Snow On The Beach // R.C.

1.12

In a rage, I storm into Tannyhill, blind to the rest of the world around me as I climb the stairs, heading for Rafe's room. I don't even know if he's in there, but he has to be here somewhere. His stupid fucking bike is parked outside.

Zeroing in on his closed door, habit has me raising my knuckles to knock. But then I think better of it, and I just barge in.

"Sis—Cecilia, what the fuck?" Rafe shouts, whirling on me from where he stands in front of the fireplace. Because of course there's a fucking fireplace in his room. I didn't notice it last night in my tired state. "Get out!" He points at the door I just entered, a crystal glass balanced in his other hand. Bronze liquid swishes around inside.

"You disgust me!" I growl, slamming the door behind me.

"What a revelation." He rolls his eyes, downing the rest of his glass. "What did I do this time to gain such ire?"

Clenching my fists, I force myself to stay frozen where I'm standing, lest I do something I'll regret. "Did you enjoy your day at the golf course?"

I must imagine it, but I swear his face falls. Blinking, he's back to normal, one hand in his pocket, the other setting his empty glass on the coffee table. "I did actually," he casually says. "I ran into your buddy Pope."

"Did you?"

"I did."

"Did your golf club also run into my buddy Pope?" When he starts laughing, looking down as if to try and hide it, I can't control myself any longer. Flying forward, I doubt that I shock Rafe as much as I shock myself when I push him against the mantle, hand flexing against his chest. "You make me sick!" I yell.

He just keeps laughing. "Yeah, okay. I was so wrong. You are a hypocrite, Pauper. Tell me how it's fair that you get to stand up for your friends, but the moment a Kook does it—"

"Oh, my God!" I throw my hands up, turning my back to him. "Enough with the Kooks and Pogues bull—"

The world spins, and, once again, I'm met with Rafe's face. I look at each of his hands that grip my shoulders.

"Don't turn your back on me when I'm talking to you."

"Stop telling me what to do!" I screech, slapping his hands away. "You beat the shit out of Pope! In no world is that okay! Pogues, Kooks, Tourons, or fucking Kryptonians—I don't care!"

"You beat the shit out of Topper."

My eyes widen, and my jaw actually drops. "I punched him once, Rafe."

"Yeah? And you would have done a lot more damage if I hadn't stopped you."

"Yeah?" I mock. "And he would have deserved it."

He tilts his head, and I find myself staring at the buzz cut again. Cursing myself, I drag my eyes back down to his. "So Pope didn't? He put a fucking gun to my friend's head, Pauper! That's fucked up! How is that not computing for you?"

I watch his fingers press into either side of his head, like he's trying to magically pull his thought process from his own brain and push it into mine.

"Pope didn't do anything!" I say. "JJ did. If it's retribution you're after, then at least collect it from the guilty party. And maybe—just maybe—try to keep things even. Keep your overpriced golf clubs out of it."

"Is that what you did? Hitting Top—someone you know can't hit you back?"

"Fuck you," I spit.

"No, seriously. I'm just asking." He shrugs, lips pressed together. "I mean...JJ didn't exactly keep things even when he pulled a gun on Topper—who was defenseless."