“I know.”
There’s a pause. The words I don’t say sit heavy in my mouth:I got served today.Like it’s something I’m still trying tounderstand. Like it might be easier to talk about a knife than a signature line.
Vinny turns onto a quiet street lined with high fences and hedges that look professionally trained. The neighborhood feels like privacy bought at a premium. No sidewalks. No streetlights bright enough to invite wandering.
The car slows, then stops at a gate. Vinny punches in a code, and the gate slides open without a sound. We roll forward into a driveway that curves like it doesn’t want you to see the house too quickly.
And then it appears—low, wide, warm light spilling through glass. Modern without being cold. Clean lines softened by trees and some kind of climbing plant that hugs the edge of the structure. There are no neon signs of celebrity, no obnoxious luxury cars lined up like trophies. Just… a home.
My chest aches for reasons I don’t immediately understand.
It’s not jealousy. It’s grief. This is a whole life he built without me.
Vinny parks. He doesn’t linger, just opens the door, then steps back like he’s giving us space but is still ready to kill someone with his bare hands if the air changes wrong.
Rafe gets out first, scanning out of habit, then reaches for me without looking like he’s already decided I don’t get to walk alone. His hand closes around my wrist. The contact is quick and practical, but it hits like intimacy anyway.
I follow him up the steps to the front door. I’m aware of the night air on my face, the quiet, the way the world seems normal out here despite what just happened.
Rafe unlocks the door. His movements are smooth and automatic. Then he pauses. His shoulders shift slightly, like he’s remembering something he’s been pushing down. “You’ve never been here,” he says, and it isn’t a question.
“No,” I admit.
For a second, he looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that fact. Then he steps aside and lets me walk in first.
The house smells like cedar and clean soap and something faintly sweet—vanilla or maybe the remnants of whatever candle he burns when he’s trying to pretend he’s calm. The entry opens into a living space that feels lived-in. A couch that looks like someone actually lies on it. A throw blanket slung over the arm. A guitar stand in the corner with two guitars resting.
There’s a shelf of records. A stack of sheet music. A bowl on the sideboard filled with keys and random coins and a tiny pack of gum. It’s all so perfectly normal, which is absurd because nothing about tonight is normal.
My eyes catch on a framed photo on the far wall and my heart stutters, but when I get closer, I realize it’s not a photo at all—it’s a print. Abstract. Something moody and blue.
There are no pictures or family portraits. No band shots or captured memories smiling back. It’s like the past is a thing he keeps in drawers instead of on walls.
Rafe closes the door behind us. The sound is final and heavy.
Vinny lingers in the doorway for one more beat. “You need me to stick around tonight?” he asks.
Rafe shakes his head. “No, I’m good. I’ll set the alarm, and I won’t be going anywhere.”
Vinny’s gaze flicks to me. It’s not hostile. It’s… assessing. Protective of Rafe. Protective of the boundary he’s been holding for years. “Okay. Call if you need me.” Then he steps out, the door shutting again, and we’re alone.
Actually alone.
Rafe turns to me slowly, like he’s afraid sudden movement might spook me. “You okay?” he asks.
There it is. Again. I swallow. My heart is still sprinting, my skin still buzzing, my mind still ricocheting between kiss, knife, cameras, and divorce papers.
And somehow I’m still upright.
“Yeah,” I say, and then I add, because honesty is apparently my new religion tonight, “No. But… I’m here.”
Rafe’s eyes narrow. His gaze flicks over my face again, catching on the dried streak on my cheek. “You’ve got something,” he says.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I’m wearing someone else’s breakdown.”
He steps closer, then hesitates like he’s not sure he’s allowed. “Bathroom’s that way,” he says, pointing down a hallway. “There are wipes under the sink. And… you can use anything. Towels. Whatever.”
“Okay.”
