𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓 ― rafe cameron

ενενήνταδύο ; 92

song of the chapter:
VIENNA ; billy joel

Rafe Cameron had always been good at compartmentalizing—at pushing things to the back of his mind when they got too real, too messy. But the second he saw that familiar flash of silky, straightened hair through the corner of his eye, his heart skipped a beat. He froze mid-conversation with the bartender, the playful grin on his face faltering for just a moment.

It was her.

Margarita.

His stomach twisted as he caught sight of her, just for a second, through the reflection of the club's glass doors. She was leaving. He barely had time to register the way her hand lifted to her face, wiping away a tear, before the door slammed shut behind her.

She'd seen him. She'd seen this.

Rafe pulled back from the bartender instinctively, his arm slipping away from her waist as the gravity of the situation hit him. He knew what it looked like—what it was. He had told himself that whatever was happening with the bartender didn't matter. It was just a distraction, something to fill the empty spaces in his life. It wasn't serious. It wasn't Margarita.

But in that moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was that Margarita had seen him, and the look on her face before she left was enough to make him feel like the biggest asshole on the planet.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up inside of him. What the hell was he doing? He had told her he would change, that he wanted to be better. And he had meant it—at least, in the moment. But Rafe had a habit of falling back into old patterns, of letting the worst parts of himself win. He hated it, but sometimes it felt like he didn't know how to stop.

He glanced back at the bartender, who was now staring at him with confusion in her eyes. "Rafe? What's wrong?" she asked, her voice light, casual, as if the entire situation wasn't imploding around him.

He forced a tight smile, his mind already somewhere else. "Nothing. I just—" He trailed off, unable to come up with a convincing lie. He needed to get out of there, fast. Without another word, Rafe turned on his heel, leaving the bartender standing there as he made his way toward the exit.

The cold air hit him like a slap in the face as he stepped outside, but it didn't do much to clear the fog in his head. Margarita was gone. He had blown it, hadn't he? He hadn't even realized how badly he'd wanted things to work between them until now, until the image of her walking away was seared into his brain.

He had messed up. Again.

Rafe stood on the front steps of the country club, staring out into the night, trying to gather his thoughts. He knew Margarita had been giving him another chance, that despite everything, she had hoped he could change. She believed in him in a way no one else did, and that terrified him because he wasn't sure he deserved it.

Hell, he knew he didn't deserve it.

But part of him—some stupid, hopeful part—wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be better for her. That maybe she could save him from himself.

Now, that hope felt like it was slipping away.

He leaned against the stone railing, his jaw clenching as he tried to suppress the guilt gnawing at his insides. It wasn't like he had kissed the bartender. They hadn't crossed any real lines. But it didn't matter. Not really. Because the moment Margarita had walked in and seen them, any excuse he could come up with wouldn't mean a damn thing.

He should have been with her. He should have kept his word.

The memory of Margarita's tear-streaked face kept flashing in his mind. The look of betrayal, of disappointment. She hadn't said anything, hadn't even given him a chance to explain—but maybe that was because there was nothing left to explain.

Rafe let out a harsh breath, dragging a hand over his face as he tried to push back the frustration, the self-loathing. He had been here before, standing on the edge of something real, something that scared the hell out of him, and every time, he found a way to mess it up.

Why couldn't he just get it right?

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. He couldn't focus on anything right now, not until he figured out what to do about Margarita.

Part of him wanted to chase after her, to explain that what she had seen didn't mean anything. But the other part of him—the part that was used to self-sabotage—told him it was already too late. That she had already walked away, and maybe she wasn't coming back.

But this time felt different. This time, it felt like he had pushed her too far.

Rafe stood there for what felt like hours, lost in his own thoughts, until the sound of a car engine revving in the distance snapped him out of it. He straightened up, pushing off the railing as his mind raced with what he would say to her—if she would even listen.

He wasn't sure how to fix this, but he knew one thing for certain: he didn't want to lose her. Not this time.

With a sharp inhale, Rafe turned and headed toward his truck, a singular thought running through his mind.

He had to find her. He had to make things right.

 --- end of chapter