I sit across from him, and we eat for a few minutes in easy quiet. It’s not silent because something is wrong but because nothing is.
My phone vibrates again. I ignore it at first, determined to be present, but then it keeps going—buzz, buzz, buzz—until I can’t pretend it’s not happening.
Rafe’s mouth quirks. “They really are obsessed with you.”
I glance down. It’s the Eagles group chat again.
Dom: Someone tell LA he’s obligated to come to the charity event next week because I refuse to be the only one dressed like a functioning adult.
Troy: He won’t come. He’s going to pretend he’s busy being humble.
Zeke: I vote we show up at his house and drag him.
I snort. “They’re planning an abduction.”
“Sounds like team bonding,” Rafe says dryly.
“I don’t want to bond.”
“You’re bonding right now,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong. The fact that I’m even in the group chat, the fact that they’re texting me like I’m part of the furniture already, is… new.
Rafe’s eyes linger on my phone for a beat longer than necessary, and I see the thought behind it. It’s not jealousy, exactly. He doesn’t do jealousy the way most people do. It’s more like… relief mixed with longing.
He wants me happy.
He wants me held.
He wants me to have a life that isn’t only him, because he knows what it costs when my whole world narrows to one person. He knows what it does to both of us.
But I also think there’s a part of him that’s watching me find my footing here and wondering, quietly, if I needed to leave LA to become this version of myself.
And that’s not a question either of us is ready to say out loud over eggs and toast.
The moment stretches. Then his phone rings.
Rafe’s body reacts before his mind does. His shoulders lift slightly, his gaze flicking to the screen, and I can tell from the way he exhales that he’d been enjoying the quiet too. Enjoying the illusion of normal.
He checks the caller ID and his expression shifts into immediate alert. “Rachael,” he says.
I blink. “Your agent?”
He nods, already reaching for it. “She knows I’m away,” he says apologetically. “I asked not to be disturbed unless it’s important.”
“Take it,” I tell him. “If she’s calling, it’s probably not to chat about the weather.”
Rafe gives me a grateful look and answers. “Hey.”
His tone is casual, but his eyes are sharp.
I can’t hear Rachael’s voice clearly at first—just a faint sound through the speaker, muffled by distance—but then there’s a burst of noise on the other end. Loud hollers. A chorus of voices overlapping. The kind of chaos that can only be the band.
Rafe’s eyebrows lift. He looks at me like,you hearing this?
Then, without hesitation, he taps the screen and puts the call on speaker.
It’s a small thing, but it hits me anyway. The instinctive trust. The refusal to compartmentalize me.
“—shut up,” Rachael’s voice cuts through, crisp and exasperated, and then another yell crashes right over her.
