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memoirofasparklemuff1n · 15 hours ago

Note

ur so so talented omg

im so glad you popped up on my feed 💕

i’m absolutely obsessed with ‘the bet’

i think there’s not enough really angsty fanfics and this was EVERYTHING!!!

will there be a part two?

beyond the bet

part two of the bet

rafe cameron x reader

prompt: 'the moment you saw me as a bet was the moment you fucked up.'

warnings: more angst, but we love a good redemption arc <3, pining rafe, happy ending :)

wc: 6.8k (i got carried away and cried multiple times we're not talking about it)

a/n: thank you anon! this is the highly requested part two of the bet, which is part of my 100 followers celebration! this was healing to write, so i hope it's just as healing to read xx

rafe cameron masterlist

Sarah’s hand is steady.

Yours is the complete opposite.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ she murmurs. ‘Not for him. Not for anyone.’

The smile that creeps up your lips is soft. It’s sad, brave and content.

‘I want to.’

The night you’d found the text message from Kelce, you hadn’t said anything. The shock hadn’t worn off. It hadn’t settled yet, instead just hovering thick and invisible.

You went to work like nothing was wrong. But Rafe’s betrayal crept up on you in waves. Not all at once, but enough to make your stomach churn with every memory that came flooding back.

You’d found yourself hollow. Hollow enough to close the door. Hollow enough to shut out the one thing that ever made you feel like you were more than just ‘some girl from The Cut.’

But clearly, you weren’t.

Like everything good in your life, it crumbled. Not suddenly, but like the punchline of a long-running joke the universe never let you in on.

When your head settled into the pillow that night, no tears came. Just the scent of him, clung to the fabric like something alive, and the other side of the bed resting unnaturally, insultingly cold.

You’d tried to cry. Willed for the tears to come. Begged for it. But the void was louder. It sucked you into endless spirals of what-ifs that left you wide-eyed and wide awake.

How could he keep that from you?

If he actually loved you, how had he allowed himself to keep such a monumental secret?

Would he have ever told you if you didn’t see that text?

Would he have said, ‘I do,’ with Kelce watching like the keeper of some terrible secret?

Would he even have said, ‘I do.’?

You count your steps.

Not in fear. Never again in fear.

In defiance.

Against every odd you were never meant to outrun.

One.

The night the door shut. The night you stopped pretending Rafe’s betrayal wasn’t going to break you.

Two.

The day JJ let you fall apart in his arms without saying, ‘I told you so.’

The Pogues didn’t shut you out. The deeper you’d embedded yourself into Rafe’s affection, they’d still checked in every now and again, but they’d stopped waiting for you to come back.

They never said it out loud, but the further you fell into Rafe’s world, the fewer texts came through. Fewer invites. Fewer places set at dinner.

They’d stopped asking if you were going to come over.

Even though it scared the living shit out of them, they let you have it.

Because for a while, you’d looked happy.

Kie showed up in the Twinkie like a soldier on a rescue mission. She didn’t ask any questions, just came with open arms. You didn’t want to be at home. Not when the walls still smelled like him.

Not when every sound made your heart jump with hope and dread.

You weren’t sure what would’ve hurt more. Him not showing up, or him looking at you like he still loved you.

His face always made you feel like he loved you. Like you were the air in his lungs.

But that look on his face when you shut the door, the wounded, pitiful one, made you feel like you were the one who burnt your own happiness to the ground.

Inside the walls that once felt like safety, you cracked open like a smashed glass. JJ caught you mid-fall. He held you whilst you cried, letting you spew out the questions and regrets that clawed at your heart.

Kie settled by your side, her body heat doing nothing to relax the tremors wreaking havoc through your body. She just let you breathe.

‘Why did I let myself fall for him?’

Your voice cracked, your hands trembled.

‘I should’ve known better. He was never going to love a Pogue.’

You couldn’t even look at them when you whispered the last part.

‘Why was I so stupid? How didn’t I see that I was just a piece in his game?’

They didn’t try to give you the answers. They held you. Gave you their presence. They fed you. Made you shower. Dragged you outside long enough to feel the sun again.

And somehow, that was enough. Enough to keep breathing on your own.

They deleted the voice message that you kept playing like a lullaby. The one where he said ‘I love you,’ like it still meant something. They pulled you back before you could spiral into the guilt of not telling him you hated him.

Because deep down, you didn’t.

You’d quit the Country Club without a word, ignoring the dozen missed calls from your boss. You couldn’t go back. Not when his presence haunted the walls. That place didn’t just remind you of him.

It belonged to him.

Even worse, it was the place where you let him claim pieces of your heart, one soft lie at a time.

You’d stopped showing up. To shifts at work. To people. To yourself.

Instead you clocked into the bait shop and didn’t leave until your body forced you to. You clung to the friends who never made you feel foolish for falling in love with a boy who pretended to be a man.

A man with a heart made of pretty promises and cold silence.

He’d never felt icy. He’d felt like the kiss of a summer breeze right before a hurricane. He’d felt like the shelter from the storm you didn’t know he’d caused. He made you feel like the universe had finally remembered you existed.

But above all, he felt like a lie with a beating heart and blue eyes that forced you to believe him anyway.

The kind of lie that made you question every time he looked at you like he was your future.

The kind of lie that humiliated you in front of yourself.

No one can see your heart pounding. But you feel it. In your ears, your knees, in the way your ribcage can’t seem to hold it still. It’s thrashing. Desperate to claw its way out of your chest to beat normally again.

You’re staring straight ahead at those doors.

You know once you cross that threshold, there’s no turning around.

Not from this version of yourself.

The night was still. Still enough to hear your own thoughts for once.

Until it wasn’t.

You’d been cleaning the counter at the bait shop, when you heard the unmistakable roar of Rafe’s bike closing in on you. JJ instantly shot up, slamming his beer down, jaw already clenched like he’d been expecting this.

Always your loyal soldier.

JJ Maybank, the boy with a reckless heart, bruised knuckles and a moral compass that always pointed in your direction.

You were frozen, rooted to the floor like fear had turned your blood to concrete. He was here. And he was invading the only place that had started to feel like yours again. He tossed his helmet into the dirt, and JJ was on him before he could step foot under the soft light of the shop.

‘You need to leave, Rafe.’

JJ’s voice was steel. No cracks. No wiggle room. But Rafe’s eyes found you, behind the counter, trembling, and it was like nothing else existed. He looked strung out, pupils wide and wild, like he hadn’t seen daylight in weeks.

He hadn’t seen you in weeks at that point. He’d kept his distance physically, instead flooding your phone with voicemail confessions and apologies he never had the courage to say to your face. He told himself he was giving you space.

But now, he needed to see you. Even if it ruined him.

‘’M not goin’ anywhere, I need to talk to her.’ Rafe’s voice was cold, his hands working to shove JJ aside, his eyes set on you. Even with the tears in your eyes, all he could think about is how badly he missed you.

Because, as you’d learnt, Rafe Cameron is indeed a selfish man.

JJ didn’t flinch, shoving Rafe back so hard his boots dragged across the dirt, ‘You’re not talkin’ to her. Not in this state.’ His voice was a quiet growl, dripping promise opposed to threat.

‘Sober up and get the fuck off my property before I put you in the dirt.’ JJ was practically spitting at Rafe, shoulders arched in a way that dared Rafe to test him.

Behind the bar, your hands began to shake. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until your head began to spin. Rafe shoved JJ again, like he was just a small hurdle in the way of his prize.

‘Fuck off, Maybank. She needs to know ‘m sorry.’ Rafe snarled, fighting against JJ’s grip, holding him back. Holding him away from you. JJ almost felt bad for Rafe in that moment. Almost.

Rafe had been a dick to JJ, yet the blonde couldn’t help but feel something that resembled pity towards him. The way Rafe’s eyes reddened when he saw you, the way his tears betrayed his prideful ego.

You’d fucked Rafe up, just as badly as he had you.

‘Rafe, leave. Now.’ JJ stood firm, adrenaline keeping himself anchored onto Rafe. He could feel your anguish across the store, and he wasn’t about to let Rafe worsen it. Rafe shook his head, charging forward.

JJ had no choice. His fist collected Rafe’s jaw in a steady swoop, knocking him right on his ass. You didn’t even stop him. You froze. Your stomach curled up like something had just died inside of you.

Your brain screamed at you to move. To shout. To step between them. But those concrete veins prevailed. Your heart? It was already bleeding again.

Rafe was already clamoring to his feet, before JJ struck him with another brutal punch.

And Rafe just laughed.

He spat the blood in his mouth onto the dirt, attention now on JJ.

‘Hit me!’ Rafe laughed, broken and bloody.

‘I fuckin’ deserve it ‘nd you know it.’

JJ froze. You did too. Because he wasn’t fighting back. He was begging for pain.

JJ couldn’t bring himself to swing again. He grabbed Rafe by the collar and dragged him to his bike, and stood tall until he left. He left, and once again, you were left picking up the pieces of rubble he always left in his wake.

You felt every emotion under the sun, possibly even emotions science hadn’t yet identified.

Emotions that sat in your throat like glass, slicing their way into your chest.

Humiliation, hurt, regret, empathy, sadness, worthlessness, longing, betrayal, anger.

It was too much to deal with.

So you did what you could. You couldn’t afford therapy, so you focused on distracting yourself. You broke your lease and moved in with the Pogues. You saved up for a camera like it was your salvation.

Started taking pictures like your life depended on it.

Tourists, Kook weddings, baby bumps, family photoshoots and seaside sunsets. You fell in love with life again, one shutter click at a time. Each smile, each person reminding you that there’s eight billion people on this earth, and maybe one day, you’ll experience happiness like them again.

You started making more money than you knew what to do with. Bookings came faster than you could breathe, each shoot a step further from the version of yourself that used to beg for scraps of love.

You found yourself in country clubs and coastal estates. In the same world that once belonged to him. But now you were behind the lens, and for the first time in your life, you were the one holding the power.

Until one day, he was there.

And the ground didn’t shake.

Your heart didn’t break.

But it did… stir.

The Pogues surround you, beaming like they’ve just watched you conquer the world. JJ’s hand squeezes yours, steady and silent, reminding you that you’re never alone. You try to focus on the moment.

But your mind drifts back to that day. The day where the red string tugged. No rain. No thunder.

Just the quiet pull of fate.

‘You look good,’ his voice cracked the air like a match. You blinked, pulling your eye from the viewfinder like you’d just been caught committing a crime. Of course he was here. The Camerons and the Lowes were business partners.

‘You look… better,’ you muttered, eyeing him up and down. He did look better than the last time you saw him. When he came to the shop, and left his pride at your feet. He also had no hair now, which made you do a double take.

‘I’m clean. Seven months.’ Your lips parted, but no words came. All you could do was nod. Speaking felt like betrayal. Betrayal to your dignity, to your healing and to the reputation you’d built from the ashes of loving him.

You weren’t just you anymore. You were your brand. Your name. Your work. And your name didn’t flinch when he said things like that.

‘Congratulations.’

There was an uneasy beat of silence.

‘Thank you. And ‘m not saying that to win you back. I’m sayin’ it because you deserve to know.’

You didn’t get the chance to say, ‘I’m proud of you.’

Or, ‘I’m scared of what you still mean to me.’

Or anything, really.

Because as quickly as he appeared, he disappeared.

Fuck, you’re glad the photos paid for therapy. Real therapy. Not ‘healing through distraction.’ Not Kie’s borrowed journals. Actual therapy, where saying his name for the first time felt like hauling a boulder uphill with bloodied hands.

But you did it, and every session since has been a brick of emotional turmoil excavated from your chest.

‘I think I hate him.’

That’s what you told the box of tissues in front of you, because the tissues couldn’t judge you.

‘But I miss him so much I feel sick.’

Your therapist just nodded, because she knew. Love isn’t always clean. Grief is never clean.

You’d headed to a local bar to try and ease the thinking your brain was forcing upon you, post-therapy session. You’d drunk enough to sedate a horse, but it was never enough to forget about him–or what he did.

And of course, the universe had to poke fun at you once more.

‘That Cameron boy? Been volunteering ‘round my place since spring. Quiet kid, but he works hard.’ Said casually, like the crustless cucumber sandwich between sips of mimosas. The old lady’s words hit you sideways.

Rafe?

Working hard? Volunteering?

The same boy who bought and flipped homes like a game of Monopoly?

He wasn’t a hard worker. He was a talker. A manipulator.

A charm-your-mama-before-he-breaks-your-heart type.

Wasn’t he?

Rafe’s palms sweat like he’s back in the courtroom. This time though, it’s not the judge he’s scared of.

Every minute of work.

Every sober morning.

Every aching, gut-wrenching therapy session.

It’s all been building to this moment.

He didn’t even know you were there. But his therapist had said, ‘Keep doing the work. The right people will find you again.’

He didn’t think that would include you.

There he was, side by side with Wheezie, laughing at something she’d said, like the world hadn’t broken both of you a dozen times over.

It was just the monthly ‘beach tidy.’ Locals. Volunteers. Garbage bags. Nothing poetic.

Until he was in the frame.

You went every month. It was your thing. Your breath of clean salted air. Your reset button. A way to give back to the world.

And he was never there, until he was.

He looked different. Lighter. Like he’d laid something heavy down and walked away from it. His shoulders, the ones that used to carry ego and rage like armor, were loose. Relaxed. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t a show.

It was peace, and that terrified you.

You didn’t mean to do it. Your fingers moved on instinct. Your eye slipped behind the lens, where it was safe, and you captured him. The way he smiled. The way Wheezie laughed beside him, hands equally as dirty as her brother’s.

The way he didn’t look broken anymore.

Later that night, curled up on the top bunk, you stared at the photo like it might blink back. It made something shift in your chest. Something you’d worked so hard to bury beneath logic and pain.

You’d told yourself you were done with him.

That you weren’t going to will your heart to be shattered in his hands again.

But there he was. Doing something good when he thought no one was watching. Where there’s no party. No camera. No performance. Just his sister, the sand, and the gentle lap of the waves.

Your fingers twitched over the delete button. You knew you shouldn’t keep it.

You knew how it went. One photo becomes curiosity. Curiosity becomes memory. And memory becomes the ache to call him, and beg him to tell you he loves you. Because being broken by Rafe Cameron, had left an empty pit in your stomach that craved his validation to fill.

You didn’t delete the photo.

You’d talked about men like him in therapy. Users. Liars. Boys who begged for love and offered rot in return. You knew better now, and yet, his soul called to yours like a familiar song in a burning building.

You could run, or you could turn around and listen.

Whether it be weeks or months, he always found a way to be there, and chip away at your resolve and anger, one glimpse at a time.

Despite the way he broke you, despite the betrayal and the deep ugly scar he’d left on your heart, part of you wanted to believe that maybe he might’ve changed.

And that scared the living shit out of you.

You remember when you were sure this day would never come. Not like this. And sure as hell not with him.

‘You ready?’ JJ murmurs, his arm hooking through yours like a lifeline. Unknowingly, he takes half of your weight. Half of your nerves. Half of your fear. You shake out your free hand, trying to toss the jitters onto the floor like spilled rice.

‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’ It’s barely a whisper, but somehow, JJ hears the steel behind it.

You’d gone alone to the beach, wanting to catch a glimpse of the sunset, possibly a photo too. Headphones on, sundress flowing around your body with the slight breeze, you walked aimlessly.

You’d found yourself in front of the Country Club, by some freak of nature. You hadn’t expected to see him again, especially not only a few days after the photo. A few days for you to try and compose yourself and remind yourself that he splintered your idea of love.

But there he was.

Tucked behind the bar, chatting away to Wheezie by his side. His demeanor was delicate with her. He oozed a protective aura around her, yet his eyes stayed gentle, and he actually seemed to be listening to her ramblings.

He noticed you first this time.

He didn’t move. Didn’t smile. He just gave you a polite nod.

You nodded back, continuing to walk further down the beach, trying to get the encounter out of your mind. You’d thought that was it. It should’ve been. History only rewrites itself. No–that’s not what your therapist said, but whatever.

Wheezie hadn’t missed the interaction. She chased you down, sand-crusted and pink-cheeked, heart on her sleeve. ‘He didn’t know you were gonna be here,’ she blurted out, like she was trying to catch the apology before it slipped too far between you.

It felt like she was trying to hand you a bandage you weren’t sure you needed. Like she still felt the gravity of your name stitched into Rafe’s heart.

‘I didn’t know he’d be here either,’ you murmured, offering the young lady an indifferent smile. You hadn’t intended on being rude, but your eyes kept flicking up to Rafe, who sat at the bar, frozen solid.

He was terrified. Not of you, but of what Wheezie might spill. She was the only person he’d ever really spoken to about you. The only one who knew he still whispered your name every therapy session.

You two were out of earshot, but Rafe knew his gut instinct was right when he saw Wheezie speak, and your brows furrow.

‘He talks about you. Not like a weirdo or anything,’ she spoke quickly, like you were going to run before she could get the words out, ‘just… like how he wants to be someone you’d still be proud of.’

You didn’t trust your voice to respond. Although young, Wheezie could tell there were no more words to be exchanged anymore. She’d seen what Rafe had gone through. She’d seen him get clean.

She’d seen him cry in front of her.

She’d seen the way he would take her to the cinema after a therapy session, never talking about it straight away. He’d stew on it in the dark, with his sister beside him like silence could keep him whole.

She’d seen the way he was trying so desperately to make amends with Sarah, who was surely the next Cameron to require therapy.

She’d seen the way he began to help the community, participated in fundraisers, volunteered to clean and repair boats for the elderly, and helped people carry their groceries to their car.

She’d seen the impact of you, embedded into every inch of Rafe’s once bleak, arrogant heart.

She’d seen the way your ghost had pulled him towards goodness.

The way your absence shaped him into something softer.

Because that’s who he’d fallen in love with all those months ago.

That’s who he’d been in love with all those months.

That’s who he wanted to make people feel, because it was the most perfect feeling in the whole wide world to him.

Sarah tugs one last time on the strap settled against your shoulder, grounding you with the quiet efficiency only a sisterhood can offer. It still doesn’t feel real, but it feels earned.

The music changes, and you know this is as real as it will ever get.

Raw, honest, broken and healed.

As fucking real as it gets, like the scar left behind was always supposed to become part of the map.

Your breath stops.

After talking to Wheezie, you found yourself wandering down to sit on the end of the dock, watching the world fall asleep one shutter click at a time. You didn’t even notice his boots until they were too close to ignore.

Then he sat beside you, quietly, like he’d been summoned by the tide.

There was enough space to pretend he wasn’t there. Just enough wind between you to feign indifference. But you didn’t. You turned your shoulders towards the sea and let yourself feel the weight of him beside you.

He gave you enough space. Enough to choose if it would’ve been a moment, or just a memory.

He didn’t want to speak. He just sat there, letting the hush of your camera fill the gaps his words would’ve cracked wide open. As with every time you thought about him, your therapist’s voice played in your head.

‘I think it’d be good to talk to him about your feelings. Putting your cards on the table can provide you with a sense of closure.’

‘Absolutely not. I would rather fuck a chainsaw than tell him how bad it hurt. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.’

But fuck it.

Letting go didn’t mean forgetting. It just meant finally putting the chainsaw down.

‘I still think about that text, you know,’ your voice was sharper than you’d intended. But he nods anyway, because he truly does understand. After all, you couldn’t possibly hate him more than he hated himself.

You realized in that moment that he wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t trying to make excuses. He wasn’t defending his actions. He just let the weight of accountability sit heavy on his shoulders, alongside the hope that maybe… just maybe, you’d let him keep it.

‘You hate me, and you should because fuck-I hate me. What I did… what I didn’t say–’

You cut him off.

‘You lied to me, Rafe. I saw it all with you. I saw the white picket fence, the perfect wedding, the family. And to have that torn out under me because you couldn’t be honest with me? I trusted you with my life.’

‘And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give anyone that part of me ever again.’

His face cracked. He didn’t hide it. His pride was something he savored for his impactful decisions, not his once fragile ego. He leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers knotted like he was trying to hold himself together.

‘I wanted to tell you. I swear I did. But every time I looked at you… I-’ his voice cracked, and tears began to pool along the rim of his pretty blue eyes. You wanted to wipe them, but the distance from him was the only thing keeping you sane.

‘I didn’t want to lose it. I didn’t want to lose you. You’re the only person who ever made me feel like I mattered. I know it was fucked up. I’m sorry.’

He swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours, like he was prepared for you to tell him you hate him. To get that final piece of closure he’d been searching for through months of his good deeds and unravelling of the worst parts of himself.

‘You already had me, Rafe,’ your voice shook.

‘You didn’t need to lie.’

He looked down at his hands, letting the waves fill the beat of silence between you.

‘I didn’t think I deserved you. So part of me… I think I was waiting for it to all blow up. Like it always does. I kept waiting for the catch. And when it didn’t come… I guess I let myself become it.’

You closed your eyes, turning your head away from him. That was like a kick straight to the heart, stumbling the beat. You knew the taste of self-sabotage all too well. Of not feeling good enough for anyone from the mess you’d become.

You’d felt like that before him.

And you’d felt like that after him.

‘You know, in therapy, they told me that forgiveness isn’t a gift. It’s a decision. A commitment,’ your voice cracked slightly. You wanted to continue, but Rafe had another weight he wanted to get off his chest.

‘I’ve been going to therapy twice a week for eight months now. At first, it was for you. I wanted you to think I was sorting my shit out, but the more I went, the more I realized I needed it.’ His confession lingered heavily in the air.

It was a bruising weight. The silence.

Your eyes finally came up to meet his, blurred by your own tears threatening to spill. You blinked against the sting, ‘I don’t think I’m ready for the commitment of forgiveness yet, Rafe. But I see you’re trying.’

He didn’t reach for your hand like he wanted to. He just nodded, eyes fragile on you, like you were the bear ready to come barrelling through his china shop. He went silent. No breath. No movement.

This was the closure he came over here for, right?

‘I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready again. But I see you trying, Rafe. And I’d be lying to the both of us if I said that didn’t mean something.’

‘I’d wait a hundred years for you to be ready, angel.’

The pet name didn’t sting as bad as it once did. It didn’t make your stomach churn like it did when you’d shut the door in his face. It landed tastefully on your tongue, with a glimmer of hope sneaking in beside it.

‘You’ve got a hundred years of waiting, you may as well walk me home.’

His lips parted. The glimmer of hope seemed to wash over him too, flashing behind his eyes like a dreamy sunset. He didn’t rush anything. He didn’t rush to reach you. He didn’t ask for more.

Instead, for the first time, he met you where you were.

And he continued meeting you where you were.

He stepped in to help with a wedding shoot when JJ bailed last minute. No fanfare. No fuss. Just steady hands on the reflectors, gear fetched before you even asked, kids laughing at his stupid jokes.

He didn’t make it about him.

Just showed up. Held space. Respected yours.

He’d packed up every last lens and tripod without waiting for permission. When the sun began to bleed orange across the sky, he lingered by your car.

‘You’re really good at this, y’know?’

It had been so long since his praise didn’t feel like a trapdoor. But this time, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t brace. You just heard him.

He worked his way back into your orbit, not with apologies, but with presence. Every move was deliberate, cautious, patient and grounded in something that felt real.

He wasn’t chasing forgiveness. He was building trust.

He wanted to be the kind of man you could rely on. The kind of man his father never taught him how to be.

He wanted to be someone you could put every last drip of your faith into, and be able to handle it with the care it deserved. He never wanted to be the boy who broke everything he touched, ever again.

‘Wait!’ Kie’s voice cuts through the air, her gaze sweeping over you like she’s searching for cracks.

‘Where’s your something blue?’

Your chest finally lets go of its bated breath. You raise your hand.

‘Right here.’

The blue diamond glints on your finger, not loud or flashy. Just enough.

It wasn’t grand. It was like your love. It was raw, steady, and unshakably yours. Just the two of you. The same barstools at the Country Club where you first met him. The same spot where he’d fallen in love with you.

When neither of you knew what love really meant yet.

‘If you can forgive me,’ he said, the tear tracking down his cheek doing all the confessing for him. He didn’t wipe it away. He wore it.

‘I want to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve this second chance with you.’

You didn’t say a word.

You couldn’t.

Not when your heart had already answered for you.

‘I want to marry you. I want the family, the dog, the white picket fence–fuck, angel–whatever you want to do, I want to do it with you.’

You said yes. Not because he begged. But because he didn’t have to.

He proved that he had become a better man, not just through his words, but through his actions.

He’d earnt that spot that consumed your whole heart and soul.

The spot that still remembered how he used to hurt, and chose him anyway.

He’d earnt your trust back, week by week, month by month.

And you could confidently say you trusted him with the shattered pieces of your heart that he was grown enough to repair after breaking them.

It wasn’t perfect.

You never expected perfect.

You expected honesty, and reality.

And he was going to spend the rest of his life giving it to you.

The blue diamond shimmers under the sunlight. Blue, for loyalty. For devotion. It cost Rafe more than half his property portfolio, but he didn’t even flinch.

He would’ve given anything he had if it meant holding your hand at the altar.

When the doors open, and you see him at the end of the aisle, all of your worries melt away.

He’s standing tall in his sleek navy suit, shoulders squared. But he looks like a man on his knees. Not because he’s weak. But because you still bring him to them.

Each step you take is certain. There’s no hesitation. No fear. You’ve both worked so hard to get to where you are today, and everyone around you knows it.

JJ leads you down the aisle, arm locked through yours like it’s holding you up. He leans in, voice low enough that it curls beneath your veil, ‘Last chance to back out, Princess.’

You laugh, breathy and watery, trying not to smudge your makeup, ‘I’m not running.’ JJ brushes his thumb over your knuckles in a quiet way that says: Good. I’ve got you.

‘Good,’ he says, watching the aisle like a soldier. ’Because if he hurts you again, I’ll have to break every bone in his body.’ You don’t doubt it. You laugh louder this time. Rafe sees the exchange, the way JJ’s hand is still looped through yours.

The corners of his mouth twitch, like he’s fighting back a smile, and a sob, and a lifetime of regret all at once. He’s definitely not fighting back those tears, but neither are you.

You reach Rafe. JJ takes your hand and presses it gently into Rafe’s waiting palm. He doesn’t joke. He doesn’t threaten. He just looks at Rafe, blue eyes hard and full of history. Don’t fuck this up without ever saying it.

‘She’s my best girl,’ JJ says. Calm. Steady. ‘Don’t make me regret letting her go.’

Rafe nods. Once. Firm. Like it means everything.

No bravado.

No ego.��

Just reverence.

‘Never.’

The ceremony was small. No microphones. No stage. Just the people who mattered, close enough to hear your heartbeat and the crack in your voice. You didn’t want a production. You wanted a promise.

Kelce wasn’t there. Neither was Topper, or any of the other Kooks who once scoffed at the idea of Rafe Cameron loving a Pogue. And you didn’t miss them.

‘When we get married, are you going to get all sappy with your vows?’ You’d asked the question, perched on Rafe’s bare chest. Long before the text message. Long before you knew about the bet. When it was just you and him, planning a future together.

He rolled his eyes.

‘Like in sickness and in health?’ his gut twisted as he played it coy. He was going to tell you in that moment. Because fuck yes he wanted to marry you, and he absolutely wanted to get sappy with his vows, but only if you knew the truth.

‘You’re so unserious, like, all the time.’

‘You just bring out the calmest side of me I’ve ever known, angel.’

You let out a shaky breath, his thumb caressing your knuckles the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground.

‘I didn’t think we’d get here,’ you begin, voice cracking just a little. A nervous ripple of laughter breaks through the small crowd. Everyone knows. The rise. The fall. The redemption. Hell, in the Outer Banks, your love story was practically public record.

Your eyes blur before the second sentence even comes.

‘There was a time I thought I’d only ever say these words in my head.’

A pause.

‘And even then, they felt too big.’

‘When I met you, I didn’t know what it meant to be loved by a storm,’ you glance at him, and he smiles, but his eyes are brimming with heated emotion.

‘You were wild. Untouchable. Like a tide I couldn’t stop.’

‘I didn’t want to stop. I wanted every part of you… Even the ones you hadn’t figured out how to love yet.’

There goes your makeup.

‘When it all broke, I thought we were done. I thought that love had to come easy to be real.’

Your hand shakes. His doesn’t.

‘But now I know better. Love is the work. It’s the fight. It’s the showing up, even when it hurts.’

Your voice breaks, struggling to get the last of your words out, ‘You showed up. Even when I didn’t want to see you. Even when I shut every door. You grew. You became someone who loves honestly. And wholly. And bravely.’

You smile through the tears, barely able to see him through the floodgates that have crashed open down your face.

‘I don’t want a perfect man. I just want you.’

The whole room holds its breath as your voice cracks.

‘And I promise to choose you.’

‘Every version.’

‘Every day.’

‘Every storm.’

He pulls away from your hands to wipe his eyes, laughing in pure elation. You dab your eyes, looking around at your closest friends and family. The Pogues are all in tears. Ward even has a stern tear welling in his eye.

‘How am I supposed to compete with that angel?’ Rafe whispers, only loud enough for you and Pope, who was officiating the wedding, to hear. You let out a sniffle, reaching for his hands again as he begins his vows.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his voice.

‘I was scared of you at first.’

You blink, startled. But then he smiles. The kind of smile he only ever saved for you.

‘Not because you were scary. Because you saw me. Even the parts I wanted to pretend weren’t there.’ He takes your bouquet of flowers from your hand, passing them to Pope. He grabs both of your hands tightly, fingers toying with your engagement ring settled on your finger.

‘I’ve lied. I’ve hurt people. I’ve run from every good thing that’s ever come close.’

‘But not you. You were the first thing I ever wanted to stay for,’ his voice breaks, and you move closer, knowing it might help calm him down.

‘I didn’t know how to love you right. But you made me want to.’

‘When I lost you, I realized I couldn’t live proud. Not unless I earned the right to look you in the eye again.’

Your lip wobbles, and he has to look down at your dress to stop himself from melting into you.

‘I don’t deserve you,’ his eyes meet yours now, steadier now, ‘But I honor you.’

‘And I promise–I’ll spend the rest of my life learning how to be the man you saw in me… even when I didn’t believe he existed.’

Suddenly, ‘I do,’ felt like the perfect promise to forever.

Later in the evening, the party has began to quieten down, after your first dance as husband and wife with Rafe, JJ clambered onto a table, clinking his glass obnoxiously.

‘Ahem! I would like to make a toast… to Mr and Mrs Cameron,’ he grins, pausing to relish in the cheers. ‘When she told me she was marrying Rafe, I thought she’d lost the plot.’

Scattered laughter follows, some uneasy, some relieved, but you and Rafe just beam. JJ softens, that playful facade dissolving into the kind of rawness he rarely ever lets through.

‘But then I saw him. Really saw him. He was… scared, man. Scared she’d never forgive him. Scared he’d never be enough.’ Rafe squeezes your waist tighter. Because JJ’s words aren’t just true. They’re him.

‘And then it hit me. I’ve never seen Rafe Cameron scared of anything. Not the law. Not his parents. Not even himself.’

A tear pricks the corner of Rafe’s eye. JJ raises his glass into the air.

‘So here’s to love. Real love. The kind you bleed for. The kind you beg for. The kind you build for. Because if these two crazy people can make it… maybe there’s hope for the rest of us too.’

You raise your glass through blurry eyes, not expecting JJ of all people to be the one to make you cry again today.

Life always has had a funny way of letting love into your heart when you least expect it.

6 YEARS LATER

Sunlight spills through the curtains, layering golden warmth across your chest. There’s a weight there, not heavy, not burdened. Just solid. The kind of weight you’d spent your whole life longing for.

Your son.

Rafe walks in, falling in love with you all over again, like he does every single day. The sight of you cradling your two-year-old, safe and small on your chest, makes his heart swell with something deeper than pride.

Not the cheap kind of pride that had him betting on your virginity. This pride felt earned. Grounded. The kind that said he’d done better with his life.

He’d done better than his dad. As a father. As a husband.

He passes you a cup of coffee, sinking into the sofa beside you, careful not to wake your boy. Then as softly as ever, he brushes the loose strand of hair from your face, that same smile decorating his pretty face.

‘How did I get so lucky, hmm?’

You smile sleepily, fingertips tracing slow circles over your son's back. Steady, soothing and familiar.

‘You showed up, Rafe.’

‘You always showed up.’

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#rafe cameron crying is my drug of choice #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron x reader

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memoirofasparklemuff1n · 4 days ago

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you're gonna go far | 02 - the country club

SERIES MASTERLIST pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

summary: where Rafe who hates pogues has a soft spot for one, who couldn't care less about him, she's too independent and too focused on graduating college and making it out of the Cut to pay attention to him or where they say they don't like each other yet for a reason they are always at the same place at the same time, him making time for her and her never pushing him away but again they don't like each other. word count: 4.9k content: angst, cursing, jealousy, suggestive, kelce is an asshole, financial talk, pet names, mentions of anxiety authors note: I'm back, I have been writing a little of everything which has been anything but productive and also I have been reading a lot. AND i have a new au/fic in newberry for anyone who might be interested in 🙂‍↕️

01 | 02 | 03

Two days after the boneyard party, you had to go back to your job in Figure 8. For better or worse, you spent a lot of time out of the Cut. For many Pogues, it was like that; the better-paid jobs were available there, so naturally, everyone went looking for work or worked in Figure 8. Over the years, you worked at different places: a bookstore, a coffee shop, babysitting, and waitressing at events. Waitressing at events was heaven and hell in one place: heaven because of the money you made and the good food you got to eat, but hell because of how exhausting and tedious it was to be surrounded by kooks who thought they were better than anyone just because they hosted the events or got invited to them.

Currently, you are working at a cute, fancy bistro catered to women. It is a relatively new place. You started working there four months ago, and in the first weeks, it was good, great even. But the good times were short-lived when you were faced with what could be the reincarnation of the devil, Ruthie Crawford, mostly known as Ruthie. At first, she didn’t care about you, and you couldn’t have been more grateful, but when she realized who you were friends with, everything went downhill, and your job began to suck a little bit more every time she walked through those doors, followed by her friends or, in the worst case of all, her mom. If people thought Ruthie was annoying, her mom was worse. Both of them made your job miserable; all the patience you thought you had was nonexistent, and you considered quitting, but the money was good, and most people were nice. Still, it wasn’t enough, so you had been looking for another job to quit and move on to the next.

You decided that this time around, you would find a job all on your own. The job at the bistro had been kindly proposed to you by Lily, an older woman you had met a year and a half ago at the other coffee shop where you used to work. She and her husband Richard, were regulars who loved to talk and liked to stop by on slow days, so you had time to chat with them. They quickly became your friends; they informed you about jobs around Figure 8, their events included, and the biggest thing they did to help you was let you know about the new scholarship program at the community college. That had helped you apply on time and finally start nursing school, just like you always wanted to. They had been heaven-sent, and you couldn’t be more grateful for them. Even if you knew they wouldn’t bat an eye if you asked for help, you felt self-conscious about it. You didn’t like the feeling of depending on someone else to do things; even if you knew their help came in good faith, you felt like you would owe them for life.

They had told you multiple times that you were like a granddaughter to them. The first time they said that, you completely broke down. Your grandparents had died when you were little, so you didn’t get enough time with them. For this couple in their 70s to tell you that… let’s just say it felt like a wound had been healed, and you finally got the chance to feel that type of love, even if they weren’t your family. They surely considered you part of theirs, which included your mom. They had also helped when you both had gone through a very difficult patch last year. This led your mother to be even more thankful for their presence in your life; they had been there when you most needed support and advice, and you seemed to consider them more when it came from them rather than your mom. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about your mom’s opinion, but sometimes she repeated it so much that you found it annoying, so when it came from someone external yet familiar like Lily and Richard, it resonated with you much more easily.

Though this time around you had listened to your mom, and while you were stubborn, you were out of ideas and almost out of patience. The bistro was driving your mental health down the drain; maybe not rapidly, but it was slowly taking your spark away and had made you cry more times than you liked to admit. Your mom had seen the change, so she suggested that you talk to Lily and Richard to see if they knew anything about a new job opening, since they usually knew everything going on in Figure 8, and surprisingly, also in The Cut. So that’s how you ended up at their house, knocking on their door while still wearing your bistro uniform.

“Oh, sweetie, what an amazing surprise!” Lily smiled as she opened the door to greet you, letting you into their home. It was crazy how familiar it felt to be there. “Richard! Look who came to visit us!” she said with the warmest smile ever.

She never failed to make you feel welcome. With them, you didn’t feel like an intruder in Figure 8; they had never made you feel less than or made you doubt yourself. They knew your story and were proud of how far you had come on your own, which is why they were more than happy to help you. Sometimes you felt like you were abusing their trust and kindness, but they had reassured you multiple times that they were more than happy to help with whatever they could. They settled on helping you find jobs and checking in on you and your mom periodically by inviting the two of you for dinner at times. Even if they had wanted to do more, you didn’t let them.

As you walked in, you heard Richard's voice, "Well, hello, you!" He smiled as soon as you entered his line of sight. "What brings you here today? More of Lily’s food? Because I can't blame you if you do," he chuckled.

"Hi Richard, I was just around and decided to stop by," you smiled, feeling like the worst person. It’s okay to ask for help, you kept repeating to yourself. Lily noticed your uneasiness but didn’t press you to talk; she knew better.

"Why don’t you sit here?" she pointed to the kitchen island. "I was waiting for some cookies to cool down. You can help me decorate them; God knows Richard won't do it."

"I can help eat them," he pointed out while walking to the couch. Their kitchen had a little sitting area. "So, tell us what brings you around?" you silently sighed, grabbing a piping bag to help Lily decorate the cookies.

"Richard, shut it! She can come by for no reason if she wants. She’s always welcome," Lily said, putting icing on the cookies and smiling at you.

"No, I didn't mean it like that. You know that, right?" Richard was used to Lily's attitude. You chuckled and nodded. For a while, you kept quiet, indulging in the conversation, finding the courage to speak up and ask for their help.

"So, how’s work?" Lily asked gently to see if you would tell her the truth. She knew you didn’t like it. You hadn’t told her anything, but she knew. She had been around a couple of times to visit you while you were working, and she had noticed the low energy and annoyance you showed at times. You had never been good at hiding your emotions; maybe you didn’t talk, but your face certainly did.

"Uh, it’s good, yeah," you tried to sound convincing, dodging her gaze. They exchanged a look; Lily had shared her suspicions with Richard, and they had already been looking for new job openings. They knew you wanted to work at the Country Club; that’s where tips were better since it was the number one hangout spot for kooks. At the spa, the restaurant, the golf course, the tennis courts, the pool, and so many more amenities that apparently they couldn’t live without.

“So, there’s no chance you would like to change jobs?” Richard asks as he continues scrolling through his phone. You stare at him, trying to decipher why he would say that. Could he read your mind?

“Oh…” is the only thing that comes out of your mouth. Lily turns to look at you, lifting one eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, sweetie; if you’re happy where you are, don’t let us push you to do something you don’t want to.” You didn’t notice, but Lily mouthed “you’ll see” to Richard.

“I wouldn’t mind knowing. I—” You pause for a second. “If it’s not for me, maybe I know someone who might need it.” You try to make it sound as though you weren’t desperate to have the job yourself.

“It’s at the Country Club as a beverage cart girl; it has great pay, and tips can be good too. With your skills, we’re sure you wouldn’t have any problems with that, but if it’s not for you, please let us know of someone who might be interested,” Lily kept explaining. “I’ll admit it can be a little tedious since you have to be on a cart all day around the golf course.” Your eyes light up—beverage cart girl; it was a tough job, but it was also fun, and the tips. The tips couldn’t be just good; they were amazing.

“I want it, if it’s okay,” you admit quietly, unable to shake the feeling of guilt. Lily had gotten you the job at the bistro, and you felt as if you were betraying her. But you weren’t, and they would never think you were using them for this because you weren’t; this had been your last option.

Lily smiled kindly. “Well, that’s terrific, right, Richard?”

“Of course it is! Now we’re going to see you more,” he says warmly, and you relax. They always meant well; you mentally slapped yourself for feeling guilty or ashamed.

“They want you there on Wednesday so they can train you.” You nodded at Lily and spent the rest of the afternoon with them.

—

The next day, you told your manager you were quitting. She didn’t seem surprised at all. She had been waiting for it, and if you didn’t quit, she was going to fire you. Not because you were bad at your job, but because she had noticed how miserable you had become over time, and she didn’t want that for you.

“Be free, little bird,” she joked with you.

“Thank you for everything.”

“No, thank you for enduring way more than you signed up for.”

“Sadly, it’s part of the job.”

“It shouldn’t be. Now come on, get out of here. Don’t spend another minute here.”

“Are you sure? I can still work today.”

“No, no, you’ve done enough already. I’ll deposit your last payment at the end of the week.”

“Thank you, Allie.”

You said your goodbyes, and by 9 AM, you didn’t have anything else to do. You grabbed your bike and went back home to change out of your uniform, and then you left for Heywards. At least there, you knew you could make a bit of money and keep yourself entertained for the day.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” he said while picking up a box.

“Hi to you too, Pope, and no, I just quit.”

“Quit? You quit?” he asked incredulously.

“I have another job lined up already, and you know I was over the bistro.”

“Oh, I know, but I never thought you would quit… Wait, another job? Where?”

“Country Club, bev cart girl,” you said, walking up to him and helping him get the boxes inside.

“Well, good luck.”

“Don’t say it like I’m going to war.”

“You might as well be. The Country Club is like going to war.”

“And how would you know?” You knitted your brows together.

“Don’t give me that look; you know I hate putting a foot anywhere near that place after Rafe and Topper jumped on me and JJ last summer,” you sighed at the memory.

“I doubt I’m going to get jumped.”

“No, you won’t, but you still need to be careful.”

“I will be.”

You didn’t talk more about it; you continued discussing school, summer plans, and you went with him to make some deliveries around the island.

—

During the next days after the Boneyard party, Rafe had been in a sour mood; he had been snapping at anyone. Sarah was so fed up with his tantrums that she even went out of her way to talk to Topper, hoping he could help or take Rafe out of the house because she couldn’t stand another second of his whining.

So on Friday, Topper and Kelce dragged Rafe out of the house to the Country Club, hoping he would stop being in that awful mood. Topper didn’t think much of it because Rafe's bad moods usually came from Ward, so he assumed his dad and he had some sort of fight. Wrong—everything was reminding him of you, and he tried really hard to ignore what he was feeling and all the awful things he had said to you, but his subconscious was torturing him by replaying the moment and your face. Fuck, your face… Golfing with or without his friends usually helped him get his mind off things, but this time it didn’t work. He was quieter than usual and not very into the game. He was attempting (and failing) to play, which only made him grow even more frustrated than he originally was. As if nothing could make things worse, he saw you driving around in a cart. Why were you there?

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered to himself.

One thing that didn’t cross your mind when you accepted the job was the fact that Rafe liked golf and spent a lot of time at the Country Club, perhaps because you didn’t know he liked golf or anything else about him beyond being an annoying asshole who had hurt your feelings a week ago. It had been two days since you started working there, and until that point, you hadn’t thought about Rafe until you saw him. You cursed mentally; of course, you would be the one to have to serve him since it was a rule to stop every time you saw a group of golfers, just in case they needed something. You parked the cart and saw how Topper and Kelce approached first, with Rafe following behind, keeping his distance.

This was your first day out of training. Two days of training had been enough since there was not much to learn; the drinks were easy, and you had a menu that told you exactly what and how much to put in each. You put on a fake smile and prepared yourself for whatever this interaction was going to be like.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our favorite bev cart girl?” Kelce said, his voice dripping with something that made you feel uncomfortable.

“This is the first time you’re seeing me around,” you stated as you got out of the cart. The glances Kelce was giving you made you feel uneasy, but you tried to ignore him as best you could.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean we haven’t heard from you.” Topper was staring at you, not intentionally, but he was. He wasn’t going to lie; you were very pretty, easy on the eyes. Rafe noticed the way they were looking at you, and he wasn’t amused.

“Shut it, both of you,” he snapped at them. Topper finally looked away, noting Rafe’s mood had worsened. Sarah hadn’t been lying; Topper thought.

“Uh… anything you guys want?” you asked, focusing again on why you had stopped and not them for a moment.

“Oh, we definitely want something,” Kelce said, his tone dripping with suggestiveness. You stood near the cart, allowing yourself to put some distance between them, Kelce more specifically.

“Got something planned after your shift?” Topper rolled his eyes at Kelce's flirting attempts, while Rafe tensed up a little more, seeing you awkwardly smile, trying to avoid whatever Kelce was attempting.

“Back off, idiot. You’re making her uncomfortable,” Rafe spoke up, his tone firm and with a hint of warning. You looked at him for a second. The whiplash you would get from Rafe messed with you. You would like to thank him for stepping in, but you were still angry at him, and, much to your dislike, you had cried after the Boneyard when you were back home.

“What’s up with you, man? Can’t a guy just flirt with the pretty bev cart girl? I'm not doing any harm, am I?” Kelce said with a hint of arrogance. You would’ve slapped his face right there, but you were working, and if you did, you would be fired. You were most certainly not going to lose this job.

“Since you guys don’t need anything, I have to go back to my rounds,” you said, ignoring everything Kelce had said and walking back to the driver's seat. Much to your dismay, you felt a hand grabbing your arm—Kelce’s hand.

“Wait—don’t leave just yet. We’re having a nice little conversation, aren’t we? Can’t we have a little fun?” Kelce grinned, while Topper just stood there, unsure if he should intervene. He was gauging Rafe’s reaction and what Kelce might try to do.

“Let go,” you said, your tone firm. Your heart raced; you felt cornered, and that made your anxiety show up.

“Aw, don’t be like that. I just want to talk,” he kept a grip on your arm, unwilling to let go.

“You don’t need your hands to talk, so let go.” You pulled your arm back, but his grip was unwavering.

“Feisty, I like that.” His eyes roamed shamelessly over your body, and you felt extremely disgusted by him. If only you weren’t working, which was a bullshit excuse. Being members didn’t give them the right to treat you like this.

“I really need to go, unless you guys want drinks.” You kept trying to steer the conversation back to the original reason for your stop.

"How about we start with your number?" Kelce said, Topper widening his eyes in shock, and Rafe clenched his jaw even tighter. How much longer would his friend push you? And how much longer until he broke?

"Jesus, Kelce, stop." Topper looked at him and put a hand on his shoulder. He felt the tension in the air, and either he stopped him, or he knew Rafe was going to do something much worse. The grip on your arm loosened a bit when he turned to Topper, but then he looked back at you.

"Come on, pretty face, just give me your number; it won't hurt." Your heart raced, but you weren't going to let him keep running his mouth.

"I'm letting this go just because I'm on my shift and it's the first time. But if you try this again, I'm sure my supervisor would love to know how members of the club are harassing a cart girl," you said, feeling like the world was closing in on you.

Topper's eyebrow shot up to his forehead, lips slightly parted. He was ready to intervene if he had to, but he surely didn't need to do that now. Kelce froze; he didn't expect you to answer the way you did. Rafe was silently pleased, and at least he knew it wasn't just him that you were a demon with. You were feisty, and he liked it.

"Okay, man, that's it." Topper said to Kelce, who clearly was still processing what had just happened. Kelce was about to take a step forward as if to do something, but Topper yanked him back. "You heard her." Kelce huffed, annoyed, but didn't try anything again.

The moment there was more than enough space between you and Kelce, you felt a bit of relief wash over you, even if you still weren't fully relaxed. You gave Topper a small smile that made Rafe roll his eyes. You didn't notice that since you were already turning to get back into the cart.

"If you need anything, I'll be around." You didn't want to be near them for another second. You glanced at Rafe before leaving; his gaze was filled with something you couldn't understand, nor did you want to think about. You didn't give them a chance to answer back, and you drove away.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" Rafe finally spoke up, pushing Kelce back a little too hard. "Think you're funny?"

“Jeez, calm down. It was all in good faith,” Kelce smirked. Topper shook his head and intervened before it could escalate into something more.

“Kelce… you’ve done enough. Didn’t you have dinner to get ready for?” Topper was searching for excuses to kick his friend out before Rafe could beat him up. Kelce huffed, but Topper was right; he had dinner, so he left.

After he left, Topper turned his attention back to Rafe. “Hey, man, you okay?” He was genuinely trying to be a good friend, while Rafe was seething, still angry about everything that had just happened.

“Just peachy.” The image of Kelce grabbing you, your face… damn it, your face, the stress, and maybe even fear—why didn’t he do something? He cared for you, yet he didn’t act. He was even angrier with himself, as if the Boneyard hadn’t been enough torture.

“Come on, let’s play; it'll help,” he nodded. Yes, golf should help, but it didn’t. He kept looking back at where you had driven away. After what felt like an eternity, you showed up again. You were surprised they were still playing. But more surprising was that it was just them; you still looked around for the other set of clubs, but there were none. Kelce had left. Good.

“I hate this game,” Rafe muttered under his breath after hitting the ball with more force than necessary. He was so lost in his head that he hadn’t noticed when you arrived until you spoke.

“Hey,” you announced, catching him off guard.

“Hey.” His face was serious, even angry, but his tone softened when he realized it was you.

“Do you guys need anything? Snacks, water, ice?” Your cold tone only made him feel even guiltier. This time, you didn’t even try to smile.

“No, we’re good for now.” Until that moment, he hadn’t noticed your uniform; it suited you perfectly. The color and everything accentuated your body in ways he found enticing and infuriating. He shook his head. “But you could stick around for a bit.” Topper looked at him, confused and curious about the change in demeanor since you’d shown up. He was trying to make up for what had happened at the party and with Kelce without directly addressing the issues.

“I—” You had been caught off guard, but you recovered quickly. “I can’t; there are other golfers who might need something, and I’m still working.”

Rafe seemed disappointed. He knows you have to work, but he doesn’t want you to go. Topper catches the way his shoulder slightly slumps and decides to intervene. “Not even a five-minute break? I bet it can be tiring working in this heat and serving a lot of people.” He is not wrong, but still, you can’t.

“I can’t. I have scheduled breaks, and that’s in an hour… unless you guys buy something from the cart, I can’t stay.”

“How about a refill on golf balls? I lost some already, and I’m running low.” He has a slight smirk on his face, trying his best to loosen you up. He’s lying; he never loses a golf ball, but it was the first excuse that came to mind, and it was believable.

“I’m not the girl for that,” you admit with a serious face, “but I know someone who can help.”

“Can’t you make an exception? We won’t snitch,” he smirks at you. What is he trying to do? You want to wipe that smirk off his face.

“I don’t know… I could, but only if I get a good tip.” You shrug. You could do it; yes, it wasn’t something you would normally do, but in your training, they had told you that even if it wasn’t part of your job description, you had to learn in case of a staff emergency. This was far from that, and you were still annoyed with everything related to him, so you were going to try everything to make him back off.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he agreed almost immediately. You had said that so he could stop asking, but it had caused the opposite reaction. You sighed, giving up; at least you were going to get money out of this.

“I’ll be back then… how many do you need?”

“I’ll take three.” His smirk was still plastered on his face. Topper looked between the two of you and tried to suppress a smile at the palpable attraction between you, or rather, the attraction Rafe had for you. Topper took note of the sudden change in his mood.

“Okay, Topper, do you need anything?” you asked politely.

“No, no, I’m fine, thanks,” he replied, to which you nodded once and walked away, saying quietly, “I’ll be back,” leaving the cart there and making your way to pick up the three golf balls. Once you were out of earshot, Topper turned to Rafe and grinned widely.

“So you like her?” he chuckled.

“Shut up, man,” Rafe said, glaring back at Topper.

“I’m asking for real; you’re almost drooling.” He knew it was true; he wasn’t going to admit it, but he recognized that you had some kind of power over him, even if it was just by being there.

“You’re being insane.”

“Oh, I'm insane? When have you ever been like this? You’re trying too hard to get on her good side. I really never thought I’d see the day—Rafe Cameron pining over a girl who, by the way, doesn’t seem to like you.” Rafe felt exposed by what Topper was saying, so he tried to cover it up.

“It’s not like that; she’s just… nice to look at.” Yeah, that wasn’t going to help; in fact, it was just going to make things worse. Fortunately for him, before Topper could keep poking him, you showed up again.

You walked back with the three golf balls in your hand. “You better tip me well; I went out of my way for these three balls.” You handed them to him gently; he was a member, so you had to be nice.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll tip you well,” he smirked. He didn’t intend to sound so flirty, but it came out so naturally. Topper had to stifle a laugh; it was too funny to see Rafe like this.

“Are you guys really sure you don’t want or need anything from the cart? Snacks? Water? Shots?” You ignored his comment and asked again, getting a little annoyed.

“I’m really okay, thanks,” Topper answered.

“You guys make my job harder,” you admitted to both of them.

“Well, maybe we like making things hard for you,” Rafe teased back, and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, I see that. You sent me for golf balls when I’m a bev cart girl. Bev, in case you didn’t know, means beverage.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Maybe I just wanted to see you walk away in that outfit.” He was straight-up flirting with you, which annoyed you even more. Acting as if nothing had happened, who did he think he was? “Besides, I’m sure you have some way I can reward you for all this good service.” His smirk remained unfaltering.

“I accept cash right now,” you said with a knowing smile, putting your hand out. You would never ask for tips, but it was Rafe; he had been an asshole, his friend had basically harassed you, and he made you bring him stupid golf balls. A little money was nothing; you were pretty sure he wasn’t even going to miss it.

“Ah, ever the businesswoman,” he chuckled. “Fine.” He pulled out his wallet, took out a twenty-dollar bill, and placed it in your hand. The brief contact sent a jolt down his spine.

“Just that?” you pushed. “I think I deserve more for all the emotional damage I had to endure.” You raised a brow at him, and he huffed.

“Emotional damage? Are you—” he trailed off, holding his words back. He could tell you were already angry. From the Boneyard party, he knew better than to push you further. So, because he felt awful, he let it go. “Fine.” He pulled out another twenty-dollar bill. “Are you happy now?” He rolled his eyes.

“Very,” you faked a smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are people who won’t waste my time and will tip me without me having to ask.” You rolled your eyes, walking back to your cart and driving away.

“Fuck…” he muttered to himself.

“Rafe, my man, you’ve got it bad,” Topper said, grabbing Rafe’s shoulders and shaking him. “Also, what did you do to that girl? It was like she was shooting daggers at you.”

“Shut up, will you?” He shook his head. “Let’s finish this game; I can still beat you.”

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