He doesn’t linger. He gives us the space like it’s a gift, and then it’s just me and Rafe on the porch, the front door shut behind us, the house pressing quietly at my back.
Rafe doesn’t speak immediately. He turns slowly, and the hurt on his face hits me like a blow.
Not fury. Not coldness. Hurt.
His eyes are dark and too still, like whatever he’s feeling is being held behind his teeth with sheer force. He looks… older, somehow, in a way that has nothing to do with time and everything to do with exhaustion.
“You told Marco?” he asks.
The words are calm, but the tone isn’t.
I swallow hard. “Yes,” I admit. “He… kind of found out this morning when I was spiraling.”
Rafe’s jaw flexes.
I rush on, because silence is unbearable. “I swear the guy can get secrets out of a priest,” I add, attempting a weak joke. “Like, I don’t know how he does it. He just?—”
It lands like a dead bird between us. Rafe doesn’t smile. His voice goes harder. “So, let me get this straight.” He gestures with a sharp, controlled movement, like he’s drawing lines on the porch boards. “Your parents know. Your sister knows. Your basketball buddy knows.”
I flinch.
“And none of my family does,” he continues, voice clipped, “and they can’t.”
“The guys know,” I say quickly, because it matters. Because it makes it less—less like I’m choosing. “Eli and Drew and Miles. They’ve known from the beginning.”
Rafe’s eyes flash. “That’s not what I meant.”
I swallow hard. My mouth tastes like metal.
“And now Marco,” he says, as if the name itself stings. “Marco who has his own life and his own wife and his own team, and now he knows.”
“He’s not going to tell anyone,” I say immediately. “He wouldn’t.”
Rafe lets out a short laugh with no humor. “That’s not the point.”
I blink hard, forcing myself to be steady. “I didn’t—” I start, then stop, because I don’t know what I didn’t do. I didn’t plan for it. I didn’t want it. I didn’t think?—
I’m still thinking when my gaze flicks instinctively toward the house. Something pricks at the back of my mind. The security detail. The fact that there’s always someone, somewhere, even when you think you’re alone.
I scan the windows before I can stop myself. And then I see him. Vinny.
He’s in the living room, half in shadow, standing near the window with the posture of someone who’s been trained to be still. He’s holding a phone. When he notices my eyes on him, he gives a slight nod. Professional. Neutral. A silent confirmationthat, yes, he’s here. Yes, he’s been here. Yes, he’s seen more than I want to imagine.
When I look back at Rafe, his face is tight with something that looks almost like resignation, and I realize what I just did—how I looked toward the window, how I searched for Vinny, how I proved Rafe’s point without meaning to.
People keep learning. The secret keeps expanding. Just never in the direction that would actually set Rafe free.
I open my mouth, panic rising. “We can—” I say quickly. “We can go in right now. We can tell them.”
Rafe’s answer is instant. “No.”
It’s so fast, so sharp, so vehement, it knocks the air out of me. I stare at him. “No?”
“No,” he repeats, harder. “Not like this.”
I blink, my brain struggling to catch up. “I’m trying to fix it,” I say. “I’m trying to?—”
“Not once again on your fucking terms,” Rafe snaps.
