before she can ask for what she needs, the pace of Rafe’s hips falters. Kiara grunts in disapproval and looks over her shoulder. He’s halfway inside of her, still moving his hips shallowly. There are beads of sweat running down his chest, sparkling in the morning light filtering in through the curtains. Kiara feels demented for wanting to turn around and run her tongue along the salty skin. Rafe bites his lip, running an appreciative hand down her back.

“Kie, fuck. I wanna, I wanna-“ His eyes dart to her face, trying and failing to find the words as he rocks in and out of her dripping cunt.

“Tell me baby. What do you want?” It’s the first time Kiara has ever called Rafe that, and she watches as the pet name ripples through him like the aftershocks of an earthquake.

Rafe flips her over with shaky but determined hands, pressing her body flush against his sweat-slicked chest. He pulls her into a wet, messy kiss, moaning as he bites at her bottom lip.

“Wanna see all of you,” he whispers into her mouth. “Wanna feel all of you.” She nods wordlessly in agreement, her head bobbing eagerly.

Rafe positions Kiara so she’s flat on the mattress with her knees bent. Then he places one hand under the small of her back and presses against her with his whole body weight, their hips flush as he slips into her again.

But this time his strokes are deep and slow, measured and long like he’s savoring every inch of her. He never really pulls out all the way, moving his hips so that they stay connected at every possible point, flushed skin slipping against flushed skin. 

Hips against hips, chest against chest, his hand pressing into the small of her back. There’s no way to escape, no way to breathe as Rafe holds Kiara in place and fucks into her reverently. His long, thick cock reaches deeper inside of her with every thrust, brushing against her clit when he pulls his hips back.

Kiara almost can’t stand how good it all feels; the rocking, deliberate motion of Rafe’s hips that’s slowly driving her crazy, the way he wraps around her so completely that all she can feel and see and think about is him. The pressure of his body anchors her, rooting her in place within this moment in time. Just the two of them, connected in every way. In every universe.

And when Rafe reaches up to press kisses to her face, it all feels like too fucking much. So Kiara throws her head to the side and takes the first few fingers of his free hand into her mouth, running her tongue along them so she doesn’t say something incredibly idiotic, like telling him he has great stroke game, or something too vulnerable, like she thinks they might be fucking tethered.

Rafe jerks once, groaning loudly, before resuming his steady rhythm.

When Kiara releases his fingers, she can’t stop the words that fall out of her mouth, tumbling down like a lust-driven avalanche. “Rafe, this is so fucking good. What the fuck. Have you been holding out on me?”

“No,” Rafe shakes his head, letting out a breathless chuckle. “I’ve never felt anything like this.”

“Me either,” Kiara admits, gripping Rafe’s hips so hard that she knows it’ll leave a bruise.

“I’ve never felt like this.” Rafe whispers against her skin, and she knows he’s not talking about the sex anymore.

But then he fucks into her with a particularly targeted thrust, hitting an area that makes Kiara see stars and letting her off the hook.

Kiara tries not to focus on the fact that if not for the moan that left her mouth, she would have said the traitorous words back to him. I haven’t either.

Instead, she captures his lips with her own, opening her mouth and tangling their tongues together. It’s less kiss than it is claiming ritual, wet and messy and desperate. As Kiara licks into his mouth, she knows she’s not going to last much longer.

“Rafe, I’m gonna come again,” she whines, throwing her head back.

“Fuck, yeah you are. I can tell,” Rafe grits out, his lips covered with her spit. “I’m going to finish too. Can you wait for me?”

“I,I-“ Kiara shakes her head, gripping the duvet like a lifeline.

“My good fucking girl,” Rafe purrs into her neck. “That’s it. Just a little longer.”

Kiara is so, so close, her release building in her core like an electrical charge. “No, Rafe, I-“

“I’m going to finish inside you, Kie. But not yet.” His voice is lower than she’s ever heard it, almost animal in nature.

Kiara is wracked by a full body shudder. She’s desperate to finish, so she begs, even though she knows it’s going to give him way too much satisfaction. “Fuck, Rafe, please. Please can I come?”

“Fuck, that’s a good girl.” Rafe’s eyebrows draw together, and Kiara knows he’s close now too. “Asking so nicely for permission.”

“Please, please, please-“

“Kiara, look at me.” Rafe’s eyes lock onto hers as he thumbs at her clit. “Come for me, baby.”

Rafe grips her chin and holds her in place, forcing Kiara to maintain eye contact as she lets out a deep, full-body moan, pulsing around his emptying cock.

It’s the most intimate thing she’s ever experienced, and Kiara’s chest smolders like a lit furnace as she stares into Rafe’s hungry eyes. Her orgasm rolls through her in wave after wave without abating; it’s easily the best orgasm Kiara’s ever had, and almost certainly the longest.

Rafe holds her close until she finally stops clenching, pressing kisses to her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her parted lips. When the orgasm has finally passed they stare at each other for a moment, both looking a little stunned as they gasp for air.

And then they burst into dopamine-fueled laughter, clinging to each other even as sweat rolls down their bodies and Rafe’s cum drips out of Kiara. She ignores the mess and tucks her head under his chin, breathing in the comforting smell of him as she continues to laugh.

Rafe’s arms around her are tight, borderline possessive, and Kiara melts into his firm grip as their breathing regulates. A couple of months ago, Kiara would have bristled at the idea of being enveloped so completely. But the past couple of months have shifted something inside of her, culminating with this moment between her and Rafe.

Staring into Rafe’s eyes as he finished inside of her, Kiara felt changed, safe and secure in a way she’d never felt before. Almost claimed, branded by some force bigger than the two of them.

And maybe that should scare her. But for a moment, inside the bubble of Rafe’s too-large bed, it just feels right. Like the stars have finally aligned, bringing them to this moment out of all possible outcomes.

———————————————————————

They don’t untangle for a while, almost like their bodies have forgotten how to exist independently. Rafe rubs light circles on her back as Kiara slips in and out of sleep, the veil between dreams and reality becoming hazy and thin.

As morning slips into afternoon, Kiara has another dream. It’s similar to the dreams from last night, but this one is more vivid, almost tangible, like something she could reach out and touch if she tried hard enough.

But for this one, she doesn’t want to. She wants to pull away as far as possible, but she’s rooted in place. Forced to watch.

In the dream, Kiara blinks against scorching afternoon sunlight, the air around her dry and gritty and suffocating. Her eyes finally focus on a trail of blood leading away from her, ending at a spot a few feet away where two figures huddle on the ground. 

One of them, a man with buzzed hair, rocks a smaller figure in his arms. He lets out a raw sound of grief into the motionless body without stopping his movements.

Kiara’s drawn closer by a force she can’t control, and her footsteps grab the attention of the man on the ground. He whips around, and she realizes with a jolt that the man is Rafe.

The person he’s cradling in his arms is Kiara, but her body is colorless and limp. Dead.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME??” Rafe yells at her in the dream, his eyes dripping with grief and his hands covered with her blood.

The scene changes rapidly. Kiara’s back in her body now. Rafe is standing in front of her, his body within arms reach. She stretches a hand towards him, and his expression twists into something between agony and acceptance. 

She drops her eyes and sees the grip of a knife protruding from Rafe’s abdomen. Her hands are covered in his blood, but he still smiles at her gently, looking at her like she can do no wrong. “It’s okay, Kie,” he whispers, like blood isn’t dripping down his abdomen, like her hand isn’t wrapped around the knife. “I already got my wish.”

And then it’s not Rafe standing in front of her at all, but JJ. Not quite a dream anymore, not some twisted premonition. Almost a memory.

“Everything I ever wanted,” he whispers, trailing off at the end. He looks at her with those kind, tortured blue eyes as he slumps to the ground, the knife pulling out of him with a sickening squelch. Kiara looks at the blood-stained metal in her hand and starts to scream.

She’s still screaming when she wakes up, her whole body shaking with primal, bone-deep fear. She doesn’t stop screaming even after Rafe bolts upright in bed and cradles her face, trying to calm her down.

“Kiara, Kiara, you’re okay, you’re okay,” Rafe insists desperately over her frantic screams, running soothing hands down her arms. It’s all Kiara can do not to pull away, to check for a wound in his abdomen, to make sure he’s in one piece. “It was just a dream.” 

She finally stops screaming, but she’s wooden and unresponsive to his touch, even when he pulls her into his chest. “You’re okay,” he repeats into her hair.

“But you won’t be,” she whispers into his warm skin, too quiet for him to hear. She’s not sure if she’s voicing a premonition or a fear. 

Maybe it’s both.

“What, Kie?”

“I said it was just a dream,” she lies. “You’re right.” Her voice sounds odds to her own ears, robotic and faraway. She clears her throat and extricates herself from Rafe’s grip, avoiding eye contact.

She knows he’ll see right through her if he looks close enough, that his too-observant eyes will turn her ribcage transparent and find the terror and the hesitation that lurk behind her sternum. So she slides away from him and swings her legs over the bed, letting the creaky, sun-warmed hardwood ground her. “I think it’s time for me to get up anyway, take a shower and start packing. Might need to run over to the apartment to grab some stuff before tonight.”

“Kie…” She doesn’t look back as she pushes up from the bed, but she feels the ghost of his fingers against her back like a silent plea. She can almost feel his anxiety like a breath down her neck, a living, breathing thing filling the space between them.

“I’m fine, Rafe.” Kiara forces herself to turn around when she reaches the door, flashing him the most genuine smile she can muster. “Go make yourself some coffee.”

It’s only when she’s finally in the shower that Kiara allows herself to break apart, her head pressed against the cool tile as panic leaks out of every crack in her body. She tries to do some grounding exercises, tries to stop herself from spiraling out of control, but memories of the past and premonitions of the future take up every inch of mental space.

She’s can’t deny it anymore - something bad is going to happen. But the situation feels like an impossible Catch-22. Because something is definitely going to happen to JJ if they don’t go after him, and something is almost certainly going to happen to her or to Rafe if they do.

Kiara spins this around in her mind for a while, trying to sort through all the possible outcomes. She knows she’s willing to sacrifice herself; she already accepted a long time ago that there’s no length she wouldn’t go to in order to make this right. To do something to change things for JJ, anything except what she had done.

Because she had done nothing.

Kiara squeezes her eyes shut as tears start to form, remembering the way that she had stared at JJ in wide-eyed terror, barely able to support him as he crumpled to the ground. She thinks of the way she was frozen in shock when the knife had entered his body, how she didn’t scream or struggle until it was much too late, until he was bleeding out in front of her. She remembers the way the light had left JJ’s eyes as his body had gone limp, and it reminds her why she’s doing this in the first place. 

Because she had let JJ’s death happen. She hadn’t held the knife, but sometimes she feels like she might as well have.

On her worst nights, she wonders if he blamed her in the moments before he died.

Kiara thinks about her passivity as JJ spiraled into darkness once he discovered the truth about his dad, the way she let him pull away and told herself it was what he needed. The way she had brandished the naive belief that everything was going to be okay like a flimsy shield, telling herself things would turn out fine because they had to.

Kiara had failed JJ by not fighting hard enough, by letting life happen to them instead of taking matters into her own hands.

Now she knows that nothing is guaranteed. Now she knows that there are consequences for everything, for every action and inaction alike.

But Rafe? Rafe complicates things. 

The possibility of Rafe bleeding out, lifeless in her arms, cold and unresponsive and gone forever? That idea is enough to make her panic all over again. She slides down the wall of the shower and curls into a ball, trying to remember how to breathe.

Rafe getting hurt is an outcome Kiara can’t accept, that she won’t accept. She can’t bear another loss, can’t scrub away more blood on her hands from the person she cares about most in the world. She knows she wouldn’t survive that. She wouldn’t want to survive that.

She tries to think of a way to get Rafe stay home, any desperate Hail Mary that might keep him out of harm’s way. But she thinks of what he whispered to her last night, the way he’d been adamant she wasn’t going without him. She knows he won’t believe any bullshit excuse at this point - he’s in too deep. They both are.

And besides, the simple fact of the matter is that Kiara will never get to Morocco without Rafe.

The concept of an alternative plan starts to form in her head, the poisonous seed germinating in her head under the steady stream of hot water.

When she finally steps out and wraps a towel around herself, the idea is spreading like a virus throughout her whole body, contaminating everything.

So Kiara quarantines herself from Rafe. 

She avoids him for most of the rest of the day; she escapes to her apartment to ‘pack,’ grabs coffee with Sarah and John B, even stops by the Wreck to chat with her parents before heading back to Tannyhill.

Golden hour is in full force by the time she creeps back into Tannyhill, two bags of takeout clutched in her hands like an unspoken apology. Hey, I’m sorry I abandoned you after devastatingly intimate sex, the bags lamely proclaim. Here’s some cold, soggy food to make up for it.

Rafe is waiting in the spacious living room when she walks in, perched on the arm of the couch with a packed bag at his feet. He stares at her and takes a step forward, his expression indecipherable. The warm light of the sun brings out the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, and Kiara is momentarily transfixed.

She thinks Rafe might say something, might scold her or question her about her whereabouts. But he just leans down and grabs the bags from her hands, the motion like an unspoken acceptance. Her skin tingles when he brushes his thumbs against the backs of her hands before pulling away, heading towards the kitchen and leaving Kiara to catch her breath.

They eat dinner quietly, and Kiara feels Rafe’s gaze on her for most of it. But he doesn’t say anything, so she doesn’t either.

He’s probably second-guessing coming with me, Kiara thinks. She knows she should be relieved at the idea, but she can’t help the way her stomach clenches at the idea of leaving without him.

But her fears turn out to be unfounded. 

Rafe gets a call from his pilot, and before she can even open her mouth to argue, Kiara is being herded into the passenger seat of the Range Rover. After several minutes of tense silence, Rafe finally breaks their impasse on the way over to the airfield.

He taps the steering wheel with his thumbs, glances in her direction several times, clears his throat. Kiara can tell he’s nervous, and she wishes she had the words to put him out of his misery.

“Kie, can we talk about it?” His voice is soft, tentative. Almost scared. Kiara grips the leather seat beneath her, trying to stay calm.

“Talk about what?”

He shoots her a scathing look, his gentility evaporating. “Don’t do that. After everything we’ve been through, don’t play fucking dumb with me.” Emotion climbs up Kiara’s throat like tangled ivy. “You’ve being acting weird since this morning. Avoiding me, staying out all day. You’re barely even looking at me, Kie. What’s going on?” He softens his voice again, trying to pry the truth out of her.

“I’m scared,” Kiara admits, and it’s almost a relief to say the words aloud. Rafe’s shoulders relax infinitesimally. “I just have this bad feeling I can’t shake. It’s something I have to do, but I’m…I’m just really terrified, Rafe.” It’s not a lie, but it’s also the most she can give him right now.

He doesn’t tell her they don’t have to go, doesn’t try to get her to back out. Rafe just nods, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he stares down the empty road in front of them.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Kie.” And he sounds so resolute, so absolutely certain, that Kiara lets herself believe it for a second. Lets herself believe the lie that everything has to turn out okay if she wants it badly enough.

But her plan waits in the back of her mind like a predator, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

No, the predator whispers back to Rafe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.

Kiara doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she just reaches across the center console and laces their fingers together. 

She grips Rafe’s hand like a life preserver for the rest of the drive, trying to keep her head above the undulating waves of fear that wash over her. He seems comforted by her touch, and that makes Kiara feel a little better about not telling him the whole truth.

Maybe Rafe will never forgive her for this. But as they climb onto the Cameron’s private jet, the starless sky stretching above them like another bad omen, Kiara tries to make her peace with that fact.

She knows she would never forgive herself if anything happened to Rafe. And she’s already carrying more guilt than she can bear.

Chapter Text

Rafe is trying to make peace with the fact that he might never touch Kiara again. Not like he has been. Not like he wants to.

But he’s trying and failing. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to come to terms with the idea of never getting to wrap her in his arms again, of never getting to call her beautiful and watch as that adorable blush colors her cheeks even when she tries to hide it.

But he figures that’s the logical conclusion to all this, the only explanation that really makes any sense.

Kiara came here for JJ, not for him. Rafe reminds himself of that over and over as he stares out the plane window, unable to sleep.

He glances to his left again, checking on Kiara’s sleeping form like a compulsion. She’s lying in a chair across the aisle with her mouth slightly ajar. Her eyelashes flutter gently, and Rafe finds himself hoping that if she’s dreaming, it’s not a nightmare this time.

He’s not sure what she dreamed about in the early hours of the morning, but he has a sneaking suspicion that she didn’t wake up screaming from a dream about him.

No, she had dreamed about JJ. And he’s almost certain that now Kiara’s thinking about the real reason all this started in the first place, the mission that Rafe had distracted her from whether he meant to or not.

All he knows for sure is that something shifted in Kiara after that dream. She’s more distant, quieter, distracted. Despite the hand hold in the car, despite confiding in him that she was scared, Rafe can feel the shift, and he knows she’s not telling him the whole truth. Kiara’s retreated back into herself, shutting him out and leaving him in the dark once again.

And the desperate, love-starved part of Rafe, the ravenous, possessive, beastly side that can never let go of things that weren’t even his in the first place, wants to make her stay.

But he’s done letting the beast win.

So obviously Rafe notices that Kiara is pulling away, because he notices everything when it comes to her. But for once, he doesn’t try to sink his teeth in. He doesn’t scratch and claw to keep her where she doesn’t want to be, doesn’t try to fix something that he would only break anyway.

He just sits in the dim light of the cabin and ruminates on his own words, the ones that he’d uttered to Kiara during their last fight.

When we ended up here with JJ still alive, when I remembered everything, I knew that you would choose him every time. And that was okay with me.

It’s definitely not okay with Rafe. It’s going to tear him apart painfully and slowly, piece by tiny piece. But he’s not going to make that Kiara’s problem. Not when she already has enough problems of her own.

Rafe’s been alone his whole life, so he tells himself over and over that the solitude will be familiar, even comforting.

But he feels Kiara’s pull like fucking gravity in the space between them, tugging at his heart, his lungs, his goddamn bones. The feeling he gets in the pit of his stomach when he looks at her is evidence enough that he’s kidding himself. There is no version of his life, no version of him that is better without Kiara.

Rafe thinks ruefully that maybe this is the universe’s ultimate cruel punishment, his final reckoning for all the fucked up shit he’s done in his life.

As watches her shift in her sleep, he realizes with absolutely certainty that Kiara taught him how to love.

And because he loves her, Rafe will have to teach himself to let her go.

———————————————————————

When he finally sleeps, Rafe dreams of the ocean.

He washes in with the tide like a piece of driftwood, without origin or destination. He simply rises above the waves and finds himself on the shore like he’s always been there.

Water brackets his ankles, swirling in tiny whirlpools around the bare skin. No one sees him on the shore, no one notices the interruption in the push and pull of the waves. He’s no more significant than the pieces of seaweed strung across the wet sand.

A child runs by him close enough to feel the brush of their unruly hair against his calf. An exasperated mother follows close behind, trying to keep their toddler from falling face first into the shallow water.

It takes Rafe a moment to realize that it’s his sister chasing after the kid.

Sarah chases the little girl into the waiting arms of John B, who scoops her up and swings her through the air, making their daughter giggle.

His sister looks on fondly, pinching the baby’s cheeks with the kind of loving exasperation he’s only ever dreamed about getting from a parent. It makes something thick and hot clog his throat, something salty and harsh as seawater.

Rafe feels Kiara before he sees her. He feels her pull, that ever-present gravity, even before he spots her, wrapped in someone’s arms with her toes brushing the shoreline.

His heart throbs painfully as he watches her laugh in someone else’s arms, watches her bury her head in their chest and relax into their space like she belongs there.

Except it’s not someone else, he finally realizes. It’s Rafe.

It looks like him but something’s different; his eyes are lighter, less burdened, younger. There are less lines on his forehead and more around his mouth.

Kiara looks just as beautiful but a little different too; her hair is darker, her skin is littered with freckles, her cheeks are rounder. But the sight of her still makes Rafe ache, like it always does.

As he watches, Kiara shifts and places her hands on her stomach, like a reflex. The caramel skin under her hands is smooth and taut, her stomach rounded into a baby bump that can’t be less than 7 months in the making.

This version of Kiara is pregnant. With my kid, Rafe thinks quietly, reverently, like a prayer. My son. His name will be Milo, and he’s my son. He doesn’t know how he knows this, but he does, as certainly as he knows his own name.

Rafe stares so long at the scene that the sun begins to sink below the horizon, making this version of himself and Kiara shimmer like a dissipating mirage. And then he’s being washed out with the receding low tide, the dark waves pulling him under even as he struggles to stay ashore. He wants to keep looking at the little family in front of him. His family.

But he’s submerged beneath the water despite his protests, surrounded by the timeless silence of the ocean, the absolute stillness. Down here, he can’t tell where the other Rafe stops or where he begins. Maybe there is no real answer.

Rafe blinks awake as the plane’s wheels touch down, rattling the cabin. He tries desperately to cling onto the fading fragments of the other life he saw, to the peace and certainty he had felt.

Logically, he knows the dream wasn’t real. It’s probably just his cruel imagination, his mind’s desperate attempt to conjure up a future where he could somehow be with the woman he loves despite insurmountable odds.

But the scene felt too familiar, a little like deja vu, a little like a lost memory from another life. And as he stretches in his seat and prepares to face the harsh Moroccan sun, Rafe lets himself believe that the version of himself and Kiara he saw really does exist out there somewhere, at some point in time, in some universe.

It makes this reality, the one where he feels destined to end up alone, just a little easier to stomach.

———————————————————————

Kiara’s quiet as they grab their few belongings and head to the plane door, and Rafe certainly doesn’t have anything to say. He’s still sorting through the tangled threads of his dream, trying to restitch his reality into something that makes sense.

He discreetly checks for the pistol he tucked into his bag when Kiara isn’t watching, the same one he brought to Blackstone. He stands up and joins her after confirming it’s still in place.

As they stand by the opening door, his elbow brushes Kiara’s forearm, and he feels a flash of fear like it was transferred to him by skin to skin contact.

He nudges her with his shoulder, schooling his expression into something more confident as she looks up. Her expression is closed off, indecipherable. “You ready?” Rafe asks.

Kiara’s eyes soften, and for a moment she looks younger, more vulnerable. She bites her lip, thinking about the question. “No,” she finally admits with a shrug.

But then she takes a step forward and exits the plane anyway. It tugs something in Rafe, something sharp and familiar. He’s always been in awe of the resolute way Kiara moves through the world, her bravery through the fear and the devastation that follows them like a curse.

But she’s gone before he can figure out how to tell her any of that, stepping out into the sunlight and disappearing down the stairs.

Rafe takes a deep breath and follows her after a moment, the feeling in his stomach solidifying from anxiety into dread.

Kiara stands frozen at the foot of the stairs, blinking into the late afternoon sunlight with a stunned expression on her face.

She surveys the desolate airfield slowly, the familiar outline of Essaouira only faintly visible in the distance through the shimmering heat radiating up from the ground. Her unblinking eyes eventually settle on Rafe.

“What do we do now?”

Rafe can’t help but laugh. “What, you didn’t think that far ahead, Mr. Bond?” He teases, slipping into a British accent that’s even worse than Kiara’s.

And she almost cracks a smile, so it’s worth the embarrassment that Rafe immediately feels.

But then Kiara’s face drops and she shoots him a look, squinting against the sun to stare at him disapprovingly.

“Been a lot on my mind. And that’s without even mentioning the kidnapping that traumatized me for life. So kinda fucked up of you to say that,” she replies, raising an eyebrow in reproach.

Rafe’s mouth shuts with an audible click as his heart drops into his stomach. He scrambles for a moment, feeling guilty. “Kie, I-“

But then he sees the glint in her eyes, the way the corners of her mouth are lifted slightly.

Rafe crosses his arms as over his chest with a huff. “You’re fucking with me.”

“You started it.” But Kiara is actually smiling now, and it thaws something in Rafe he didn’t even know was frozen.

He taps a finger to his chin, playing along.“And yet, I’m the one that made all the plans. How about a thank you??” They’re an echo of the words he said the last time they were on the way to Morocco, but the tone couldn’t be more different. It’s teasing now, ironic, self-aware. All the things he didn’t know how to be before Kiara became an integral part of his life.

“I’m yet to see the fruits of these so-called plans.” Kiara gestures around at the empty landscape.

Rafe glances at his watch. “I called a car to pick us up and take us into Essaouira. It’ll be here in a few. You see, Kie, when you’re a-“

Kiara cuts him off with an eye roll. “If you say that you’re a proactive person, I’m going to run out into the desert and wait for the vultures to tear me into little pieces.”

That pulls a surprised laugh out of Rafe. “Well, you might be a poor planner. But at least you’re not melodramatic, too.”

“Shut the fuck up.” There’s a sparkle in Kiara’s eyes as she smacks his arm, a lightness to her movements that he desperately missed. For a moment, things feel like they did a little over 24 hours ago, when they were in the bubble of Rafe’s bed and it felt like nothing bad could touch them.

Kiara’s eyes trace over him appreciatively in the comfortable silence, something thick filling the space between them as her eyes flit over his ringed hands, scan up his crossed arms, settling somewhere around his lips. And suddenly Rafe feels a flash of heat that has nothing to do with the unrelenting sun overhead.

She shifts a little closer, her thumb brushing the skin of his forearm, and it raises goosebumps, making him shiver despite the heat.

Something cracks in her face for just a second, and Rafe gets a glimpse of something that looks a lot like guilt. His heart skips a beat, anxiety making the rhythm irregular.

“Rafe, I-“ Kiara starts, but she’s interrupted by the arrival of their car, a black SUV from a company that sounds vaguely familiar and obviously French.

“Shit,” Rafe curses under his breath as the driver rolls down the passenger side window, calling to him in lightly accented English.

“Reef Cameron?”

Kiara snickers next to him, and Rafe lets out an almost imperceptible sigh. He walks up to the car and nods in resignation.

“Yep, that’s me.” Rafe looks over his shoulder to make sure Kiara is following him.

“Right behind you, Reef!” He can’t tell if the glint in her eyes is from the teasing or the sun.

Once they’re settled in the car (Rafe tries not to read into the fact that Kiara chooses to squeeze in next to him instead of putting their bags between them), he tries to circle back.

“You were going to say something, Kie?” He tries to sound casual and fails spectacularly.

“No I uh…” She glances out the window, her eyes obscured by dark sunglasses. “Was just going to ask. What the plan is once we get into the city.”

It’s obviously a lie. But part of Rafe is scared to know what she was really going to say, so he lets it go.

He rubs a hand up and down his head, grateful for the air blasting through the vents that’s neutralizing some of the oppressive heat leaking in from outside.

“I think the first step is to get a map of the area. I think I remember approximately where we need to go, but I need a visual to make sure. And as for how we get there…I figured we wouldn’t want to leave a paper trail. Something discreet. Once we get into the city we can get the lay of the land, figure something out.”

Kiara surprises Rafe by leaning into him and laying her head on his shoulder, nestling there like she needs to recharge. “Thank you for planning ahead. I’m sorry for being unprepared - I’ve been a little one track mind about getting here.” She’s apologetic, almost sheepish, and Rafe hates the uncertainty in her voice.

“I’d do anything for you.” It slips out before Rafe can stop it, the truth slipping from his mouth like water from a leaky faucet.

“I know,” Kiara whispers into the linen fabric of his shirt, her voice sounding a little hoarse and a little broken.

Instead of saying anything, Rafe reaches up and back to cradle her face, running soothing circles into the skin with his thumb.

They stay like for the rest of the trip into Essaouira, tangled together in a way that feels a little too desperate, a little too close to saying goodbye. But Rafe pushes down the sense of foreboding, telling himself he’s just being paranoid.

Everything is going to be okay, Rafe repeats over and over in his head as they pull up outside a fancy-looking hotel. She’s going to be okay. She’s going to be okay because she has to be. I’ll make sure of it.

But as they sling their backpacks over their shoulders and step onto the curb, Rafe has to smother his urge to wrap Kiara in his arms and force her on a plane back home, away from any potential danger.

She rubs some of the grit kicked up by the car out of her eyes and glances at the steadily sinking sun.

“Ready to get this show on the road, Reef? We’re losing daylight.”

“You’re gonna a lot of mileage out of that one, huh?” Rafe shakes his head as they start to wander through the crowded, dust-filled streets.

The language barrier is profound, so it takes a while to find someone who can get them a map of the area. By the time they’re able to get a local’s help in identifying the approximate location of Agapenta on the map, the sun is starting to kiss the edge of the horizon, bathing everything around them in golden light.

Rafe is about to suggest that they look into getting a hotel room for the night when they’re stopped by what he assumes is a French expat.

“I’m sorry,” the man says as he approaches, talking with a heavy French accent. “You two are American?”

Rafe’s about to tell the guy to fuck off, but Kiara gives him a look that makes him think that she really can read his mind.

“Yeah. That easy to tell, huh?” She replies easily, a friendly smile that looks almost genuine spreading across her face.

“Are you with the other two that just passed through? The father and son? We don’t get a lot of Americans in this area.” Rafe watches Kiara’s face drop, and he steps forward to answer instead.

“Yeah, you know what, we are. We got a little lost and now we’re separated.” He holds up the map for the man to look at. “Do you have any idea where they’re headed? And how long ago they were here?”

“You’re ‘on the right track,’ as you Americans say, yeah? It’s the same area you have circled there. I would say they passed through a little over an hour ago.”

“Great, that’s great.” Rafe hopes he doesn’t sound as full of dread as he feels. “Thank you…monsieur!”

“ Monsieur??” Kiara hisses as they walk away.

“I don’t know! I panicked!”

“So we need to get where we’re going, ASAP. And we need to make up some time.” Kiara grits her teeth unhappily. Rafe guesses she’s operating under the same sci-fi adjacent idea that he is, that they need to intercept Groff and JJ before they get to the Crown, and definitely before the equivalent point where Groff stabbed his own son in another life.

It’s some Back to the Future type shit, and it’s definitely not a sure thing. But Rafe isn’t sure what else they can do at this point, and he’s pretty confident Kiara doesn’t have any better ideas.

“Time to get some transportation, then.” Rafe starts checking the motorcycles and mopeds parked along the street, hoping the rapidly increasing shadows cover the fact that he’s trying to find one with the keys still in the ignition so they can steal it.

“I thought you said discreet,” Kiara whisper yells, trailing after him with the body posture of a disapproving mom.

“I also said leave no trail. And you just said that we need to hurry. So I’m improvising.” Rafe checks a few more bikes before moving along.

“I’m pretty sure it’ll leave a trail if we get arrested for theft! ”

“I don’t see you proposing anything better, Kiara!” Rafe straightens, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Well that shouldn’t be hard to do, because I’m pretty sure this is about as low as we can go, Rafe!” Kiara’s volume has gotten significantly louder, but Rafe doesn’t even get the chance to tell her to be quiet.

Someone clears their throat from a doorway nearby, and both Kiara and Rafe turn in alarm. There’s someone familiar staring at them with her arms folded over her chest. The girl is petite but muscular, her expression skeptical but amused.

“Holy shit, Cl-“ Kiara smacks Rafe before he can expose them and freak Cleo out, but her own eyes widen with shock.

“Uh…are you two arguing about trying to steal my bike?” Cleo saunters down the steps, sizing them up. “If you’re thieves, you’re the worst ones I’ve seen yet.”

Rafe never thought that her lilting accent and sharp sarcasm would be so comforting, but he feels an odd pang of nostalgia around this person that was never really his friend in the first place.

He didn’t believe in fate before all this alternative universe shit, but seeing Cleo here of all places feels like a sign that he can’t deny. So instead of lying, he decides to opt for the truth, hoping this Cleo is as much of a sharpshooter as the other.

“We were trying to.”

“Rafe.” Kiara looks at him like he’s lost his mind. Maybe he has.

“It’s okay, Kie.” He turns to Cleo, lifting his hands in a silent plea. “We need to get out of the city, alright? We’re following a very evil man, and if we don’t catch him, some very bad shit is going to go down.” Cleo raises her eyebrows. “I know that sounds stupid, but it’s true. We came all the way from the U.S. to stop this guy, and we have no way to get to him, and we’re desperate. So please don’t call the cops on us, or whatever. I promise we don’t mean any harm.”

Cleo looks at them for a long moment, her face giving nothing away.

“You look rich. You have any cash on you?” She pins Rafe with her searching gaze. The question catches him off guard.

“Uhhhh…only dollars. Not whatever currency they have here.” Out of the periphery, Rafe sees Kiara roll her eyes at his ignorance.

But Cleo just shrugs. “That works for me, rude boy. You supply a couple hundred dollars, I’ll supply the transportation, and we can go together. These are my boss’s bikes, so I can lend you one and join on the other.” Rafe blinks in surprise. “I know the area, and I’m a good person to have around in a pinch. For the right price, I’ll be your good-time guide.” Her smile is impersonal but warm, and Rafe sees Kiara take a small step forward, like a moth drawn to a flame.

“I thought you said these were your bikes,” Rafe can’t help but challenge her, folding his arms over his chest.

“My bosses’, mine. Basically the same thing.” Cleo’s face tenses slightly at the edges. “Do you want a way out of the city or not?”

“Alright. I’ll give you $200,” Rafe offers after a tense pause.

“No chance! $500, and that’s a steal.”

“$300.”

“$499.”

“Deal.” Rafe’s lips quirk up at her aggressive negotiating style. “But I’ll pay half up front, and the other half if we don’t die out in the desert.”

“Fair enough! Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Moneybags.” She sticks out a hand for him to shake, winking playfully. “I’m Cleo.”

Kiara seems to short circuit as Cleo turns to her. “Yeah we-“ Rafe clears his throat aggressively. “We’re…glad to meet you. I’m Kiara, this is Rafe.”

“Now that we’re buddies, should we get on the road? I heard you say that you’re in a hurry. Where are you rushing off to?”

“Yeah, actually, let me…” Rafe fumbles around in his pockets, searching for the map. “It’s a place called Agapenta. It’s not marked, but it should be about here.” He points to the circled area. “And I’m thinking…we head up this way?” Rafe points to a highlighted route, the one he took a year ago after he pushed Groff down a well.

Cleo considers the map for a moment with her lips pursed. “Your bad man is headed to Agapenta, too?”

“Yeah. He is.” Kiara’s voice is thick with emotion; Rafe wonders if Cleo notices.

“Well, I know a shortcut. If your bad man really did pass through an hour ago, we might be able to make up some time. And I guarantee you, they’ll have to stop somewhere on the way. They won’t make it there before dark, and trust me, no one wants to be in the desert at night. If they are, they’ll never even make it to Agapenta in one piece.”

“So what are we going to do, then? If we can’t be out at night?” Kiara asks, biting her lip anxiously.

“I know a place. An hour away, maybe 1.5. If we hustle we can make it before it’s totally dark. You two ready to rock and roll?” Cleo claps her hands together, all business.

Rafe glances at Kiara, who sways a little on her feet, almost imperceptibly. But of course he notices.

“Kie, you okay?” He reaches over and grips her forearm, but his heart drops through his stomach when she flinches. Rafe pulls back, trying not to feel wounded from the subtle rejection.

“Yeah I just…feeling a little lightheaded.” Kiara shakes her head slightly. “I think I might be a dehydrated, maybe a little hungry. Would you mind getting me some water from that stand over there? Maybe a snack?”

“Yeah, of course…” Rafe trails off, looking in the direction of the stand. It definitely does not look like the kind of establishment to take Am Ex Platinum. Maybe they can break a hundred?

“On me, moneybags.” Cleo waves a few colorful bills in front of his face. “They’re dirham. Take them and take care of your girl.”

Rafe opens his mouth, then quickly shuts it again. What was he even going to say?

I’ve been pining after her for years, but she’s not my girl. I actually told her I loved her and she didn’t say it back, and we’re in Morocco to save her boyfriend/lost love of her life. Yes, we’ve slept together multiple times, in multiple universes. Oh, I didn’t mention that this is an alternate reality? No, I totally don’t feel like I’m going to lose my shit. I feel very normal about all of this.

He glances at Kiara, taking in the faint blush on her cheeks and her downturned eyes. And then Rafe heads to the stand with a muttered “I’ll be back,” trying not to trip over his own feet.

It takes a lot longer than Rafe would have liked to communicate that he needs three waters and what looks like three mini watermelons. By the time he’s done, he has a little less cash and a lot less patience.

As he’s walking back from the stand, he watches from a distance as Kiara steps away from Cleo a little too quickly. The deeply ingrained, instinctual pessimism that lives deep in Rafe’s brain instantly surges forward, putting him on edge. It looks like they were having a conversation Kiara didn’t want him to see, maybe even exchanging something between the two of them. He approaches the girls with his eyes narrowed and his hackles raised.

But then Kiara flashes him a warm smile that tugs at his insides, flooding him with a fondness that would be embarrassing if he weren’t already so far gone.

“Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver,” Kiara sighs in relief, her eyes molten in the light of the descending sun. Her gratitude makes Rafe forget what he was even suspicious of in the first place.

“Technically, I’m the lifesaver. He used my money, after all,” Cleo pipes up, walking over to one of the bikes. “Shall we? Do you know how to drive one of these, Mr. Monopoly?” She tosses Rafe a set of keys as she swings one leg over her own bike.

“I think I liked moneybags better,” Rafe mutters as Kiara snickers again, climbing behind him onto the bike. “It’s been a minute, but I think I’ll manage.”

Rafe ignores Kiara’s protests and insists that she wear the only available helmet, while Cleo watches with a bemused expression.

“Try to keep up,” Cleo chirps after they finally stop arguing, pulling her helmet into place and taking off without another word.

They head east, away from the setting sun, with Kiara’s arms looped lightly around Rafe’s waist and her head resting between his shoulder blades.

Rafe tries not to tense under her soft grip, fighting hard to resist the urge to take one hand off the handlebars and cover one of her soft hands with his own. He stares at the landscape in front of them instead, focusing on the rolling dunes of sand that slowly change colors, from deep orange, to red, to purple. A few lights twinkle here and there in the distance, but mostly it’s just desolate desert, broken up only by a few sparse bushes and irregular rock formations.

Rafe has no concept of time as he follows Cleo on the dirt road, trying to keep up without killing both him and Kiara, but he guesses a little over an hour has passed when Cleo pulls over by a tiny village, more of an encampment than anything. The last few traces of light are disappearing behind the horizon, but not a single star is visible past the deep blue clouds.

“Alright, this is our home for the night. I know this these people well. They’re the best.” Cleo hops off her bike and starts chatting with a few people in what sounds like Arabic.

“Cleo, tell them I can pay them a few hundred dollars,” Rafe calls out, scratching his head self-consciously.

Cleo rolls her eyes, her hands moving to her hips. “Now what are they going to do with your Monopoly money, rude boy? I’ll give them some cash they can actually use. Consider it rolled into my total price.”

One of the residents of the tiny village emerges from a tent and gestures for Rafe and Kiara to sit down on one of several logs ringing a large fire. Rafe feels like an asshole for not even knowing how to say thank you as they’re each handed a plate of food, some kind of charred meat and bread that smells delicious.

Cleo plops down next to them after a few minutes of chatting. “They rejected the money, told me they’re happy to help. You’ll be in that tent,” she gestures to a small structure about 15 feet away. “And I’ll be right across from you.” Kiara opens her mouth, presumably to argue, but Cleo waves her off. “Just make sure to eat the food they gave you. Don’t even bother asking me what it is, because I have no idea. Best not to ask any questions.”

The three eat in silence, their utensils scraping the plates as they dig in. Rafe is pleasantly surprised that he enjoys the meal, but most of his focus is taken up by Kiara. She’s withdrawn into herself again; her posture is rigid and her stare is fixed somewhere in the distance. At this point, Rafe thinks he would give up a limb for a peek at any of the thoughts rolling around in her mind.

“I almost forgot!” Cleo’s voice is so loud that Rafe nearly drops his plate. “They gave us their speciality. Moonshine! One bottle for each of you, one for me.” She pulls three bottles from a tote bag that are the size of full handles of liquor.

“Oh we don’t need…” Rafe starts, but Kiara cuts him off, nudging his shoulder.

“C’mon Rafe. It’s been forever since we drank. We might as well, it could calm our nerves a little.”

“And it’s rude to reject their hospitality,” Cleo supplies unhelpfully. Rafe nearly scowls at her.

“Fine, fine. I guess I could have a few sips,” Rafe relents. Kiara smiles, but there’s something off about it. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

But he doesn’t have much time to think about it, because the next second they’re twisting the lids off their bottles and downing the moonshine as Cleo gives toast after toast in some haphazard blend of French and Arabic.

Eventually, after what seems like one hundred toasts, Cleo yawns dramatically and stands up, her bottle still in hand. “I’m going to take the rest of mine to go, maybe drink a little more in my tent. I’ll see you two in the morning, yeah? First light of dawn and we’re out of here.”

Then Cleo saunters out of sight. Rafe sits frozen beside Kiara, close enough to touch her, to feel the warmth radiating from her body. But he doesn’t reach out. He doesn’t want to face another rejection, a painful preview of the even worse rejection that he’s almost certain is imminent.

They drink in silence for a while, until everything blurs a little around the edges of Rafe’s vision. The light brown liquid scorches his throat and makes his eyes water, but he keeps drinking because Kiara brings her own bottle to her lips again and again. And it’s a good way to keep his mouth busy, because he has no goddamn idea what to say.

Kiara’s voice startles him when she finally speaks. “You’ve barely touched me since we got on the plane.” She’s staring down at the embers of the crackling fire, avoiding eye contact.

Rafe takes a deep breath, holding it until it hurts. “When I tried earlier, you flinched. I didn’t think you wanted me to. Ever since the morning we left, you’ve been acting…” Kiara’s eyebrows furrow. “I didn’t want you to feel like…I don’t expect you to…” He shakes his head in frustration, like he’s trying to knock the right words loose.

He takes another swig of moonshine and tries again. “The way things have been between us. What we’ve been doing…I don’t expect it to be like that anymore.”

Kiara angles her body towards Rafe, really looking at him for what feels like the first time all day. “What are you talking about?” Her voice is low and guarded, but something lurks just below the surface.

“When we kill Groff, when we get JJ and bring him back home…” Rafe hesitates, taking another sip from the bottle before taking the dive. He’s too tipsy to be anything but honest. “I don’t think things are going to be the same. With us.”

Kiara presses the heel of her free hand to her forehead, massaging the skin there. “Rafe, don’t do this again.”

“No, I’m not trying to fight with you, alright?” Rafe rubs an anxious hand over his head. “I’m just trying to say that I understand, Kie.”

“What exactly do you understand, Rafe?” Kiara’s voice is sharp, cutting through the humidity like a cold wind.

“You’re going to make me say it??” Rafe’s voice is louder now. “Fine!” He throws his free hand up, taking the biggest swig of liquor yet. “If you want to be with him, alright? That’s what all of this is leading to, isn’t it?”

Kiara stares at him for a long moment, her lips twitching and her chest heaving. Her eyes glow menacingly in the orange light of the fire, like there’s a wildfire raging through her insides. And then she’s on her feet, her fingers closing around Rafe’s as she drags him towards their tent. “We’re not doing this here. Come with me.”

Once they’re inside the tent, Kiara wheels on him, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly. “Rafe, JJ helped kidnap me. He helped break into my apartment. He’s probably an accomplice to Big John’s murder. Romance is the last thing on my mind right now, alright? I’m just trying to save his life!”

“But then what, Kiara??” Rafe sways a little on his feet, his voice cracking with desperation. “This isn’t the only version of JJ that matters to you. You two have history.”

“Yeah, well, so do we,” Kiara replies stubbornly, flicking her curly hair over her shoulder. She looks so angry and resolute, and a million memories flicker through Rafe’s mind of the exact same expression on her face.

God, he loves her. And he wants so badly to believe her, but deep down he knows that-

“It’s not the same,” Rafe whispers, his voice hoarse and raw like the words clawed up his throat against his will.

Kiara takes a small step back, her lips parting in wounded shock. But Rafe can’t stop now, not when the truth is finally coming out.

“If the JJ here acted like the other one, I think we both know that this would never have happened.” The bottle tumbles to the ground as he clutches at his chest with one hand and points between the two of them with the other. It takes him a while to notice the look on Kiara’s face through the tears that spring into his eyes.

“Well it is happening, Rafe! So fucking deal with it!” Now it’s Rafe’s turn to take a shocked step backwards as the words explode out of Kiara. She advances on him, her voice rising steadily. “Wrap your little boy brain around the fact that I care about you! Stop acting like this is just some mistake, some glitch in the matrix that I want to erase. Stop acting like I’m so lonely and depressed that I don’t know what I’m doing. I chose this, Rafe. I chose you.” She’s within arm’s reach now, but Rafe’s limbs have stopped functioning along with his brain.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, when I’m standing here, telling you this matters. Yes, it’s complicated, but this is real, Rafe. It’s the only thing that feels real, sometimes.” Kiara reaches for him, her voice and eyes growing impossibly soft. Her fingertips dig into his forearm as she pulls him closer, looking up into his face.

“And we will figure it out, I promise. But right now, I need you to help me. I can’t do this without you. I just need you to be here with me,” Kiara whispers, pressing her face into Rafe’s sternum.

His hand comes up instinctually to cup the nape of her neck. He holds her closer as a storm of emotions rages in his chest, right under the point where her cheek brushes against his shirt. “Always,” he whispers into her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Kiara reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck, pushing herself up onto her tiptoes and into his space. Rafe can feel that she’s shaking as she presses her soft lips to his. The kiss is deep and slow, like she’s trying to commit him to memory, like she’s trying to savor every second of improbable closeness.

She tastes like moonshine and memories, and for a moment Rafe feels a flash of hope for an unlikely future. A future where things aren’t so complicated, messy, fucked up. A future where Rafe could give love freely, where he could receive it in return without conditions.

A future where they could bury the horrors of the past, where they could exorcise their demons and start anew by each other’s side. A future with Kiara, no matter what it might look like.

Rafe grips Kiara’s jaw with one hand and slips his tongue into her mouth, wanting her to taste his absolute devotion, his certainty about her, his love. And she opens her mouth to receive him like she knows what he wants to say, like she might even feel the same way.

She clutches his shirt like she’s drowning and he’s the oxygen, like he’s the only thing keeping her afloat in the raging rapids of this fucked up reality. But Rafe knows the opposite is true.

When he finally pulls away, his breathing is hard and his pupils are blown. He cups Kiara’s face between both hands, forcing her to look at him fully.

“Kie…if anything happened to you…you’re everything to me. The only thing.” Rafe thinks the impact of his words might be dulled slightly by the way he slurs them, and he curses himself for drinking so much.

Kiara reaches up and traces his bottom lip with her pointer finger, her eyes full of fondness and something harder to pin down. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you.” Kiara’s mouth quirks up into a sad half-smile. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter. I mean it regardless.”

“I know you do.” Kiara brushes a hand over the nape of his neck, the motion featherlight and tender. “Let’s go to bed, okay? We’re going to need the rest for tomorrow.”

Rafe lets Kiara lead him to the cot in the corner of the tent, feeling lightheaded and off-balance. He didn’t think he drank enough to be so wasted, but the low ceiling of the tent spins a little as he flops onto the cot. Kiara makes him drink a little water before turning off the camping lamp nearby, and Rafe distantly thinks that it’s strange that she seems so much less drunk than he is.

But then Kiara grabs his chin and turns his head, pulling Rafe into a bruising kiss that brings everything else to a standstill. When she releases his face and time starts moving again, she curls into Rafe’s side like it’s second nature, like there’s nowhere else she could possibly be.

The buzz from the alcohol and Kiara’s lips fills Rafe’s mind with a pleasant static, lulling him into a deceptively peaceful sleep.

Right before he starts dreaming of blood-stained sand and tortured screams again, Kiara’s voice cuts through the heavy fog of Rafe’s sleep. She’s whispering things that sound a lot like apologies, but they land in his gut like goodbyes.

———————————————————————

When Rafe wakes up in the morning, the sun is too high, his mouth is too dry, and the space next to him is too empty.

He blinks the sleep from his eyes, groaning in protest at the throbbing in his head. He tries to sit up, but for some reason he can’t quite put his finger on, it’s more difficult to move than usual.

“Don’t freak out if it’s hard to move, Sleeping Beauty.” A voice that is definitely not Kiara’s speaks from somewhere in the tent. “Your wrists and feet are bound. And I tie a mean knot.”

Rafe’s head whips to the right, exacerbating the pounding in his skull. Cleo is sitting cross-legged on the ground, casually playing with her knife like it’s just a normal Tuesday.

“Sorry, what the fuck? That’s supposed to make me not freak out?” Rafe thrashes around like a fish caught on a hook. “What the FUCK is going on? Where the hell is Kiara? FUCKING UNTIE ME!!”

“She told me you would be like this.” Cleo sighs like Rafe is the problem. “She’s gone, man. Took off at dawn. Don’t hate me for helping her, but she had a shit ton of cash on her. Made an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

She stands up, dusting her pants off as she walks over to Rafe. She sets a folded piece of paper in his lap, opening it without looking at the note scrawled in Kiara’s handwriting.

“She told me to give you this, and to get you back to Essaouira. She told me to knock you out and drag you behind the motorcycle, if I had to.”

Rafe barely hears Cleo as he reads the short note over and over, staring at it until his vision blurs and little spots of wetness start to appear on the paper.

I’m sorry. I hope you understand that I can’t lose you too.

No matter what you think, you’re a good person, Rafe. Don’t forget that. - Kie

Rafe doesn’t even feel the tears running down his face, doesn’t notice as Cleo looks at him with a torn expression. All he can see, all he can think about is blood. Kiara’s blood spreading on the sand, leaking from his dreams into the real world.

“Well, you’re going to have to fucking do that then, because there’s no way in hell that I’m not going after her. Fucking untie me, Cleo! We’re wasting fucking time!”

She stares at him for a long time, something like sympathy mixed with pity flickering in her eyes. “You really love her.” It’s an observation, not a question. A statement of fact.

“She’s a fucking idiot,” Rafe whispers, only half-listening. “Why the fuck would she do this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Cleo stares at him like he’s the dumbest person on this side of the Atlantic. “Because she loves you too. She has to. Why else would she go through all this trouble to keep you out of harm’s way?”

Rafe’s body shudders as another sob breaks loose from his chest. Cleo rubs her temples like she’s getting a headache.

“Oh for the love of Christ. Will you stop your wailing if I untie you?” Rafe blinks up at her in confusion, sniffing pitifully. Cleo doesn’t wait for an answer before reaching behind him and cutting his wrists and ankles free. “Pathetic,” she grumbles, not unkindly. “Get your shoes on and meet me outside.”

Rafe’s heart plummets out of his body when he grabs his backpack and realizes it’s lighter than it should be. He hadn’t been as slick as he thought after all - Kiara had noticed the gun, and she’d stolen it when she went after Groff. He feels bile rise in his throat as he walks out of the tent, acidic and sharp and hot.

“Hop on, Mr. Monopoly. We have to make up some time if we want to catch up to her.” Cleo hands Rafe the helmet and grins at him over her shoulder. “By the way, my rate just doubled.”

———————————————————————

By the time Rafe and Cleo make it to their destination, the sun is already high and unrelenting overhead. Rafe shields his eyes with his hand and squints over Cleo’s shoulder, hoping the light is playing tricks on him.

But of course it’s not. There’s one car and one motorcycle parked outside the ruins, alongside hurried footsteps that lead to the place that haunts Rafe in both his sleeping and waking hours. He’s drawn forward by some sick sense of dread, like a car crash he can’t look away from.

As Rafe makes his way through the labyrinth of Agapenta’s ruins to the spot where JJ bled to death just over a year ago, his panic rises with every single dusty footstep. His heart is in his throat, his breathing is rapid, his palms are sweaty. Like his body is more prepared for disaster than his mind.

When Rafe finally gets there, he finds that much like last time, he’s missed all the action. It’s too late to stop the bleeding.

But unlike last time, it’s not JJ’s blood seeping into the sand.

Chapter Text

As she watches Rafe shift in his sleep under the predawn light, still drunk from the extra-strong moonshine they gave him, Kiara thinks about the night that he basically saved her life.

Even now, she hates to give him that much credit. But it was one of the lowest nights of her life, when the grief from JJ’s murder was raw and visceral and eating her from the inside out like an insatiable parasite. 

And Rafe had been there, like he always seemed to be. And usually that had pissed her off. But if not for him showing up that night, Kiara might have lost it for good, might have just given up entirely and let the ocean carry her away like a long-forgotten message in a bottle.

They were on the boat home from Morocco, and it was long after midnight on a starless night. But Kiara could almost never sleep. She was convinced that she might never really sleep again without JJ snoring next to her.

So she stepped out onto the deck to smoke a joint, trying to silence some of the deafening thoughts that were crashing around in her mind like cymbals.

Without really thinking about what she was doing, she found herself perched on the bow of the ship, staring out at the black water, her feet up on the second rung and her hands wrapped loosely around the railing.

She leaned forward over the front of the boat until her body was nearly perpendicular, the wind blowing out her joint and whipping her wild curls in her face.

Kiara wasn’t trying to slip and fall overboard, exactly. But she wasn’t really trying not to. She was at a point where she didn’t really care if she lived or died; it felt like her life had already ended, in a way. 

So she leaned over the railing to look out at the endless ocean, hoping it held answers to questions she couldn’t articulate, even if the answer was just unending silence. The kind that was dark and peaceful and final.

Kiara sensed Rafe before she saw him. He had been unavoidable lately; whenever he was around there was a shift in the air, a tangible change in energy whenever he walked into the room. He haunted Kiara like a specter of her future self, a Ghost of Christmas Future showing her what life would be like if she continued down the path of revenge.

His presence made Kiara livid, but not because she hated him. She was mad because she didn’t. Not anymore. 

She understood Rafe now, and that made her feel worse than anything. Because she had the same hate in her heart that he did, the kind she used to think was despicable and unforgivable and inhuman.

Because she used to think taking a life was unthinkable, and now the idea of it was the only thing keeping her sane. 

Rafe’s presence reminded her that she was no better than the person who had actually killed someone, and she wanted him to go the fuck away.

But Kiara didn’t say any of that, didn’t even acknowledge his existence. She just stared out at the infinite nothingness and waited for him to say something.

“You know, water that cold hits you like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body.”

Kiara blinked in surprise, turning to face him begrudgingly. “Are you quoting Titanic to me? That line is kind of a deep cut.”

Rafe shrugged, his face blanketed in shadows as he took a step forward. “It’s a classic.”

“I guess we do have something in common after all. I fucking love that movie.” Kiara stumbled a little over her words, but she was too far gone to care.

“So, you were leaning over the railing to look at the propellers, then?” Rafe’s voice was a little too tight, pulled taut by some emotion Kiara didn’t quite understand.

“I was thinking of jumping, actually.” Kiara’s honesty surprised her, but saying the words out loud was a relief. “Just fucking putting myself out of my misery.”

Rafe opened his mouth, then closed it. His expression was carefully neutral. “Do you want a cigarette?” He asked after a long pause.

Kiara laughed, loud and full-bodied and surprised. “You know what? Fuck yeah. I do.”

Rafe stepped forward with a cigarette in his outstretched hand, like he was bribing her to move away from the railing. Kiara reached for it without stepping down, and Rafe’s brow wrinkled in disapproval.

The fingers of his free hand closed around her wrist, gently tugging her down from the railing. His touch was firm but gentle, like he didn’t want to scare her off. Kiara realized it was probably the first time he’d really touched her in years.

She hoped it wasn’t obvious that she was blushing as Rafe let go and fished a lighter out of his pocket, the dull metal glinting in the starlight as he lit her cigarette.

Kiara exhaled the fragrant smoke casually, trying to act like she wasn’t falling apart inside. “Thanks,” she muttered in his general direction.

“It’s just a cigarette,” Rafe replied, his voice cool and even.

Kiara’s eye roll was a secret kept by the night sky. “Not the cigarette, idiot. For not asking if I’m like, okay.”

Rafe nodded, looking pensive. “I think that would be a pretty dumb fucking question, all things considered. You just told me you were about to throw yourself off the boat.”

His tone wasn’t sharp, but the words cut deep. Kiara sucked in a breath and let silence settle between them, trying not to give him the satisfaction of bleeding in front of him.

They were quiet for so long that Kiara almost thought he’d left.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Rafe said finally.

“Excuse me?” Kiara genuinely had no idea what he was talking about, her senses dulled by the weed and nicotine.

“Don’t convince yourself that…what happened was your fault. You’ll drive yourself nuts.” He took a long drag of his cigarette, avoiding eye contact.

Anger flared in her chest, along with something deeper, something more painful. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Rafe.”

“Not most of the time. But with this, I do.” He finally turned and looked at her, his eyes translucent under the pale moonlight. “I know what it is to fuck up. And you didn’t do anything wrong, Kiara.”

She wanted to yell at him, to curse him out, to tell him they were nothing alike. Instead, she could barely keep the tears at bay. “But I did. I wasn’t there for him.”

Rafe shook his head gently as he took another step closer. “You can’t fix everything, Kie. You can’t save everyone.”

“I can try. When it’s the people I love.” His gaze was too intense, his body too close. Kiara lashed out, hoping it would push him away. “But I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Rafe just shrugged, like he expected the insult. “Yeah, maybe not. But the universe is a crazy, fucked up place. You can only control a tiny sliver of things. The rest is kinda…impossible to change.”

“That’s terrifying.” The words came out as a whisper. Kiara cursed herself for being so vulnerable with him.

“Kinda. Or maybe it’s freeing.” Rafe leaned against the railing next to Kiara, his shoulder barely brushing hers. She tried to ignore the warmth that spread at the point of contact. “You decide.”

“Thanks, Socrates. Very helpful.” There was silence again as Kiara stubbed out her cigarette and Rafe did the same.

“Kie?” She hated that she didn’t hate the way her name sounded coming out of his mouth.

“What, Rafe?” She released the words like a long-held sigh.

“I’m glad you didn’t jump.” He said the words slowly, deliberately, letting them hang in the air before he continued. “Because this is not Titanic, and I definitely was not offering to jump in after you.”

But Kiara had never really believed him. Something in the way Rafe had said it made her believe that he would have jumped in after her, and she wore that information like a protective talisman without even realizing it. 

Her conversation with Rafe wasn’t enough to fix everything, to clear out the vengeance that had started to rot her from the inside out, to cool the anger that had started to twist her sense of self into something unrecognizable.

But it was enough to remind Kiara that she wasn’t completely alone. And on that night, that was enough to make all the difference. 

———————————————————————

Kiara thinks about Rafe’s words now as she gets to her feet. They echo in her head like a tornado siren, like a warning of perilous conditions to come.

You can’t fix everything. 

You can’t save everyone. 

And maybe she should have listened to him from the beginning, but Kiara has always been a little too stubborn to be good at taking advice.

Kiara knows that even now, it’s not too late to step back, to let events unfold without interference. She could try and swallow the harsh truth that she has limited control over this chaotic world, could try and remind herself that sometimes the harder you try to fix things, the more you end up breaking them. 

And as Kiara watches Rafe’s face scrunch in his sleep, she nearly decides to wake him up and tell him that they should go home. 

She almost convinces herself that JJ will be fine without her, that there’s no way the same devastating events could repeat in multiple realities. Because what would be the statistical likelihood of that? Surely close to zero.

But then she thinks of JJ’s warm smile, of the specific way his eyes used to light up when the Pogues were all together and she would play them a song on her ukulele. 

Kiara thinks of his unwavering loyalty, his reckless dedication, the way he wouldn’t hesitate to put himself in harm’s way for their little family. 

She thinks of their decade of friendship and the years of being more than that, of the countless nights of listening to his breathing in her ear because JJ always fell asleep first. 

She thinks about the gaping wound JJ’s death had left in her body, in her life, in her soul; how the knowledge that she could have done more to stop it only twisted the knife.

She thinks about the way she sometimes feels like a walking corpse, like she left the earth when JJ did and Rafe just forgot to bury her body beside his.

But the guilt and the shame and the fucking regret throb inside Kiara like a second heartbeat, a painful reminder that she’s very much still alive.

And even though nearly everything is different here, she still feels that second heartbeat in her chest. The love and the guilt pulse unrelentingly through her body, reminding her that she can’t leave anything to chance. Not this time.

Kiara will never be able to stop blaming herself if she doesn’t see this through until the end, if she doesn’t actually do everything in her power to save JJ from the heartless betrayal she refuses to call fate. 

So as much as she’s doing this for JJ, she’s also doing it for herself. For Rafe.

Because how is she supposed to love Rafe in the way he loves her, in the way that he deserves, when all she can see is JJ’s lifeless body every time she closes her eyes to kiss him?

So Kiara leans over the man that she’s grown to love in the ways she can with a half-functioning heart, giving him a wordless goodbye before she can change her mind. She presses the lightest kiss to the wrinkle between Rafe’s brows and watches as his forehead instantly smoothes, like her touch is soothing even in sleep.

Kiara ducks out of the tent before her soft, broken sobs can wake him. The last thing she needs is for Rafe to realize what’s happening and trying to stop her before she can slip away.

Kiara knows Rafe is going to flip his shit when he wakes up, and not just because she got Cleo to agree to tie him up. But because they’re more similar than either of them would ever admit, Kiara thinks that he’ll understand, even if he can’t forgive her.

As she hops onto one of Cleo’s bikes, Kiara thinks about how ironic it is that Rafe has always looked at her like he’s scared of breaking her, like he can’t be trusted with anything fragile between his hands.

In reality, he’s the only person who saw Kiara at her most broken and still looked at her like she was a whole person, like her jagged edges could cut him and he wouldn’t mind the bleeding. 

And as the first pale glow of the sun starts to lighten the deep blue sky, Kiara thinks about the fact that being around Rafe has been healing, but not because he was trying to fix her. 

His steady presence, his acceptance of her at her lowest, the way he never asked for anything in return, have allowed her to slowly pick up the shattered fragments of her life. His support has allowed her to stay on her feet and end up where she is now, leaving him behind in an attempt to keep him in one piece.

Kiara turns the key on the bike and heads out onto the open road, the map in her pocket and the pistol in her bag. The knowledge that she’s about to do the worst thing she’s ever done for the best people she’s ever known is wrapped around her heart like a shield. She thinks Rafe would understand that, too.

———————————————————————

When Kiara miraculously arrives at Agapenta before Groff and JJ, she almost starts to believe in fate again. Almost.

But she can’t afford to start believing in predestination with JJ’s life hanging in the balance, so she starts telling herself the things toxic business bros always say after reading one self-help book: We make our own luck. We are in control of our own destinies.

Kiara repeats these affirmations to herself as she stows the bike behind a tree. Cleo was right after all - the shortcut brought her to the old city a different way, so Groff and JJ should be approaching from the opposite direction.

She knows she’s been handed an advantage and she shouldn’t waste it. Kiara surveys the scene in front of her, scanning the barren landscape as she tries to figure out what the hell to do next.

What would a calm, non-pissed-off Rafe do right now?

She reaches for the gun dragging down her backpack like a dead weight, then pauses. In theory, she knows how to shoot a gun. In theory. 

But the only real experience Kiara had with a gun was when she was 12 years old, when her dad made her shoot his rifle when he brought her hunting. The experience scarred her so much that she’d cried the whole way home and had made Mike promise to give up hunting for good.

So it’s safe to say that using the gun is a last resort. She’s almost as likely to shoot herself as she is Groff.

Kiara feels hot panic start to expand in her chest, pushing out all the oxygen. She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing, and she’s completely alone now. Why the hell did she think she could do this?

She takes a deep breath, letting the desert air scorch her lungs as she grounds herself. 

Focus, Kiara, focus. What would Rafe do?

Rafe’s calming voice whispers in the back of her mind, listing out the steps she should follow, things she can use to her advantage: Find the higher ground so you can see when they’re approaching. Use the element of surprise to your advantage. Try to get JJ alone.

Kiara knows where the Crown is, so she figures that’s as good a place as any to start. She makes her way through the labyrinthine city hesitantly, unsure of what lurks in the shadows around each corner, treading lightly over the phantoms that slither between the cracks in the dry ground.

By the time she makes it to the elevated statue in the center of Agapenta, Kiara is sweaty, dehydrated, and covered in gritty dust. The sun is beating unrelentingly overhead, so she ducks into the shadows for a sip of water. Each blink is slower and longer than before, her eyelids weighed down by the dust and the heat. 

Kiara is startled awake by the sound of two voices approaching, carried to her by the arid wind. The sun is lower overhead.

Fuck, she must have dozed off.

And even though she can’t make out what they’re saying yet, she’d recognize one of the voices anywhere. JJ. 

Kiara’s heart lurches as she presses herself flat against the backside of the statue, stirring up dust that nearly makes her sneeze. She clamps a hand over her nose as the voices get closer.

“I don’t understand why we’re in such a big fucking rush. We’re the only ones out here!” JJ sounds irritated and out of breath.

“JJ, you know that some very powerful people are getting very anxious to get their money back. And we’re not the only people looking for the crown. I guarantee it.” Groff’s voice is icy as ever, even in the overwhelming heat.

“Can we at least talk about my mom?” Their voices are just on the other side of the pillar now. Kiara holds her breath, scared of making even the faintest sound. “You’ve been avoiding all my questions ever since we left the OBX, Groff. Why did Kiara bring her up?” Kiara nearly tumbles over at the mention of her name.

“Obviously because she was trying to do this. Distract you, get in your head. Which is why we’ll talk about it later, JJ.” There’s a sharp edge to Groff’s voice now, a crack in his composure. “I promise I’ll tell you everything you want to know. But right now, we need to focus on getting the crown before that dust storm rolls in. I need your eyes on the prize, son.”

“Fine,” JJ grumbles. “It’s supposed to be around here, isn’t it?” Kiara holds her body so tense that her muscles start to cramp, hoping against hope that they don’t round the base of the statue and see her crouching behind it.

“According to the map, yes. It should be somewhere in or around this statue.” They silently shuffle around for a few minutes.

“Groff, right up there!” JJ calls eventually. Kiara notes with interest that JJ isn’t calling Groff ‘dad’ at the moment. “Do you see it? The little slot in the eye of the statue? It has to be in there, right?”

Groff grunts in approval. “That’s what I’m talking about, son. You’re okay with getting it down for us, right?” Kiara hears what she assumes is Groff clapping JJ on the shoulder. “I’m going to go look around the rest of the ruins, see if there’s anything else of value around here. Call me when you have the crown.” Groff’s (probably exorbitantly expensive) shoes crunch in the sand as he walks down the sloped hill back into the city. “Good luck!” He calls, his voice already faint.

“Guess I’m scaling this thing, then,” JJ sighs to himself. “Thanks for the fucking concern for my wellbeing, dad.” Something about the way he spits out the last word gives Kiara a surge of hope. Maybe this isn’t a lost cause, after all. Maybe she really can convince JJ to leave with her.

She spends the entire duration of JJ’s climb alternating between different kinds of worry - worry that he’s going to break his neck, and worry about what the hell she’s going to say once he makes it down. She has no idea how she’s supposed to approach him without sounding absolutely insane.

By the time JJ returns to the ground with a sharp crunch and a loud whoop, Kiara’s mind is still completely blank. But she can’t risk JJ calling Groff before she talks to him, so she takes a deep breath and steps out of the shadows with her hands raised.

“JJ, don’t freak out.” She says it as calmly as she can, but JJ still yelps as he whirls around. His entire face goes slack even as his body tenses, like he’s expecting a blow. The fear in his face makes Kiara’s heart lurch.

“Holy shit, Kiara?? How did you…you were…” JJ stumbles over his words, like his tongue is too heavy in his mouth. “How are you here right now?”

Kiara takes a tentative step forward. “There’s no time to explain everything. We just need to get the fuck out of here, Jayj.”

JJ shakes his head, the way he does when he’s not really listening. “Kiara, I know you’re angry at me. And I’m so, so, sorry for what Groff did to you. What we did to you.” He runs a hand through his damp, messy hair, making it stand up haphazardly. “I don’t know if you came here for vengeance or some shit, or to take the crown for yourself. But I can’t just leave, alright? It’s complicated. Please don’t like, murder me?”

Kiara rolls her eyes, but there’s no bite to it. “Don’t be so fucking dramatic. I’m not mad, okay? And I don’t give a shit about the crown. I’m here to get you the fuck away from Groff.”

JJ’s brows draw together, but he doesn’t say anything. His head is titled to the side, like he’s listening with his whole body.

“Listen JJ…I don’t know how much you know. I don’t know how much you care to know. But Groff is dangerous. I know you know that. He broke into my apartment, he kidnapped me. He killed Big John, he killed your mother-“

“Stop! Fucking stop.” JJ’s hands are shaking as he points at her. “You don’t know that. You don’t know any of that.”

“But I do.” Kiara’s voice is soft but certain. “He used you for an alibi, but you don’t know where he was the night of the murder, do you?”

JJ’s silence is louder than any response could be. Kiara drops her backpack from her shoulder and rustles around in it, gingerly pushing the gun out of the way to find what she’s looking for. She holds out Big John’s compass for JJ to see, the bronze exterior glinting in the sunlight.

“Rafe found this in Groff’s desk, the night of the Memorial Day party. You remember this, right? Big John always had this on him when we were younger. He let us use it, sometimes. To find our way back home.” Unexpected tears form in Kiara’s eyes at the memory.

“No, no. He’s lying.” JJ’s voice is shaking along with his hands now. “Rafe probably got that from Ward.”

“He didn’t, JJ. And deep down, I think you know that.” Kiara watches JJ’s throat bob erratically. She hates to push him when he’s already cracking, when she can practically see the fractures forming in his heart. But she needs to get through to him, even if the only way is to break him down entirely. She takes another step forward, ready to deliver the blow.

“I can only imagine how much it must hurt, Jayj. To have the shittiest dad for your whole life, to finally get the relief of knowing that Luke’s not actually your dad. And then you had the chance to meet this new person, one that could be the amazing father you’ve been dreaming about your whole life.” 

JJ stares at Kiara as she talks. She sees tortured emotions surfacing in his bright blue eyes, emotions that he tries to keep buried in places too deep to find.

“It must have been devastating, when the dream of a great father turned into a nightmare. It’s so unfair, to be willing to do anything for a person that won’t do the same for you. Isn’t it?” JJ opens his mouth, hesitates, then closes it again.

“I think you know that Groff doesn’t love you, JJ. He’s just using you.” JJ’s intake of breath is sharp, wounded. “But you don’t love him either. You just feel like you should.”

“He’s my dad.” JJ’s whisper is barely audible over the steadily increasing wind.

“So what?” Kiara’s anger breaks through her calm exterior like a pebble rippling across smooth water. She thinks about all these shitty fathers, about the pain they’ve inflicted on their kids. She thinks about Luke, about Groff, about Ward, even Big John. All of them selfish, all of them treating their kids like afterthoughts, like means to an end. 

“What does being a dad even mean to these people? Being abusive and manipulative towards the people they’re supposed to love most in the world, that they’re supposed to protect and look out for? Twisting love into control, using fear to make you fall in line?”

Kiara sees tears forming in JJ’s eyes, notices the way his bottom lip is trembling. She wraps her hand around his wrist loosely, trying to comfort him.

“You don’t owe Groff anything, even if it feels like it, JJ. Because he’s not your family. We are.” His piercing eyes flit up to hers in surprise. “I know we haven’t been…there for you. Not like we should have been. But we love you. We’ll help you. We’ll be there, no matter what. I promise. I should have said this a long time ago, but I’m saying it now. Things are going to be different, JJ. I’ll make sure of it.” 

He has no way to know how much Kiara means these words, that she means them so much that she willed a whole different reality into existence. Tears start to slip down her face in earnest, but JJ still shakes his head.

“You’re just saying this to get the crown. You’re just trying to use me, like he is. Like everyone does.”

“Fuck the crown, JJ!” The strength of Kiara’s voice startles them both. “I’ll climb back up there and leave it for Groff, if that’s what it takes. I just want you to be okay. I don’t trust him, Jayj, and I’m scared something is going to happen to you. Please. I need you to believe me.” She grabs his other wrist, forcing him to look her in the eye. JJ flinches, but he doesn’t look away.

“Where would we even go?” He finally asks. “We’re in the middle of the fucking desert.” Hope starts to bloom in Kiara’s chest, like the first flowers after a long winter.

“I have a bike. And we have a plane, too, back in the city. We can get out of here. We can go home.”

“We?” JJ’s face falls a little. “Don’t tell me you brought King Kook with you, Kiara.”

“Don’t be like that, JJ. Rafe has been helping this whole time. He’s….different now.” JJ raises his eyebrows. “Besides, who the hell else do you know that has a private plane?”

JJ stares at Kiara skeptically, and for a long moment she thinks he’s going to turn her down. But he surprises her by threading his fingers through hers and tugging her towards the nearest path that leads out of the city. Relief surges through Kiara so intensely that she almost feels lightheaded.

“Alright. But I’m driving the bike, Carrera. Can you fit the crown in your bag?”

The recognizable click of a pistol stops them in their tracks. Kiara and JJ freeze as they take in Groff standing in their path, pointing a semi-automatic weapon in their direction. Kiara clutches the backpack against her chest with her free hand, expecting to feel terrified. But all she really feels is pissed. 

Because this isn’t happening again. She won’t let it.

———————————————————————

“So much for blood being thicker than water, right son? All it takes is a please from a pretty girl to win your loyalty, eh?” Groff’s all pointy teeth and malevolence as he sneers at them, the gun steady in his hand.

“Dad-“ JJ takes a small step forward and angles himself in front of Kiara, but she yanks him back into place beside her.

“Save it, JJ. I just want the crown. I don’t care about your excuses. I already knew you couldn’t be trusted.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you really think I would trust a child with the whereabouts of the crown?” JJ flushes. “With intimate details of my business dealings? With my alibi for murder? Especially after your sudden interest in your mother, thanks to this one.” Groff gestures at Kiara with disdain. “You think I would ever trust you?”

The silence that follows is more suffocating than the sand kicked up by the gusts of wind. Kiara holds her breath as she slips a hand into the backpack, searching for the smooth, heavy metal.

“I was your last loose end. You were always going to kill me once I helped you get what you wanted.” The words come out raw and weak, like they’re torn out of JJ’s throat.

Groff nods mockingly. “Just like your poor, sweet mother.” JJ’s hand tightens around Kiara’s, his nails digging little crescents into the back of her hand. “We could have had a good life together, you know. But she was always so curious, so disapproving. She didn’t want her family’s money used ‘dishonestly,’ whatever that means. She wouldn’t stop digging, wouldn’t stop finding out things that upset her. She threatened to divorce me, take all her family’s money with her. I’m sure you guess what happened next.” 

“You’re a fucking monster.” Kiara is so distracted by her slow hunt for the gun that she’s almost too late to hold JJ back, to tighten her grip and remind him that they’re being held at gunpoint.

“Maybe, but I always get what I want, don’t I?” Groff’s teeth glint as he squints into the light of the setting sun. His eyes only narrow for a moment, but Kiara knows it’s the only opportunity she’s going to get. 

“We’ll see about that.” The backpack falls to the ground as Kiara grips the pistol with both hands, leveling it at Groff. 

JJ gapes at the gun in shock. Even Groff seems caught off guard, his usual smirk wiped off his face.

Kiara vaguely thinks that they probably look ridiculous, waving weapons at each other like they’re in a medieval duel. 

But it’s a game of chicken now, an old-fashioned battle of wills. And no one’s more committed to seeing this through than Kiara - she’s absolutely certain of that.

“I think we’ve heard enough, you fucking murderer. I’m going to talk now, and you’re going to listen.” Groff tilts his head in a motion that’s eerily reminiscent of JJ.

“We’ll give you the crown, but not because we’re feeling generous. In exchange, what I want in return is to never see your face again. You’re going to fuck off and let JJ walk away from this. From you. Forever.”

Kiara’s tries to sound as resolute as possible, hoping the lie isn’t evident in her voice. Because even if they give Groff the crown, she has no intention of letting him live to see another day. All she needs now is to get JJ out of the line of fire. And pray that she doesn’t shoot herself in the foot.

“And you’re not going to touch him. Because if you do, I swear on my life that I’ll fucking kill you. You’re lucky I haven’t pulled the trigger already, you piece of shit.”

Groff smiles, but it’s a little less smug than usual. A little less sure. “Do you even know how to shoot that thing, darling?”

“Do you really want to find out?” Kiara imitates his tone.

Before Groff can respond, a wall of dust descends on them with such intensity that it knocks Kiara off balance. She stumbles around as sand fills up her mouth, her nostrils, the crevices in her eyes. The wind whips her hair into her face and knocks her bag onto the ground.

“SHIT!” She thinks she hears JJ curse through the haze of the sandstorm, but then she doesn’t hear anything else for a long time. It’s impossibly loud yet eerily quiet in the way that only storms can be.

Kiara coughs, but it just lets more of the whirling debris into her body. She staggers around aimlessly, unable to see, barely able to think. She reaches out for JJ, but all she gets in return are handfuls of sand.

“KIARA!” JJ’s voice sounds like it’s coming from the end of a narrow tunnel. 

“JJ?? Where are you?” Her reply is swept away by the relentless wind.

And then she hears a gunshot crack through the swirling, angry air, followed by another. Kiara yelps and lurches to the side, her body reacting to the sound of the shot. She feels the familiar panic start to rise as she blindly gropes for JJ, the desperate sense that she’s too late to save him. She’s terrified that everything is slipping through her fingers again, just like the sand sliding against her palms now.

“Jayj?? Are you okay?” Kiara cries desperately as she looks around, one arm thrown across her face in a fruitless shield.

“I’m okay! Try to find cover!” JJ’s voice is warped and distorted, like they’re no longer talking on the same frequency.

Kiara covers her mouth firmly with her sleeve and makes her way down the slope of the hill, her shoes slipping on the sand with every step. A misplaced step onto a loose stone sends her tumbling ass first down the rest of the incline, depositing her in front of one of the wooden doors that leads back into the old city. 

Kiara winces as she gets to her feet, a little banged up and a little bruised, but still in one piece. She tries to squint back up the hill, but she still can’t see anything through the sandstorm.

Well, at least I made good time.

“JJ?? JJ, where are you?” Kiara yells for him as she enters the city before thinking better of it. Groff is still around here somewhere, and he’s probably still armed. Kiara suddenly realizes that she’s supposed to be armed too, but she’s no longer holding the gun. She must have lost it somewhere in the chaos of the storm, and she certainly doesn’t have time to waste looking for it now. She needs to find JJ, before it’s too late.

Kiara winds her way through the twisty corridors of the city, partially blind and completely unsure of where she’s going. 

Until she walks through an open doorway that looks vaguely familiar.

No, not vaguely familiar. Too familiar. 

Because this is a place she sees in her nightmares, that runs red with JJ’s blood. This is the setting of the moment that changed her life forever. That ruined it. 

As soon as she realizes her mistake, Kiara darts for the doorway, trying to get away from this haunted place. But it’s too late. Strong arms wrap around her middle from behind, lifting her off the ground as she struggles to free herself.

“Get the FUCK off of me!!” Kiara writhes and kicks against Groff’s grip, knocking the gun out of his hand with her flailing. She throws her weight towards the ground with a yell, successfully kicking the gun out of his reach before he re-secures his hold.

“You little bitch,” Groff spits into her ear, his hot breath coming out in strained puffs against her neck. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that.”

The sand is slowly clearing from the air, but Kiara still hears JJ before she sees him. “Kiara??” 

No, no, no. Panic grips her insides as JJ appears in the doorway. Kiara needs more time. She needs to get him away from here.

“No, JJ DON’T! Run! Take the bike! Go get help! Don’t come in here!” Groff clamps a hand over her mouth, and Kiara tries in vain to sink her teeth into his hand.

“Don’t listen to your little friend, JJ. If you do that, she’ll be dead by the time you get back.” Hot tears slip down Kiara’s face as cool, sharp metal digs into the soft skin of her neck. She’s not crying because she’s scared of something happening. She’s crying because she knows it will. 

“Look, I don’t even give a shit about the crown, alright?? Just let her go. Let her go, dad.” JJ approaches with his arms raised, the crown clutched tightly in his right hand.

“You don’t get to pull the ‘dad’ card now, JJ. No son of mine would act the way you did.” Kiara scoffs under Groff’s hand, and he digs the point of the knife a little deeper into her neck.

“Good. I don’t want to be anything like you. I thought blood made someone family. But it doesn’t. We don’t just have to take what’s handed to us. We get to choose our family. We get to choose who we become. And I choose to be better than my bloodline. I choose to be better than you.”

Kiara’s whimper is muffled by Groff’s hand. The tears start falling faster now as she stares at JJ - her sweet, lovely, reckless boy. The boy who’s always deserved better than he gets, who gives everything he has and never expects anything in return.

“You want to talk about blood, do you?” Groff sneers. “Give me the crown, boy. Or I’ll slit her fucking neck and I guarantee we’ll see some.”

“Don’t fucking touch her, you son of a bitch.” JJ holds the crown out, thrusting it in Groff’s direction. “Take the goddamn crown.” Kiara shakes her head vehemently, trying to gesture with her eyes for him to run. “Kie, it’s alright.” His voice is soothing as he reaches for her, unaware of the disaster right beyond the bend in the road.

Groff releases Kiara and lunges for the crown, snatching it from JJ’s hand. He catches Kiara and spins her away from Groff, pulling her into a tight hug. “I got you, I got you,” JJ mumbles into her hair. 

Over his shoulder, Kiara searches desperately for the gun she knocked away from Groff, but she can’t find it. She knows she’s out of time. She’s out of moves. This is checkmate. Someone’s going to lose. 

The only question now is who. 

So instead of saying ‘thank you,’ this time Kiara whispers two different words into JJ’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, don’t be,” JJ mutters, trying to soothe Kiara as her whole body shakes.

“JJ,” Groff’s voice creeps up behind them, and Kiara clutches JJ tighter, not letting him turn around. She watches as he approaches, the knife lowered but still in his hand. Sharp and threatening, just like his sinister eyes.

“It’s a shame. You and me.” As JJ tries to untangle himself from Kiara and turn around, everything starts to move in slow motion.

She watches as Groff advances a step, his hand coming up as JJ turns toward him. She sees the flash of the knife that’s quick enough to miss if you didn’t know it was coming. 

But Kiara does.

So in the space of one breath, she musters all of the strength she has left in her body to grip JJ even tighter, spinning him around so he’s facing away from Groff.

The familiar, sickening squelch of a knife penetrating flesh punctuates the quiet air like a gasp, but Kiara barely registers the sound. She barely registers the wound, either, even as it slashes through muscle and tissue, tearing her body apart.

She’s only focused on the fact that JJ is untouched and out of harm’s way. She’s not concerned with the way Groff twists the knife that’s lodged into her back, causing irreparable damage to her liver.

Groff yanks the knife out of Kiara’s back with satisfaction. JJ's choked gasp is muffled by the piercing sound of a gunshot splitting the air. Kiara vaguely registers the bloody knife falling as Groff’s body thuds to the ground with chilling finality.

But the dark blood oozing from the gunshot wound in Groff’s temple does nothing to staunch the blood pouring from the ragged hole in Kiara’s back. 

Her knees buckle as the numbness fades, as the agonizing reality finally rushes in. But she doesn’t mind the pain, even as it rips the breath from her lungs.

The pain is the reward, the final validation that Kiara did what she came here to do, what she knew deep down she had to do. 

A life for a life. The ultimate sacrifice. Her final act of love - her absolution.

———————————————————————

JJ unfreezes just in time to cushion Kiara’s fall, wrapping an arm around her waist and gingerly helping her to the ground. A few feet away, Groff’s lifeless body watches them with unseeing eyes.

Kiara finally sees true recognition in JJ’s face as he stares down at her limp, bleeding body. It’s the one thing that remains constant as other emotions flit across his face in rapid succession - disbelief, shock, fear, love. Behind it all is the true recognition that’s been missing, the fondness and the familiarity created by a decade of shared memories.

Kiara expects to feel relieved that JJ remembers everything from the other when, that he remembers them. But ultimately, she just wishes she could have spared him the pain. She wishes she could have protected him from this, too, from the mind-splitting remembrance of his own death.

“Kiara…what the..how did this…I’m the one that Groff…it was me.” JJ’s voice is thick with horror and regret. “Not you, Kie. Not you.”

“It’s alright, Jayj,” she whispers. “It’s okay.” And she might have said more, but she’s cut off by the rapid approach of footsteps, by a choked, wounded cry in a voice she’d know anywhere.

“No no no no no NO!!” Rafe repeats the word like a shattered record as he falls to his knees beside Kiara, dropping the gun and pushing JJ out of the way. “Kie!”

Rafe scoops her up and places her in his lap, trying desperately to stop the bleeding with a hand pressed firmly to her back. It’s no use, but Kiara doesn’t have the heart to tell him that.

“Fuck Kiara, why? WHY? Why did you come without me?” Rafe presses his forehead to her cheek, and Kiara feels the stuttering rhythm of his falling tears. He’s realizing what she already knows - he’s too late. The wound is too deep. “It should have been me instead, Kie.” His whole body trembles as he whispers the words into her skin.

“No, it shouldn’t have,” Kiara breathes, wincing as she brings a bloody hand up to cradle his face. “You did so good, Rafe. You’re so good, baby.”

Rafe shakes his head, his blue eyes bright with desperation, his grief poorly disguised as anger. “No, you make me good, Kie. I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to. Fucking FIGHT, Kie!” He grips her body so tightly that it hurts, like he’s trying to keep her from slipping away. But she’s already sliding out of reach, and she can tell by the panic in his face that he knows it.

“I did,” Kiara whispers back, her voice too weak, too small. “I did all I could. We both did. We all did.” Her eyes flit to JJ, who sits frozen in shock nearby. He’s framed by the setting sun, by rich, red light that spills across the horizon like a bloodstain.

“Kiara, please-“

“Thank you for being here, Rafe. Like you always were. I never…I never told you, but you made everything hurt a little less. Even this. Even now.” Her hand slips down his face, too heavy for her to support anymore. Rafe catches it and presses it to his cheek, threading his warm fingers through her increasingly cold ones.

“Don’t fucking do that, Kiara. I fucking love you, okay? I love you. Please don’t give up on me.” 

“Rafe. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Kiara tries to smile, even as her body screams in protest. “You’re both going to…”

Kiara swears that JJ is crying too as shifts closer to her. The JJ she did all of this for. Her JJ.

Be good to each other, she wants to say. But the words won’t come out. She’s so, so tired, and it takes too much effort to speak.

The last thing she sees before she closes her eyes are two sets of agonized blue eyes staring down at her.

Her beautiful, broken boys.

As Kiara’s eyes flutter shut, she’s certain that they’ll never open again. 

But her body clings to consciousness, dangling on the edge of the abyss without quite falling into the emptiness. Kiara’s never been the kind to go down without a fight, so why would she be any different about death? Her body is just as stubborn as her mind.

JJ and Rafe’s voices are a little muffled and a little hazy, like she’s on the other side of a closed door. But still, she’s listening. Still, she hears everything.

She hears Rafe’s wounded, animalistic yell as it slices through the air, reverberating in her aching bones. Kiara feels him pull away, just a little, and then she hears the nausea-inducing click of a gun being loaded. She hears two sets of panicked, ragged breathing. 

Kiara wants to intervene, wants to stop whatever the fuck is going on, but she can’t move.

“Put the gun down, Rafe.” When JJ’s voice finally breaks the silence, it’s shaky but calm. Like he’s trying to reason with a man on the edge

“Nah, nah, fuck you, man.” Rafe’s voice is pulled taut, like a rope that’s about to snap. “This is your fucking fault. You might as well have fucking killed her. Look at her. LOOK AT HER. She’s fucking GONE!”

Check for a pulse, Rafe. I’m still here, Kiara wants to whisper, wants to press the words into his skin until his heart rate returns to normal. She wants to talk him down from this ledge like she did that night on the roof, with steady hands and gentle words.

But Rafe’s clinging to sanity like she’s clinging to consciousness, so of course he’s not going to check.

JJ doesn’t say anything for a long time, like he’s trying to find the right words. “You’re right, Rafe. Things shouldn’t have ended up this way. Which is why I’m going to undo it.”

Something lurches in Kiara, settling right next to her throbbing wound. No, she thinks desperately. Not the crown.

Rafe releases a rattling, ragged breath. “I’m not sure…I’m not sure she would want that.”

“Do you honestly care right now? Are you saying you’d rather me be alive than her?” JJ’s voice is mocking, incredulous. Trying to provoke a reaction that Rafe is more than happy to give.

“Of course the fuck not.”

“Exactly. So shut the hell up.” 

No, Kiara wants to protest. You can’t do this. This can’t all be for nothing. 

She pounds against the confines of her limp body, but she can’t even make her fingers twitch. 

“Please, man.” Rafe’s plea is barely a whisper, and it’s the most raw and broken he’s ever sounded. Kiara’s heart shatters. How could she have put him through this? “She can’t die. She’s the best person I…fuck. She makes this fucked up world a better place. She can’t be gone.”

“I know.” Kiara hears the tears in JJ’s voice, and she knows what he’s going to do.

There’s a pause that seems to hold several lifetimes; past and present, here and there, futures that will never be and futures from another life.

Then - JJ’s voice, emotional but clear.

“I wish that none of this ever happened. I wish that I was still the one that died.”

———————————————————————

For a moment, Kiara is sure that she died anyway and ended up in some kind of purgatory. 

The darkness is swallowed by a flash of blinding white light, and the light expands in every direction. There’s nothing as far as the eye can see except for light, an unending room of white that keeps going forever.

Kiara is there, in that white room. She can move her limbs, she can wiggle her toes, she can walk around. 

But there’s nothing to walk towards. Not a first.

It takes her a while to see the boat. It’s all white like everything else, except for the words painted on the side in bold, black letters. The H.M.S. Pogue. Because of course it is.

Kiara walks on nothing to the old boat, which is rocking back and forth on gentle waves she can’t see. She steps into the boat and sits down, not sure what she’s waiting for.

Until she looks to her left and finds JJ sitting next to her, looking at her like he’s been waiting for a long time. And maybe he has.

He’s wearing a Coors Banquet cut-off tank top, the one he used to love when they were in high school. The bags under his eyes are lighter, and he looks at peace. Almost happy.

“Hey, Queen Kie. Fancy seeing you here.” His voice is soft and teasing, comforting in its familiarity.

Kiara should probably be surprised to see him, but she doesn’t think she can be surprised anymore. “Where are we?”

JJ shrugs. “You tell me. I figured you’d say it was hell, since you’re stuck with me and nobody else.”

“Don’t do that.” Kiara can barely speak through the tears that clog her throat. “Don’t make everything a joke. Not right now.”

JJ’s expression sobers a little. “What do you want me to do instead, Kie?”

“Say something real. Tell me the truth,” Kiara whispers, looking down into her lap. “Do you hate me? You saved me, again. And I couldn’t save you.”

JJ reaches over and grabs her hand, squeezing gently. “Of course not. None of this is your fault.” When Kiara looks up, his eyes are warm, maybe warmer than she’s ever seen them. 

Then he leans over and nudges her with his shoulder, his nose wrinkling in disapproval. “It's kinda lame that you fell in love with my nemesis, but hey. Nobody’s perfect, I guess. Not even you.”

Kiara rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t try to deny it, or explain that it’s complicated. “I didn’t plan for it. I didn’t plan for any of this. I just wanted you back. I wanted to make things right.”

“I know you did. And that stubborn, delusional, sometimes pathological optimism is one of the things I love most about you. But I think we only get one shot at things, Kie. You can’t re-write history. You can’t fix everything.”

It’s an echo of what Rafe said to her that night on the boat. The truth she couldn’t swallow. The one she’s still having trouble digesting now.

“But things aren’t supposed to be this way, JJ. It’s not fair.” A tear slips down her face, followed by another. 

JJ nods in agreement. “Maybe not. But it’s the way things are. And we have to live with that.” He turns his head a little, looking at Kiara with mirth in his eyes. “Well, you do. I don’t have to live with anything.”

That rips a broken sob out of Kiara’s chest. “That’s not fucking funny, JJ,” she chokes out, punching his arm with more force than necessary.

“I know, I know.” JJ apologizes, catching her arm and pulling her into his chest, holding her there. “I’m sorry.”

They stay like that for a while, pressed together until Kiara’s breathing regulates. As she listens to the steady beat of JJ’s heart, she’s struck by the sudden certainty that this is going to be last time she ever sees him. That they’re in this place to say a proper goodbye.

“I have no regrets, you know,” JJ mutters into her hair. “I’d do it all over again. In any version of our lives.” He pulls back, holding her by the shoulders as he looks into her eyes. “I love you, Kie.”

“I love you too.” Kiara can barely make out JJ’s face as the tears fall hard and fast, clouding her vision. “I always will.”

“I know.” JJ’s smile is bittersweet but genuine. “But it won’t always hurt this badly. I promise.”

“You don’t know that. That’s just a thing people say.”

“I have a strong feeling.” JJ pokes one of Kiara’s wet cheeks. “A spidey sense, even.”

Kiara swats at his hand, laughing a little despite the sadness lodged in her gut like a fallen tree. “You’re stupid.”

“Yeah yeah, you’ve told me a thousand times.” JJ pauses. “Try real hard to be happy, alright? For me? You’ll have to work at it, every day. But you can do it. If anyone can do it, you can.”

“I’ll try.” JJ searches her face for a while before nodding in satisfaction, releasing Kiara’s shoulders and standing in one fluid motion.

“This isn’t goodbye, Kie. It’s just a see you later.” Kiara stands with him, desperation straightening her spine as she realizes he’s trying to leave. 

“Wait, JJ-“

“Pogues for life?” JJ cuts her off with an outstretched hand. Kiara can see the tears sparkling in his eyes, too, and she knows there’s no use arguing. They’re out of time. 

She tells herself to be grateful that they had any time at all. In this place, on this earth.

So Kiara holds out her own hand, letting the tears fall freely as she does one final handshake with him, this boy that she’s known and loved for half of her life. Who shaped her identity as a friend, as a lover, as a person. Who left a permanent imprint on her heart, whose name will always be written in bold letters there. “Pogues for life.”

JJ steps out of the H.M.S. Pogue and starts the engine. He gives Kiara one final look, full of everything neither of them can find the words to say. And then the boat leaves him behind, steering her back to the land of the living and leaving JJ on the shore of the afterlife.

Kiara closes her tear-rimmed eyes as JJ slips further and further away; she wants to hold the last image of him in her mind, wants to sear it into the neurons and grey matter so she never forgets how he looked in that moment - his eyes sparkling with love and happiness, his mouth pulled into his signature mischievous smile, his expression peaceful and content. 

She’ll carry it with her forever, like a locket hung around her neck; the image of JJ, forever young. She thinks he would like that.

Kiara grips the edge of the boat as it journeys into white nothingness, trying to sit with the aching in her chest. Trying to accept that this is her life now, trying to coexist with the pain without letting it swallow her whole. 

And for the first time since JJ died over a year ago, she completely lets go. She relinquishes the control that usually leaves her white-knuckled and exhausted, and simply exists. 

Kiara sits back and lets the H.M.S. Pogue take her to whatever’s next. 

This boat has seen the good and the bad; it ferried the Pogues from childhood to adulthood, it swayed under their feet as many of them turned from friends into lovers. It saw the very beginning of everything, so of course it would be here at the end. 

But maybe this end is also the start of a new beginning. One with Rafe’s waiting arms.

Chapter Text

When they woke up in Tannyhill after JJ made his wish, Kiara couldn’t stop screaming.

And for a minute, Rafe was tempted to join her. Because a second earlier Kiara had been limp and lifeless in his arms, and then they were sitting on his couch in the OBX like none of it had ever happened at all.

Except they knew it had. Which was why Kiara screamed like something had shattered inside her, like a stitch had busted and her mind was coming apart at the seams.

Rafe pulled himself together and tried to calm her down, tried to pull her into his arms and whisper soothing words like he’d done on many terrible nights. But she’d struggled and flailed against him with unseeing, distant eyes, not letting him touch her. She curled in on herself, like she was covering a wound that was no longer there but ached with phantom pain.

So Rafe called Sarah and told her to bring Cleo, even though it hurt to feel so useless. He hadn’t known what else to do, when every move he made only caused Kiara to retreat farther into herself.

When Sarah and Cleo knocked on the door with messy hair and wild eyes, Rafe was grateful beyond explanation that his sister asked “what happened?” instead of “what did you do to her?”

And he was even more relieved that they settled for his half-assed lie, that they were too worried about Kiara to really interrogate him like they wanted to.

If they had pushed him too hard that night, Rafe really might have lost it for good.

He still felt like he was wobbling on the edge of a breakdown as he lingered in the doorway to the living room, watching Kiara sob and shake. His hands clutching his chest while his heart was in his throat, doing nothing but feeling everything. He stayed frozen there until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Rafe slept in his car that night, unable to listen to Kiara scream.

He was still in his car when John B and Pope showed up the next morning. He watched out the window as the four Pogues brought Kiara to meet her parents at an inpatient facility.

Not a mental hospital, exactly. But a place where she could get the intensive care she needed. According to Sarah, anyway.

Delayed onset post-traumatic stress disorder, they called it. Her body and mind were finally processing the trauma of JJ’s death, they said.

They had no way of knowing how fresh the damage actually was. A wound that never properly closed in the first place, torn right back open. And Rafe was skeptical that any facility was going to be able to give Kiara what she needed.

All of that was three months ago.

Rafe hasn’t seen Kiara since.

Three months ago, Rafe held a gun to his own temple because he couldn’t stand the thought of a world without Kiara in it.

Now, he’s doing something almost as unthinkable for Rafe Obsessive Cameron - he’s giving her space.

Rafe is keeping his distance as he waits for something that might never come - a sign that Kiara wants him around again, that she can handle him being in her life after everything.

And as he waits, Rafe realizes he didn’t make it out of the ordeal unscathed, either.

He dreams about it all the time - the way Cleo pulled up to Agapenta just as the dust storm descended in full force; how Rafe stumbled around blindly, led only by a gut feeling that told him Kiara was close; when he tripped over a discarded gun on the ground and for a moment almost believed that luck was on his side.

Then, the events that loop in his nightmares like twisted reruns: the knife plunging into Kiara’s back, making her face contort in agony; Rafe lifting the gun and shooting Groff in the head without hesitation; cradling Kiara in his arms as he sobbed uncontrollably, as the rage and fear and grief and love surged through his body like rising floodwaters.

Rafe had even prayed to a God that he’s pretty certain doesn’t exist to save Kiara.

But it wasn’t God that saved her. It was JJ.

And Rafe is grateful for what he did, of course, but underneath it all he also feels defeated.

Because JJ had paid the ultimate price for Kiara. He had given up everything for her, his chance at another life, the possibility of any future at all.

How is Kiara ever supposed to move on from that? How is she ever supposed to look Rafe in the eye again?

He feels like a fucking asshole for even thinking these things, but the questions loop in the back of his mind anyway. A constant chorus of dread, of doubt, a nagging feeling that things will never be the same between the two of them.

And there are times when Rafe doesn’t think he can take it anymore; the nightmares, the uncertainty, the guilt, the memories that lurk around every corner like a threat to his sanity. There are times when he wants to pack up and leave, when he feels like there’s nothing left for him here except pain.

But that couldn’t be farther from the truth. His everything is still here.

So he stays, in case Kiara needs him. In case she wants him.

And in the meantime, Rafe tries to stay busy.

At first, it’s mostly meaningless shit. He buries himself in work, he moves forward with unnecessary renovations at Tannyhill, he runs errands in town at odd hours to avoid interactions with nosy Kildare locals.

But the longer he tries to ignore everything that happened, the stronger the grief and the anxiety start to feel, like neglected weeds left to spread. He hardly ever sleeps. He constantly craves something stronger than beer. He feels like he’s slowly losing his grip on what’s real and what’s not, lost without someone that understands what he’s going through. Lost without her.

So a few weeks after Kiara shuffles quietly out of his life, Rafe does what he thinks she would want him to do. He starts seeing a therapist.

And this time, it’s a real therapist. Not some bullshit yes-man like the family friend that took it easy on him after his short stint in rehab. A therapist that holds Rafe accountable, that gives him space to open up, that encourages him to actually process the shit that’s happened in his life.

Not just the new stuff, either. All of it. His fucked up family trauma, his deep-seated fear of inadequacy, his constant sense that he’s never truly in control.

They talk about the way Rafe never really got over his mom leaving; how he never felt good enough for Ward; the way he didn’t feel like a whole person worthy of being alive unless his father told him he deserved to be a Cameron.

They talk about the way he dresses up his doubt and insecurity as anger and resentment. They unpack how his fear of ending up utterly alone has just served to isolate him, how he’s so scared of being fundamentally unloveable that he beats people to the punch, pushing them away before they can really get close.

And Rafe hates going; he dreads every session, showing up with sweating palms and shaky legs. But he still goes. He works through the grief without trying to forget. He lives in his body without trying to escape.

When Rafe isn’t at the office or in therapy, he hangs out with Sarah and his niece. He swears Jacqueline (JJ for short) grows an inch every day, and being around her softens something sharp in him, some jagged edge that had been prodding him for so long that he’d normalized the pain.

Through it all, he worries about Kiara constantly. Thoughts of her run through everything else like a backbone, like a tether to a shared reality that almost starts to feel like a hallucination. Almost.

Because it still feels real when they get to talk. Kiara doesn’t have her phone most of the time, but they write to each other. On really good days, she calls. Mostly they talk about stupid shit - town gossip, dumb things her roommate does, the renovations at Tannyhill, the baby.

Nothing real, though. And Rafe doesn’t go to visit her, even though he knows he could. The Pogues and her parents do, and Sarah is nice enough to give him periodic updates about how she’s doing. Kiara doesn’t ask him to come, and he truthfully doesn’t know if he could handle it without breaking down himself.

But after months apart, Rafe aches to see how Kiara is really doing with his own eyes. He’s desperate to search her face for the pain she’s hidden away, to do everything in his power to coax it out and banish it for good.

So when Sarah texts him that Kiara is getting discharged after three torturous months of waiting, he doesn’t hesitate. Rafe hops into the Range Rover and drives over to the facility, hands wrapped tight around the wheel and jaw clenched.

He needs to see her, if only for a minute. If only from afar.

Rafe parks across the street and a few doors down from the facility, in the shade of a large oak tree. He’s not trying to hide, per se. But he’s also not trying to be seen.

He gets out of the car and leans against the driver’s side door, arms crossed over his chest and sunglasses perched on his nose.

Rafe’s at an angle, but he can still see Mike and Anna with bags piled in their arms, holding the door open. He catches a glimpse of Pope and John B smiling as a figure with loose curls piled on top of her head walks into Sarah’s open arms.

When Kiara turns toward Cleo, he finally gets a glimpse of her face. And Rafe doesn’t even feel embarrassed as the tears start to flow, doesn’t even bother to move his sunglasses to the side and wipe the wetness off his cheeks.

Because, god, he missed her face. Her round cheeks, her smooth, caramel skin, her brown eyes that reflect the light no matter what time of day it is. And Rafe would do this all over again, would stand in the shadows like a fucking creep every day of his life if it meant getting a glimpse of that smile.

Kiara freezes when her gaze settles somewhere over Cleo’s shoulder, and for a moment Rafe thinks he’s been caught. Something hot and anxious grips his insides as he waits for her to react. He doesn’t want to be seen, but he’s also desperate for Kiara to look at him.

But then she looks away, and he thinks he’s gotten away with his surveillance operation.

Until the next morning, when he’s scanning the webpage of an online master’s program for organizational leadership and his phone buzzes with a text.

And then another. And another.

Rafe sighs in annoyance, sure that Sarah is blowing up his phone like she often does these days, asking for snacks or something for the baby.

When he sees who the messages are actually from, Rafe knocks over his cup of coffee onto the hardwood floor in his scramble to reply. He’s so shocked that he doesn’t even bother wiping up the spill.

Kiara: come over to my parent’s house tonight. around 9?

Kiara: if you want to

Kiara: unless you’d rather watch from afar. across the street, maybe. I can leave the curtains open for you.

Rafe’s lip twitch as his thumbs hover over the keyboard, trying to figure out what to say in response.

Because of course she saw him yesterday. When has he ever been able to pull one over on Kiara?

Rafe: Wow. This is the treatment I get for being worried about you

Rafe: Just for that, I’m not coming

Kiara: yeah right

Kiara: 💗

———————————————————————

Rafe spends the next few hours pacing the house in an anxious daze; he goes into rooms and immediately forgets what he went there for; he fills glass after glass of water just to leave them untouched; he pulls outfits from his closet in rapid succession, trying things on just to rip them off and toss them across the room where they land in uncharacteristically messy piles.

He’s never been so goddamn nervous, and it takes him a long time to realize why. He’s anxious to see her, but he’s terrified of what she’s going to say. Scared that this might be the last time he sees the woman that he loves, that she might say that she’s better off without Rafe in her life.

He’s terrified that this could be goodbye.

And Rafe’s never known how to let go of anything without letting it tear chunks out of him, without feeling gutted and left for dead.

But if he’s walking into his funeral, the least he can do is show up prepared.

Rafe showers and shaves before putting on jeans and a breezy linen button down that he rolls at the elbows, making sure to spray cologne on his way out. It’s a muggy mid-summer day, so on a whim he stops and picks up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. The flavor is Phish Food, Kiara’s favorite that she kept stocked in her apartment in the other when.

After that, Rafe only has one more stop.

He doesn’t think Kiara would like the idea of cut flowers that are ripped from the earth just to die, so he gets her something potted. A red orchid, a plant so rare he only found it after driving to the mainland and calling four different flower shops.

The internet told him orchids symbolize renewal, that red orchids specifically are associated with strength, determination, passion, and love. It’s a romantic gesture, but also one of admiration. An acknowledgement of quiet, steady strength.

Rafe buckles the delicate plant into the passenger seat of the Range Rover and hopes the gift can articulate all the things he won’t be able to say.

———————————————————————

When Rafe pulls up to the Carrera house, the sun has long set and the ice cream is thawing.

He steps out of the crisp interior of the car into the steamy night air, wiping his palms on his jeans before grabbing the ice cream and the smooth, pastel pink ceramic pot that holds the red orchid.

Rafe sucks in a shaky breath and starts up the concrete driveway, but he’s stopped by a faint call from around the back of the house.

“Rafe, I’m back here!”

Instant butterflies explode in his stomach at the sound of Kiara’s voice. He shoulders the partially-open gate out of his way, his shoes sinking into the soft ground as he cuts across the backyard with more speed than strictly necessary.

Rafe’s first glimpse of Kiara nearly sends him tumbling into the grass.

Her hair is a little darker, falling around her face in loose curls. Her face is makeup-free, showing off her rosy cheeks and the light dusting of freckles on her nose.

She’s sitting on a patio chair, her legs curled up under an oversized, light blue UNC t-shirt. There’s a sleeping bag crumpled at her feet and a book lying under phone, like she’s been sitting out here for a while.

As he gets closer, Kiara looks at him expectantly, like he’d kept her waiting. Rafe means to say hello, but all that comes out is, “How did you know it was me?”

“It’s 8:59, and you’re pathologically on time.” Kiara’s smile is friendly, but it doesn’t quite touch her eyes. Her gaze drops to the pot that’s clutched like a lifeline in Rafe’s hands. “You brought me an orchid?”

“Yeah, a red one.” Rafe says lamely, like she’ll know what that means. “And ice cream. Although it’s probably melted by now.” He stands a few feet away, not sure if he should approach.

“So you’re saying you basically brought me a milkshake? Even better, honestly.” Kiara rises from the chair with a smile, reaching for the gifts and putting Rafe out of his misery. But her tone is too casual, like she’s keeping something locked in a cage of civility, something wild and barely contained.

The light brush of her fingertips against Rafe’s is enough to bring the butterflies back. He flushes as she turns away, rubbing a hand over his head.

Pathetic.

“I’ll put them inside. Do you need anything? Water or something?” Kiara heads for the sliding door.

“Water would be great.” Rafe hates how formal they both sound, how uncomfortable this all feels. He stands awkwardly as the light flicks on inside the house, shuffling from foot to foot while trying to think of something to break the tension.

“Are your parents…” He begins as Kiara slips out of the house back carrying two glasses of water. Her shorts disappear under her oversized t-shirt, and Rafe is momentarily distracted by the sight of her long, bare legs.

“Sit.” Kiara sets the glasses down on the table and then plops onto the stone patio itself, forgoing her chair completely. She pats the ground next to her. Rafe sits with his knees bent and his palms in the grass, feeling like his skin is a size too tight. “Mike and Anna are at some event in Raleigh and they’re staying overnight. They felt all guilty for leaving me so soon after my discharge, so I told them Cleo was staying over.” Kiara plays with a loose thread in the hem of her shirt, avoiding eye contact.

“But you texted me instead.” It’s more of a question than a statement, like he needs additional confirmation that he’s wanted here.

“I did.” Kiara’s warm eyes are intense, full of some emotion he still can’t identify.

Rafe suddenly realizes that he has no idea where to start, so his mind latches onto the first thing he sees.

“What’s with the sleeping bags?” He scratches the back of his neck with one hand and gestures at the rumpled sleeping bags.

Kiara’s glance flickers away, landing somewhere on the horizon. “Do you remember that night you biked here? The night I had the tent set up in the backyard of my apartment?”

Rafe swallows harshly and nods. She doesn’t have to specify that she’s talking about the other when. He already knows.

“It was so freeing, being in that tent under the stars. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that calm. In any version of this place. But I checked, and my parents don’t have a tent here. Which is lame.” Kiara bites her lip, and dead giveaway that she wants to say more. So Rafe rubs his sweaty palms on his knees and waits.

“I’ve thinking about that a lot.” Kiara brings her eyes back to Rafe’s. “A whole other life, gone. Like it never even existed. And I guess in a way, it didn’t.” Rafe thinks about that night under the stars in the other when , how he’d confessed his feelings and they’d made love like they were the only two people in the world. He hates to think that all the good things from that timeline are just gone, but if that’s the price he has to pay for Kiara to be here, alive, he’d pay it over and over again. “It’s hard to mourn something that you can’t talk about with anyone.”

“It’s fucking brutal,” Rafe says, because he knows all too well. “Do you want to talk about it now?” He asks slowly. He’s testing the waters, hoping they don’t drown in their own grief.

“It’s getting a little easier every day. I’m not having as many nightmares as I was when we…first came back. After JJ’ s wish. Or even before that, really. I used to have nightmares all the time.” The deep sadness in Kiara’s eyes pierces Rafe’s heart like an arrow. “And even though the truth would get me sent away to a mental hospital, it’s been good to process some of my grief out loud. The grief, but also the guilt. Survivor’s guilt, my therapist calls it. But she doesn’t know that I relived the trauma on the other side of the knife, and everything still ended up the same.” She shakes her head like she can push away the blood-stained memories.

“Kie…” He searches for the right words and comes up empty. “I’m so fucking sorry. That you had to go through that not once, but twice. That you had to relive…everything.”

“It’s not your fault, Rafe.” Kiara’s fingers twitch in the grass, move just a little closer to his. “But for the record, I’m sorry you had to go through it, too. It was fucked.”

“It was.” Rafe struggles to say more as he battles back memories of Kiara bleeding in his arms, as his body thrums with whispers of his desperation and hopelessness and heartbreak.

When Rafe looks up, he realizes Kiara’s shifted closer. He’s not even sure if she meant to. “Sarah said you’ve been going to therapy.”

Rafe blinks, surprised they talked about him at all. “Yeah, I guess I have.” He runs a hand down his face. “I hate going, but it feels good afterwards. It’s been nice to talk through some of my shit. To process, like you said.”

Kiara turns towards him after a moment of hesitation, fully facing Rafe for the first time. “How are you, really? After everything?” There’s a beat of silence before she continues. “I’ve been worried.”

Rafe chuckles, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “You’ve been worried about me?”

“Yeah.” Kiara looks down at her hands, picks at a cuticle. “You didn’t come and see me. I was waiting, but you never came.”

Rafe swallows harshly. “I didn’t know…if I should,” he admits. “I thought it might trigger you. Make things worse.”

“Yeah. It might have,” Kiara acknowledges, and Rafe can’t help the way his heart drops.

“For a while everything felt just as bad as it did after JJ died the first time. Maybe even worse. But after a few months….” Kiara pauses, looking pensive. “I realized I felt lighter, in a way. Less burdened. Because I know now. I can’t change the past. What’s done is done. All I can do is move forward.” Her eyes flick up to his face, her gaze discerning. She’s looking for something, but he doesn’t know what it is.

“I never stopped thinking about you, Rafe.” The statement hits him like a sucker punch, making his brain short circuit.

“Yeah?” Rafe holds his breath, like the slightest disturbance might make her change her mind.

“Every day.” Kiara replies immediately. “I’ve missed you.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.” The words are out before he can think better of it, and Kiara’s expression softens. She reaches over and traces a hand down his face, from his temple all the way to his jawline.

“They don’t know you like I do.” Kiara’s smile is tender, sad, and a little too familiar.

It reminds Rafe of the last time he was this close to her, in Morocco. When Kiara was staring up into his face as the life drained out of her, looking up at him with love and heartache in her eyes.

“I keep thinking about it,” Rafe confesses, his voice a whisper. “About you lying there, fucking bleeding out, pale and cold, and I just…I just thought that you were gone. I thought I’d lost you for good, that I was never going to get to talk to you again. I was so fucking scared, Kie. I’ve never been more terrified.”

Through the tears that fill his eyes, Rafe watches Kiara press against him, leaning her head on his shoulder and looping an arm through his. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m sorry I put you through that. It wasn’t fair to you, Rafe. I know that.” Her breath is shaky on his shoulder. “And I’m sorry for…my reaction, when we came back. For pushing you away. I know that must have felt like a slap in the face after everything.”

Rafe shakes his head, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I told you, Kie. You don’t ever have to apologize to me. I’m just so glad you’re… fuck, Kie. I’m just so fucking happy you’re still here. Even if, you know.” Rafe clears his throat. “Even if things are different. Even if you can’t be around me. Just knowing you’re here…that’s everything.” Rafe inhales, savoring the familiar smell of her, the familiar warmth of her body. Filing it away somewhere safe, just in case it’s the last time.

Kiara rises to her feet abruptly, pulling Rafe with her. She grabs the glasses of water and hands one to him. He can tell she’s nervous, and it makes him nervous.

“I’m glad you brought that up, actually. That’s why I told you to come over, besides wanting to see you.” Kiara won’t look at him, and Rafe feels icy panic grip his insides. “I had a lot of time to think, while I was getting treatment. And I talked some things out with my therapist. And I think…” She takes a deep breath,steeling herself. “I’m going to leave. Nowhere too far. It’ll be close enough to drive back often, to visit the Pogues and the baby and my parents.”

Rafe steps back as his world tilts on its axis, as it narrows around him and squeezes the air out of his lungs. He’d prepared himself to lose her, for her to pull away and shut him out of her life. But he didn’t think she was going to leave.

“But I need something different. Something new. Somewhere less…haunted,” she finishes, like she didn’t just tear his whole life to shreds.

“That makes sense.” Rafe doesn’t trust himself to say more, doesn’t trust himself not to drop down onto his hands and knees and beg her not to go.

“I was thinking…” Kiara finally looks up again, and she looks nervous. “Maybe you could come with me.”

“Sorry?” Rafe asks, thinking he misheard.

“I don’t know if you know this, but people own houses in other places.” The corners of Kiara’s mouth tick upwards. “You could do real estate anywhere.”

Rafe gapes at her like she’s grown a second head. “You would want me to come? After…after everything? I figured you would be done. With us. After what happened, what JJ did…I didn’t think you’d want to be with me. After losing him like that.”

“Why?” Kiara steps closer, peering into his face. “Because you could never live up to him, or something? Because this could never compare to what JJ and I had?”

“Something like that,” Rafe admits with a grimace.

“I don’t need you to be JJ. I just need you to be Rafe.”  He sucks in a sharp breath, her words washing over him cold ocean water on a hot day.

“And maybe that sounds crazy, after everything. But Rafe was there for me when my life fell apart. Rafe has  seen sides of me that no one else ever has. Not even JJ. Rafe accepts all of me. Loves all of me. Even the things he shouldn’t. Even when I hurt him, over and over again.” Kiara’s eyes are shining now. “You can’t take back the things you did in the past, Rafe. You can only do better. And you have. ”

“Kie…”

Arguments swirl through his mind and land on the tip of his tongue. I’m not good enough. I don’t deserve you. You’ll just be another person I hurt.

Kiara cuts him off. “Don’t argue with me. I’m not done.”

Rafe laughs softly, cherishing the fire he feared was extinguished. “Yes ma’am.”

“Let’s get something straight, alright?” Kiara’s warm eyes burn in the low light. “I love JJ. I probably always will. He was incredibly special to me, and I’ll miss him forever.”

On some level, Rafe knew this already. But it still hurts to hear, and he fights to keep his face neutral.

“But Rafe… that doesn’t make him the love of my life. That doesn’t mean he’s the only person I’ll ever love.” She pauses, but Rafe can’t look at her yet.

“And I know that because I love you, Rafe.” His eyes snap up in surprise, just to find that Kiara is already watching him. “I have for a while. I just couldn’t accept it. Not when everything was so fresh. Not when I didn’t have closure.”

“You love me?” He stumbles over the words, his mouth moving faster than his mind.

Kiara’s eyes sparkle with fond amusement as she steps forward to grip Rafe’s forearm. “Yeah. I love you.” Her words are simple and direct, like it’s obvious. Like it’s easy as breathing.

“That’s…” Rafe’s churns through a million thoughts and emotions, but all that comes out is one pitiful word. “…cool.”

Kiara bursts into high, clear laughter as she collapses into Rafe, burying her face into his chest. A smile spreads across his features as she shakes with laughter, a sound he hasn’t heard in what feels like an eternity.

“You know what, hell yeah. It is cool.” Kiara dabs at her eyes as she composes herself. After a long moment she stops laughing, but she doesn’t look away. “You know what I realized is the one constant, in every where? In every when?”

Rafe hopes this is a rhetorical question, because his brain is barely functioning. His mouth is slightly ajar and his body is rigid, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for her to take it back, to say she doesn’t mean it.

“You. You’re always there. Wherever I am, you’re there too. As long as I can remember, it’s always been that way. I used to hate it.” Kiara laughs in disbelief. “But now…it feels like we’re fucking….I don’t know. Like we’re…”

“Soulmates,” Rafe whispers, his hand coming up to cup Kiara’s face. A year ago, he wouldn’t have been caught dead even thinking the word soulmates.

But he thinks back on both of the lives that tangle in his memory now, remembering all the ways he and Kiara have saved each other time and time again.

His birthday on the roof when Kiara talked him down from the ledge; the night on the boat back from Morocco when Rafe was terrified that Kiara was going to jump; the party when Groff held him at gunpoint and Kiara intervened; at Blackstone when Rafe fell through the floor and Kiara broke down the door to get to him; when Kiara was kidnapped and Rafe stopped at nothing until he found her in the lighthouse.

Even when they were kids, Rafe was always drawn to Kiara by a force he didn’t understand, always cared about her more than made sense, always felt the need to make sure she was okay at the risk of his own safety.

There has to be a reason they keep finding each other, keep saving each other, keep understanding each other in ways no one else can.

Like the universe made sure that the two of them ended up on earth at the same time, just so they’d never truly be alone.

Kiara nods like she already knows what he’s thinking. “There’s a lot about fate and the universe and all that shit that I’ll never understand. But maybe I don’t need to. All I know for sure is that I can’t stay stuck in the past, or in some version of reality that I’ll never experience again. This is my life. It’s the only one I have. And I’m lucky to be living it at the same time as you.”

A wounded sound tears itself out of Rafe’s throat, and Kiara reaches down, lacing her fingers through his. “You and I…it feels like we’re tethered, or something. Like we’re supposed to move forward together.” She squeezes his hand lightly, like she’s grounding him, like she’s grounding herself. “So I’d like to work towards a happier future with you, if you’re open to doing that with me.”

She bites her lip and looks down, nervous in a way that Rafe finds completely ridiculous and incredibly endearing.

Rafe tilts her face up with two fingers. “Kiara.” He says her name with equal parts reverence and exasperation. “Are you fucking kidding me? Like there’s any universe where I would ever say no to you?”

“Well, I thought you might, after the stunt I just pulled. Sorry about that. Consider it payback for all the bullshit you’ve pulled over the years.”

The smile that spreads across her face feels like the sun peeking through storm clouds, and it makes him ache. But the feeling that spreads through Rafe’s chest doesn’t hurt, because for once it’s not the ache of wishing for the impossible.

It’s the sweet ache of finally having the impossible at his fingertips.

“I’ve already forgotten it,” Rafe replies, and for once he means it. “You jump, I jump, baby.” Rafe brushes his fingertips over Kiara’s cheek, her jaw, any skin within reach. “Where to?”

“Are you quoting Titanic to me again? Reef Cameron, the man you are.”

Kiara pulls him in by their joined hands, the space between them dissipating like fog at daybreak.

When their lips meet it’s desperate but soft, a push and pull that’s insistent and as the tide against the shore. They kiss long and slow, their movements unhurried but full of heat.

Rafe cradles her jaw as Kiara melts into him, a soft sigh escaping her lips that makes him want to swallow her whole. Rafe wants to slip his tongue into her mouth, wants to rid her of all her clothes and make her moan his name until her voice is hoarse.

But he also wants to make this moment last. So he holds back, memorizing her lips like they have all the time in the world.

Rafe’s so caught up in her touch that he doesn’t realize Kiara is crying until tears start to drip onto his shirt. He pulls back in alarm, his heart pounding and his eyes alert.

He reaches up with both thumbs and wipes at the tears that escape from her lash line. “Don’t cry, Kie,” he whispers, pressing a soothing kiss to her forehead.

She shakes her head, her bottom lip trembling with emotion. “I’m just…happy, Rafe. I think I almost forgot what that felt like.”

Rafe’s heart stutters at the sincere devotion in her eyes. Nobody’s ever looked at me like this, he thinks distantly.

And when Kiara grabs him by the collar and captures his lips with hers, he thinks that he’s never been kissed like this, either, right before he’s unable to think at all.

Heat burns through his body like a lot fuse when her tongue teases against his bottom lip, his mouth parting for her like it’s muscle memory. And when Kiara moans against his lips, there’s no thought anymore, only need.

Rafe brings his open mouth to Kiara’s body and trails hot, wet kisses down her neck, his fingers slipping under the oversized shirt and brushing against bare skin.

She shudders in his arms and grips his shoulders tighter, his name on her lips somewhere between a curse and a prayer.

Without thinking, Rafe hikes one of Kiara legs around his waist and slips his fingers under the cotton hem of her shorts, drawn to the heat between her thighs like a plant bending towards the sun. He pushes her underwear to the side and groans when his fingers dip into her slick arousal, moving instinctually to pull the underwear off. Kiara grabs his wrist.

“Fuck, Rafe.” But her voice is unsteady, like she’s trying to convince herself to stop. “Not out here.”

He keeps his mouth against her neck, biting down lightly as he mutters the truth into the sensitive skin. “I don’t want to wait, baby.”

Kiara barely suppresses a shiver. “I don’t either, but my parents’ neighbors are nosy as hell.” She pulls away and grabs his jaw with her free hand. “Inside, please. Need you to touch me in ways that no one else should see.”

All of the thinking parts of Rafe’s brain shut off entirely as he lifts Kiara by the waist, wrapping her other leg around him and heading for the house without another word.

Kiara giggles as he stumbles his way through the back door, until Rafe pushes her against the counter and stifles her laughter with a searing kiss.

Rafe moves to lay her down on the counter, but Kiara’s back hits the orchid and the pot shifts with a clatter, startling them both.

Kiara perches on the edge of the kitchen island, her hands on Rafe’s shoulders as they take a second to breathe. She glances at the dainty pot.

“Thank you for the orchid, by the way. It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

“I was pretty offended you didn’t thank me earlier,” Rafe needles her.

Kiara’s eyes glint in the low light. “I think I can find a way to make it up to you.”

She slides down from the counter and drops to her knees, undoing the button of Rafe’s jeans and tugging them down before he has a second to process.

He hisses through his teeth as Kiara palms him through his boxer briefs. She looks up with a smug smile as she tugs his underwear down, freeing his rapidly hardening cock.

“So fucking big,” she mutters, almost like she’s talking to herself, right before she licks a broad stripe up the underside of Rafe’s cock. She swirls her tongue around the head, slowly and deliberately, inching his cock into her mouth like she’s savoring him.

Rafe grips the edge of the counter for support as she starts bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm, his other hand fisting in her soft curls and gently guiding her movements.

Kiara makes a sound of contentment deep in her throat when Rafe fucks into her mouth a little harder, sending him hurtling towards his release embarrassingly quickly.

“Kie, Kie,” he gasps, gripping the back of her neck. “You gotta stop or I’m going to finish. And I don’t think either of us want that.”

Kiara pulls off him with a filthy pop, a teasing smile pulling at her swollen, spit-slicked lips.

“Already?” She leans down and licks at the precum beading on the head of his cock before getting to her feet, making Rafe groan.

“God forbid a man gets a little excited after not seeing his girlf-“

He cuts himself off with a small cough, trying to cover up his slip by tugging Kiara’s shirt over her head.

Kiara lifts her arms and lets him. She stares at him fondly as her t-shirt drops to the floor. “You can finish the sentence.”

“What?” Rafe fails to convincingly play dumb, his voice rising an octave higher than usual.

“Call me your girlfriend,” Kiara whispers, her voice warm and smooth as ironed silk. “I am. I’m yours, Rafe.”

Rafe stares at her for a long moment, his chest heaving and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “ Fuck,” he grits out, pulling Kiara against him and pouring the rest of his emotions into her mouth.

They don’t make it upstairs; in fact, they barely make it to the living room. The rest of their clothes form a trail to the couch - first Rafe’s shirt, then Kiara’s shorts, followed by her bralette. As she settles onto Rafe’s lap, he palms her chest greedily and trails wet kisses across her collarbone.

“I’m yours, Kiara,” he confesses into her skin, knowing her won’t be able to say it if he looks into her eyes. “I knew I was going to love you as soon as I met you.”

“Such a liar,” she whispers back, but her eyes are shining like she believes it.

“I never lie to you, Kie.”

Before Kiara can respond, Rafe pulls her into a filthy kiss, all tongue and teeth and pent up desire. He runs a tongue along her teeth and feels her clench on top of him, feels the wetness starting to soak through her underwear onto his leg.

“Fuck, Rafe.” Kiara gasps against his cheek, leaning into his touch as he rolls her nipples between his fingers.

“I love the way you say my name, Kie,” Rafe practically growls. “Sounds so good coming out of that pretty little mouth.” He pushes two fingers past her lips and she takes them readily, swirling her tongue around them like she wants to memorize the taste.

“Such a good fucking girl,” Rafe groans as he ruts up into her, his bare cock brushing against the fabric of her underwear until he can’t take it anymore. “What do you want, Kie?” He asks as he drops his hand. “My mouth or my fingers?”

“Can I choose a third option?” Kiara pants, flushed and breathless with his bare cock so close.

“Not yet.” Rafe smiles at her impatience. “Let me make you feel good, baby. Let me take my time, now that we have it.”

Her expression softens, the fondness fighting the lust. “Fingers then. Fuck me with your fingers, Rafe.”

Rafe lets out a string of curses as Kiara lifts her hips and works her underwear off, settling her knees on either side of him to give him better access between her legs.

He brings two fingers to her dripping cunt and dips them in experimentally, savoring the way she moans at the light touch.

Rafe murmurs praise and encouragement as he works two fingers into her before adding another, drinking up the way she clenches around his fingers.

As she grinds down on his fingers, everything about Kiara glows in the moonlight; her hair, her skin, and her eyes all take on an otherworldly silver sheen, making her look like a gorgeous siren sent to earth just to tempt him.

“Look at you, goddamn,” Rafe whispers, awe-struck. “My gorgeous fucking girl.”

Kiara moans, her hips stuttering. “Say that again.”

“Call you gorgeous?” The lewd, wet sounds of Rafe fingers twisting inside Kiara’s cunt make it hard to focus. He brings his thumb to her clit, rubbing light circles on the sensitive area.

“No.” Kiara shakes her head. “Your girl.”

Rafe’s heart lurches in his chest, settling just under the skin where he’s sure she can see it beat. “You’re mine, Kiara. You’re my girl forever.” The words come out like a promise instead of a threat, like they might have once upon a time.

Kiara throws her head back when he utters the words, shuddering and clenching around Rafe’s fingers while he continues to rub at her clit. He works her through her orgasm, relishing the way she bites her lip like the pleasure is too much to take, the way the sheen of sweat on her body makes it look like she’s glowing from the inside out.

When she finally stops squirming and her breathing regulates, Kiara climbs off of Rafe’s lap and lays flat on the couch, pulling him on top of her so their slick bodies are pressed together.

Thank god Kiara’s parents have a huge couch, Rafe thinks as he settles above her, but he has enough sense left to bite his tongue.

Kiara reaches for his cock with steady hands, her eyes wide and pupils blown. “Please, Rafe. Need to feel you.”

“Holy shit. You’re so sexy, Kie,” he groans as he finally presses inside of her, mouthing at the hollow of her neck as he works her open with his cock, hungry for the heat and the friction and the sounds that spill out of her mouth.

Rafe grips her jaw and forces Kiara to look him in the eye as he fucks into her, watching as her pupils dilate. He feels her pulse thrums under his fingers and watches as her breath hitches.

They don’t break eye contact for more than the space of a kiss; not when Kiara digs her fingernails into Rafe’s back so hard that it makes him hiss; not when Rafe runs a reverent hand down her spine and holds her closer with a hand splayed across the small of her back; not when he changes the angle of his thrusts and it feels so good that it leaves Kiara writhing under him and begging for more.

Kiara brings her hips up to meet Rafe’s as he picks up the pace, a challenge sparking in her eyes. Rafe loves to make her squirm, but Kiara wants to get under his skin for once.

“Rafe,” Kiara says, gripping his neck, breathing his own air back into his mouth.

“Yeah baby?”

“I wanted to say something the last time we did this.” Her brown eyes could swallow him whole as they roam over his face. “I love you.”

Rafe’s hips stutter, her words igniting his insides like a match to gasoline. “I love you too, Kie.” Heat burns through his body from head to toe, and embarrassingly, predictably, when he starts thrusting again he feels his release inch closer and closer.

Kiara sees the signs, the lip bite and the crinkled forehead, so she pushes and prods in ways she knows will send him hurtling over the edge.

“You’re so good, Rafe, doing so good. Your cock feels so fucking amazing inside of me. My cunt is dripping for you, baby.”

“Shit, Kie,” Rafe hisses, reaching between them and rubbing at her clit as his thrusts get more sloppy. “I’m gonna cum. Where do you want it?”

Kiara stares him down with those all-consuming eyes, eyes that have chewed Rafe up and spit out a better version of him. “You know where.”

Rafe crests the wave of his release as Kiara starts to pulse around him, lost in the pleasure of her second orgasm. Their cries weave together as his release fills her, their bodies knotted in a way that makes it feel like they’re being stitched into one person.

Rafe presses kisses to Kiara’s cheek, her cupid’s bow, her jaw, rocking inside of her for as long as he can stand it before the overstimulation gets to him.

They stay slotted together like that for a long time. Arms wrapped around each other, legs tangled, heartbeats in sync. Rafe presses his head to Kiara’s chest and just listens to her breathing, letting the gentle rise and fall clear his mind.

The way she’s holding him feels like a promise, like a sure thing after too much uncertainty. Two bodies wordlessly whispering, This is where we belong. This is what feels right.

“Rafe,” Kiara finally whispers into the stillness, breaking the spell. “You’re gonna have to get me to the bathroom somehow. I can’t be dripping your cum all over my parents’ couch,” Kiara says, looking down at the point where there bodies are still connected.

“Dang, Kie, are you trying to get me riled up for round two already?” Kiara rolls her eyes as Rafe scoots them to the edge of the couch, pulling out of her and swinging her legs up in a bridal style carry in one smooth motion.

Rafe walks them to the downstairs bathroom with Kiara cradled in his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to her knee before setting her down on the cool tile.

“I’ll get us some water, make sure everything’s…presentable out there,” he says, shutting the door and smiling when Kiara lets out a small groan.

Rafe’s not sure if 3 minutes or 30 pass as he cleans up the living room, his head blissfully empty and his body still flooded with warmth.

When Kiara steps out of the bathroom, still bare and absolutely radiant, Rafe freezes mid-step.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” he mutters, drawn closer to her like a moth to a flame. Powerless against her pull, the way he’s always been.

Kiara laughs softly as she throws on her t-shirt, the sound shy and sweet, like she’s flattered but not surprised by her effect on him. Rafe wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Can we go look at the stars?” She asks, pulling on the underwear and shorts that Rafe holds out to her.

He chuckles. “Oh, so now you want to be outside?”

“Shut up,” Kiara says with a grin, shoving his chest lightly before grabbing his hand and dragging him outside.

They roll out the sleeping bags in comfortable silence, the nighttime symphony of crickets and rustling leaves wrapping around them like a warm blanket.

It’s only when they sprawl next to each other on the sleeping bags, hands touching but not intertwined, that Rafe realizes that he feels freer, lighter in a physical way. Like the chip on his shoulder that he’s been carrying his whole life has finally fallen off. Like the dead weight in his chest has been filled with something alive. Something burning. Something real.

“Forever, huh?” Kiara’s turns and looks at him, her mouth pulling up into a soft smile.

Rafe blushes, rubbing an anxious hand down his face. “Sorry if that was uh…too much.”

“It wasn’t.” Kiara laces her fingers through his. “I used to think forever was a long time. I couldn’t even conceptualize it. Forever.” She shakes her head slightly. “In reality… our lives are so short, so precious and fragile.” She looks down at their interlaced fingers, something raw and vulnerable flitting across her face. “After everything, it’s nice to feel like I’m in good hands.”

Rafe swallows around the lump in his throat, trying to joke the emotion away. “Now who’s got the lines, Kie?”

She laughs lightly, brushing a stray curl out of her face. “Not lines. Just the truth.”

Rafe tears his eyes away from her luminous face and stares up at the sky that’s dull in comparison. “The sky’s so clear tonight,” he says after a long time, his voice thick with unshed tears.

“Yeah, it really is. Maybe that means we’ll have some good luck, finally.” Kiara’s clearly joking, but Rafe shakes his head anyway. He runs a thumb across the back of her hand, trying to memorize the feeling of her skin. He already has the look on her face committed to memory, the one that makes him feel like he’s done something right for the first time in his life. That makes him feel deserving. That makes him feel loved.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling pretty lucky already.”

Rafe stares up at the clear night sky, looking for constellations as he pulls Kiara into his side. She nestles there like she belongs in his arms, like he’s a safe space, like Rafe is her home as much as Kiara is Rafe’s.

For a long moment, he can’t believe this is real. He waits to wake up again, because he can’t fathom this actually happening. That Rafe Cameron is in love with someone that loves him back, a person that sorted through the ugly wreckage of his heart and decided there was some good worth salvaging.

There was a time when he didn’t think he would ever be at peace, when he thought he didn’t deserve to be.

But right here, right now, Rafe feels happy. He feels accepted. He feels comfortable in his own skin.

He knows their healing isn’t done - in actuality, it’s barely begun. But neither of them have to do it alone, not anymore. Because now they have each other.

What a beautiful, impossible thing.

Chapter Text

🌟 5 YEARS LATER 🌟

Kiara thinks it’s true what people say, that the years feel shorter the older you get.

Logically, she knows it’s been five years since she packed her things into a U-Haul and hopped into Rafe’s Range Rover, leaving the Outerbanks in the rearview mirror.

But it also feels like just yesterday that they left everything behind except each other, their hands intertwined on the gearshift and the music cranked loud enough to drown out  the complicated thoughts and emotions that came with leaving.

Nobody in Kiara’s life was happy about the move to Charleston, but they also didn’t fight her that hard. Not at first. Not when they’d seen what the memories in this place had done to her, how the trauma had pulled her under until she nearly drowned.

They didn’t fight her until Rafe quietly announced to his clients that he was moving too, that he was renting out most of his properties and moving to Charleston so he could “expand Cameron Development.”

Rafe and Kiara didn’t say they were in love, but they didn’t have to. Everyone knew what it really meant that they were leaving together, and no one was happy about it.

Not her parents, who tried to convince her to just move back home and forget about him. Not Sarah or Cleo, who didn’t hate Rafe, but still didn’t understand why Kiara would uproot her entire life and leave with him. 

And especially not Pope or John B, who took the news as a personal attack; not only against them, but against JJ, too, against the whole concept of Pogues for Life.

At first, the boys tried to reason with her. They told Kiara that she wasn’t thinking straight, that Rafe had taken advantage of her at a vulnerable time. 

When that strategy didn’t work, they iced her out. And when Sarah and Cleo told the boys they were being ridiculous and cruel, the silence ended and the yelling began.

Kiara heard it all - claims that she really wasn’t a Pogue, that she wasn’t their friend, that she wasn’t the person JJ had loved anymore. All aimed to wound, all things she had thought herself on the worst nights when she couldn’t sleep.

One time she came home shaking after a particularly bad fight, and she’d had to talk Rafe down from abandoning the boxes he was packing at Tannyhill to “talk some sense” into Pope and John B.

And it hurt, of course, but Kiara didn’t take it personally. She understood why her friends couldn’t fathom her 180 regarding Rafe, how they couldn’t possibly comprehend the way the two of them were now bonded for life. There was no way to explain the shift to them without sounding insane.

So Kiara affirmed that she still loved the Pogues and valued their friendship, without ever raising her voice or backing down. When the time came to move, she hoped that time and space would soften their outrage instead of pushing them away entirely.

The first few months in Charleston were a hard adjustment for Kiara, especially with the knowledge that her relationships back home were so fractured.

But Rafe was there through it all, the rock supporting her at the lowest moments, always assuring her that they could move back if that’s what she needed.

To keep busy, Kiara started going to school online while Rafe tried to get Cameron Development settled in Charleston. She studied for a degree in social work while she volunteered at a local conservation organization, eventually moving her way up to a paid position. 

Kiara and Rafe decided to come back for all the holidays they could, even during that emotional first year.

Things were tense until they got news that brought them all together, just a few days after Christmas - Groff had finally been apprehended abroad, brought in for manslaughter by local authorities in Spain. When the Spanish government found out that Groff was wanted by the FBI, they extradited him to the U.S. to face charges including but not limited to: fraud, grand larceny, and second-degree murder. 

He was in possession of millions of dollars of stolen assets at the time of his arrest, all seized by the government. $500,000 of this stash was allocated as restitution for the Camerons, money that would go to Rafe but Kiara knew he wouldn’t keep for himself. Not now. Not after everything.

The six of them digested the news at Tannyhill, the Pogues and a very nervous Rafe, brought together by their grief and relief and the love that was the undercurrent of all the resentment and pain they’d been holding on to.

John B and Pope never apologized to Rafe or Kiara, and they never explicitly discussed their relationship at all, like ignoring it might make it go away. But they did start calling again. 

And just shy of a year after the move to Charleston, John B and Sarah not only accepted Rafe’s offer to pay for their wedding, but they asked Kiara if she would help with the planning.

Kiara was ecstatic to help with the event, which took place in the fall of 2026. It was an intimate but classy affair, tender and soft and perfect for a couple that had been through the wringer and emerged all the stronger for it. JJ was by their side for the entire ceremony, staring up at her parents with so much love in her little eyes that it left most of the guests in tears.

And Kiara was so inspired by feeling useful, by planning and executing something that made people so happy, that she hatched a new plan when they got back to Charleston.

Rafe had business experience, money, and connections; Kiara had a deep love for the environment, a strong desire to help others, and a pending social work degree. So they decided to start a nonprofit, one that combined elements they were both passionate about; Kiara wanted to incorporate conservation, while Rafe wanted to prevent at-risk youth from struggling the same way he did. The way JJ did. The same way so many kids on Kildare did, both rich and poor, Kook and Pogue.

And that’s how the Shark Tooth Youth Engagement Program came to fruition, an after-school program for underserved kids in the area. The activities were designed with conservation in mind; helping with beach clean ups, visiting aquariums to learn about the ocean, and anything else the kids found interesting about the environment. It took a long time to get off the ground, and took their blood, sweat, and tears to create. But Kiara loved putting something healing into the world, and she could tell that even Rafe felt fulfilled by the effort.

Busy with Cameron Development and Shark Tooth, years passed in the blink of an eye. And Rafe and Kiara were mostly happy, even when their life wasn't. Because they decided early on that they were a team, that they’d do this life together no matter what it threw at them.

So Kiara wasn’t necessarily surprised when Rafe got down on one knee on September 30, 2027. He kneeled in the sand during a gorgeous sunset, right after they watched baby loggerhead turtles wiggle their way to the ocean.

But she was surprised at how much she cried, watching Rafe’s eyes crinkle with happiness as he told her simply and earnestly that he wanted to be with her forever. And she was surprised that he bought a ring with an amethyst stone instead of a diamond, apparently remembering the time Kiara ranted about how traditional rings were boring and real diamonds were unethical.

They got married the next summer, in a small, intimate event. The date was August 25th, 2028. The people that mattered most were there, gathered on Kiara’s favorite beach in the OBX for a short ceremony at golden hour. 

Rafe cried when she walked down the aisle, and Kiara couldn’t stop smiling as they exchanged rings. No one except for them knew that Rafe’s band was engraved with “You Jump” and Kiara’s with “I Jump” in matching script.

It was just another tender secret kept between them, two soulmates that shared a lot of trauma and a love for the movie Titanic.

They spent a lot of time in the OBX during the summers anyway, especially since their non-profit was busiest during the school year.

So after five years of space and healing, of reflection and reckoning, Kiara and Rafe finally decided it was time to move back home. To the place where it all began. To the place where the next chapter of their lives was going to start.

———————————————————————

🌟 July 16, 2030 🌟

Almost five years to the day after the move to Charleston, Kiara sits in Rafe’s king-sized bed, her back propped against expensive pillows and her feet tucked under a silky blanket.

She scrolls on her phone with one hand, idly dropping pieces of furniture into an online shopping cart. She’s anxious for the day when the renovations at their new place are finally done, meaning they can move the hell out of Tannyhill.

She hates how impersonal the space is, how cavernous and haunted it still feels even five years later. Not to mention the way the whole estate drips with excess and waste, a physical representation of all the things she hates most about Kooks.

But her Kook, the only one she’ll tolerate, is slung lazily over her body, snuggled into her chest as he absentmindedly scrolls a streaming service for a movie. As she shops online, Kiara brushes a gentle hand through his hair, which has grown longer in a way she finds outrageously sexy.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you.” Rafe hums in acknowledgment. “John B and Pope are coming with the girls for dinner tomorrow. I want to talk to them about helping with Shark Tooth’s relocation.” 

The change in Rafe’s body is immediate, and Kiara pushes his shoulder lightly. “Don’t get all tense!” She scolds.

“I’m not!” He protests, but his voice is too high for it to be believable.

“I can feel it, Rafe. Your body feels like one big, uncomfortable box-spring.”

Rafe sighs in defeat. “It’s because I know those guys still hate me. It’s so obvious.”

Kiara tilts her head in thought. “They don’t hate you. Not anymore, at least. They’ve definitely made progress through the ‘I hate my friend’s significant other’ stages. They started with blanket denial, moved into hostile tolerance, and now they’re at begrudging acceptance. That’s real progress, babe.”

“Yay.” Rafe’s voice is dripping with sarcasm.

“Don’t use that tone. The baby can hear it, and she doesn’t like when we argue.” Kiara rubs a hand instinctively down her rounded belly, over the prominent swell that’s almost 7 months in the making.

Rafe turns to face her, his eyebrows raised and his lips upturned in a soft smile.

“She??” They’ve been arguing about the gender a lot lately (Rafe wants to know so they can be ‘better prepared,’ while Kiara insists that it doesn’t matter because gender is just a societal construct anyway).

“I meant they,” Kiara corrects quickly. “You can be whoever you want to be, little one!” She calls in the direction of her belly.

Rafe laughs fondly, his eyes sparkling like sunlight on ocean water. “I’d like a girl. She’d be just like you.”

Kiara snorts at the idea. “You think you can handle two of me running around?”

Rafe places a hand on top of the one that still rests on her stomach, tracing light circles against the skin. “I’m up for the challenge.”

“I hope you remember that you asked for this when we have a little monster running around that acts just like me,” Kiara teases, but her heart swells at the thought of Rafe chasing a mini-her around.

“I remember everything, Kie.” Rafe’s gaze is warm and knowing. “And I’ll love him or her…” He rolls his eyes at her obvious displeasure. “Or them…no matter what. They’ll be perfect because they’re yours. Because they’re ours.” He laces his fingers with Kiara’s and presses a gentle kiss to her stomach. She’s amazed at the way her pulse still jumps at his touch, at the way he melts her heart like he was born to do it.

“God, you’re such a softie,” she teases, mostly to keep herself from crying. “But don’t stop. Say more nice things.”

Rafe laughs and stretches towards her face, grabbing her jaw and kissing her in a way that makes Kiara feel like she's suddenly running a fever.

“I love you, Kie,” he whispers against her mouth. “More and more every day.”

“I love you too, Rafe,” she replies as he pulls away, settling back onto her chest with a contented sigh. “You’re going to be a great dad,” she whispers, bringing a hand back to his hair.

Rafe’s body tenses again, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he takes a deep breath and holds it for three seconds before letting it out, a technique Kiara knows he learned in therapy. He uses it as a coping technique when negative emotions threaten to pull him under, when his body responds instinctually to threats that no longer exist.

Kiara’s heart aches with tenderness and affection. She’s overwhelmed with pride, both for the man Rafe’s become and the resiliency he shows every day, the way he never stops trying to be better.

Truthfully, she’s proud of both of them. Kiara’s proud of the woman she’s become, proud of the way they’ve grown as a couple. Proud of the way they face the tidal wave of challenges that threaten to drown them, staying afloat without ever leaving each other without a life preserver.

Maybe time doesn’t heal all wounds, the way people always say it does. But it makes them tolerable. It turns the wounds into scars you can live with, scars that tell the story of who you are without defining the person you’re going to become.

For Rafe and Kiara, so many of their scars are shaped the same, evidence of the multiple lifetimes of challenges they’ve helped each other through. They’ve healed together, ensuring a future full of love and tenderness, of happiness and light. A future as a family.

A future that feels like an impossible wish come true.