angel - rafe cameron (outerbanks)

17 - unknown number

chapter 17
unknown number

when angie opened her eyes, the soft glow of morning was seeping through the cracked blinds in her bedroom. for a second, everything felt normal—mundane, even—until she registered the faint sound of someone breathing nearby.

her heart jumped.

rafe.

she sat up too fast, a wave of dizziness making her head spin as last night came flooding back. rafe's desperate knock on her door. the hollow look in his eyes. him collapsed in her bed, both of them awkward in the silent darkness, saying nothing but speaking volumes just by being there. she'd spent half the night staring at the ceiling, restless and wired, her thoughts ricocheting between sarah, and the boy who was sleeping in her bed.

rafe was still there.

he was sprawled out beneath her covers, half-curled in on himself as if shielding his body from the world. his dark blond hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and the sharp lines of his face looked softer in sleep—almost peaceful. the bruised circles under his eyes were stark against his pale skin, though, betraying the truth of how much he'd unraveled.

angie stared a moment longer, her arms curled tight against her chest. it was strange to see him like this—vulnerable. rafe cameron was chaos, a hurricane in human form. she'd only ever known him through the lens of tension, bravado, and bad decisions. now, he just looked like a boy who'd been chewed up and spit out.

her pulse fluttered.

before she could second-guess herself, angie slipped out of the bed and headed for the kitchen.

coffee. she'd make coffee. something to busy her hands, to distract herself from the anxiety boiling just under her skin. she filled the pot, listening to the trickle of water as it hit the glass carafe, grounding herself in the mundane sound. her thoughts, though, were anything but calm.

rafe sleeping in her bed—twice—felt like crossing some invisible line, one she couldn't uncross. the guilt sat heavy in her chest, like stones pressing against her ribs. sarah's face kept flashing through her mind. sarah, smiling and carefree. sarah, crying over her ex-boyfriend, topper. sarah, who trusted angie with everything.

angie tightened her grip on the coffee pot. it wasn't just about last night. it was about the kiss, too. the one with rafe that she still hadn't told sarah about. she'd spent days convincing herself it didn't matter—that it had been a mistake, that it didn't mean anything. but that was a lie, too.

"morning."

the sound of rafe's voice made her jump, and she nearly dropped the coffee pot.

"shit," she muttered, setting it down as she turned.

rafe was standing in the doorway, barefoot and rumpled, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. his polo was wrinkled, and his pants hung low on his hips. he looked out of place here, in her kitchen, like he didn't belong anywhere at all.

"didn't mean to scare you," he said, voice still rough with sleep.

"you didn't," angie lied. she cleared her throat and turned back to the coffee machine. "you want some?"

"sure."

she could feel him watching her as she poured the coffee into two mismatched mugs. the silence between them felt heavy, weighed down by everything they weren't saying. when she handed him a mug, their fingers brushed, and she pulled back too quickly.

rafe raised the cup to his lips, studying her over the rim as he took a sip.

"thanks," he said quietly. "for last night. for letting me stay here."