Bound By Lies - Rafe Cameron

Chapter 49

Rafe's POV

The morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. I stir as Teresa shifts beside me, her brow furrowing slightly. She blinks a few times, squinting against the light, her eyes still heavy with sleep.

I hold my breath, waiting for her reaction, half-expecting her to push me away. But she just looks at me, confusion flickering in her eyes as she takes in the sight of me lying beside her.

"Rafe?"

I sit up quickly, blinking down at her, trying to gauge her reaction. She's looking around the room, her brow furrowed, and then she looks at me, confusion and a hint of wariness in her eyes.

"Hey," I whisper, my voice hushed as if I'm afraid to shatter the delicate stillness of the morning. "You're awake."

She sits up slowly, pulling the covers around her as if to put some distance between us. I can see the questions forming in her mind, the way she's trying to piece together what happened last night. The way her gaze darts from me to the door, then back to me, uncertainty clouding her features.

"What are you doing here?" she asks softly, her voice laced with confusion. 

I sit up slightly, rubbing the back of my neck, feeling a wave of guilt and uncertainty wash over me. "You called me last night," I say quietly, trying to keep my voice soft and steady. "You were... I mean, you were drunk, and you said you wanted to see me."

Her brows knit together as she struggles to piece it together, her hand going up to rub her temple. "I... I did?"

"Yeah," I murmur, nodding slowly. "You asked me to come over, and I—" I hesitate, not wanting to lie. "You were out on the porch. You scared the shit out of me, Teresa. I thought... I thought something happened. So I stayed. I stayed and brought you inside after you fell asleep."

She closes her eyes, exhaling slowly as the memories start to trickle back. "Oh... I... I think I remember." Her face scrunches up, and she winces, pressing a hand to her forehead. "God, my head's killing me."

I bite back a small smile, nodding. "Yeah, you're probably a little hungover."

She groans, trying to sit up, but the movement is too sudden. I see her pale, her expression shifting to one of discomfort, and then panic.

"Rafe... I think I'm gonna be sick," she mutters, her voice strained.

Without thinking, I jump up, reaching for her arm as I help her out of bed. "Come on, baby. Let's get you to the bathroom."

We barely make it to the bathroom before she bends over the toilet, retching violently. I kneel beside her, holding her hair back, my other hand rubbing soothing circles on her back.

"It's okay," I murmur softly, trying to keep my voice calm. "Just let it out."

She heaves again, her body trembling with the force of it, and I feel a pang of helplessness. I want to take this away from her, want to make it better, but all I can do is stay by her side and hold her hair as she falls apart.

After what feels like forever, she finally stops, slumping back against the wall, her face pale and sweaty. I grab a washcloth, running it under cool water before pressing it gently to her forehead.

"It's okay," I murmur again, my voice gentle as I wipe the cool washcloth over her flushed cheeks and forehead. Teresa sighs softly, her eyes still closed, but a faint, embarrassed smile tugs at her lips.

"God... this is so humiliating," she mumbles, her voice weak but holding a trace of that familiar sass. She peeks up at me, her cheeks tinged pink—not from the vomiting, but from pure embarrassment.