𝔅𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔦𝔢 - Rafe Cameron

①⑥

...

Jazmine barely noticed the noise around her. Her phone buzzed non-stop—calls and messages from Eden, a few from Topper (she wondered how he even got her number, let alone why he was calling), and two from Rafe. But the world outside her room felt distant, like something happening on the other side of a glass wall.

For two days, she kept to her room, drifting between her bed, the bath, and a book she could barely focus on. Meals appeared outside her door, carefully left on a tray. She'd eat a little, then leave the tray outside, only to find it full again the next day.

Outside her door, Rafe lingered, uncertain. He knew how much she valued her space; she hated feeling crowded, especially when she needed to think. So he stayed close, checking in from a distance, feeling the weight of her silence.

Meanwhile, his own troubles gnawed at him. His father had returned to the Outer Banks, a presence like a dark cloud looming over him, and he hadn't told Jazmine. As much as he wanted to share, he didn't want to add to her burdens. But that morning, something about her felt different, a shift he couldn't ignore. When he heard her moving around, he decided to step in.

Jazmine was struggling to drag a heavy trunk of old family belongings down the hallway. Her aunt Imelda hadn't wanted to sort through it, so Jazmine had it sent directly to her. She gripped the trunk with both hands, her brow furrowed as she strained to move it inch by inch.

Rafe approached quietly, observing her struggle before speaking up. "What's that?" he asked, his hands already reaching to help.

She glanced up at him, her voice low. "A box."

"I see that," he replied with a slight smirk. "But why's it here?"

"I had it sent over," she said simply. "I'm looking for something."

He tilted his head. "And what's that?"

She didn't answer right away, focusing on the trunk instead, as if it held secrets she wasn't ready to share. But Rafe didn't push; instead, he stepped closer, his voice softer this time.

"Jazmine," he said, "let me help."

Without waiting for her response, Rafe lifted the trunk with ease, carrying it to her room. She followed him inside, watching as he set it down gently. For a moment, she hesitated, her usual guarded expression softening.

"Thanks," she said, almost shyly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe hesitated, catching something in her expression that he hadn't seen before—a flicker of vulnerability, an unspoken need. "Need help looking through it?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

She shrugged, then nodded faintly, a quiet invitation. "Maybe."

A small grin formed on his lips as he watched her. "Alright, what are we searching for?"

"A photo of my father."

Rafe raised an eyebrow. "Your father? I thought you wanted nothing to do with him."

She began sorting through old photos, her hands moving with a careful, deliberate touch. "Maybe I've changed my mind," she murmured, her gaze distant, lost in thought.

Rafe watched her closely, sensing the weight of her emotions. "Why now?"

She sighed, her fingers brushing over an old photograph. "I called my aunt yesterday. She told me he made a new life after he left the Caribbean. He remarried, has another daughter..." Her voice trailed off, lingering on the words.