what now? | outerbanks

• ninety •

Rafe

    "In her mind, she was doing the right thing," Sofia repeats for the hundredth time just this plane ride.
    One more hour and we'll land in the Charleston airport.
    One more hour of clenching my jaw and picturing Wheezie in that house, sick and scared. One more hour of stretching my legs as far as they can go but still feeling cramped in this hell-sent plane. So much for first class.
    I take a sip of the cheap airline liquor. "She lied to me."
    "She didn't lie."
    "Okay, well, she didn't tell me."
    She rests her head back on the seat headrest. "For an acceptable reason."
    I roll my eyes, and I feel horrible about it. "That doesn't change what happened," I mumble.
    "Rafe," Sofia says, turning her head to look at me. "She made a judgment call. Was it the perfect one? I don't know, but it's done with. She didn't tell you so that Wheezie would feel comfortable, but you know now, so what's the big issue?"
    "The big issue is that I should've known over a week ago when it happened. And I should've known about Rose even earlier."
    She runs a hand down her cheek. "You know why she didn't tell us."
    "I know. You keep reminding me."
    She has one final thing before flagging down a flight attendant. "Well, I for one am glad we got to enjoy most of our honeymoon. You can sulk if you want, but please try to be cordial when we get home."
    I take another sip. It's too much booze at once, but I swallow it down anyway. "I'll try."

    The airport is crowded when we deplane, abuzz with jostled limbs and squeaky wheels. It does nothing for my mood.
    Everyone's rushing somewhere, heads down, earbuds in, dragging kids and bags and overused neck pillows. We weave through it, Sofia tugging her carry-on behind her and staying two steps ahead of me like she always does when we travel.
    I keep my cool, but my hand is clenched tight around the handle of my bag, and I can feel the strain in my jaw again, that buzzing tension that hasn't left me since I answered that call from Sarah. The "hey, don't freak out, but..." tone of voice. The tremble she tried to hide.
    The call didn't end messily. We said I love you before hanging up. I tried my best to forgive, but these things don't wrap up easily. Sofia keeps reminding me that Wheezie is okay now, but that's what gets me. She's okay now. She wasn't okay at one point, and I wasn't there to do anything.
    We step into the baggage-claim area, and Sofia steps away for a second to call one of my guys to bring a car. I'm half watching the luggage pass by, half focused on my thumb hovering over Sarah's contact in my phone. I haven't texted her since I hung up last night.
    "Car's four minutes out," Sofia says. "Lawson's coming in the black Lexus. I'll look for it."
    I nod, but I don't look up. My thumb taps.
   
    Me: We're back.

    I send it. No heart emoji. No period. Just those two words. She responds a minute later.

    Sarah: Okay. We're at the house.

    No "Welcome home." No apology. No "How was the trip?" Just okay. I pocket the phone.
    The car rolls up, and Lawson hops out to help with bags. Sofia thanks him politely and slides into the backseat first. I take the front. The AC's too cold, but I don't say anything.
    Lawson is an old family friend, and he's worked a couple of different positions around Tanneyhill over the years. We make small talk for a few minutes, but it all dwindles into silence eventually. I can see Sofia's reflection in the window—her fingers twitching against her thigh, the way she bites the inside of her cheek when she's nervous. Maybe she wants to talk more. Maybe she doesn't. I can't tell.
    I tell him Sarah and John B.'s address instead of getting him to take us straight home. He'll wait outside. We shouldn't be long.
    When we pull up to the house, my stomach knots. The porch light is on. The curtains are closed. It looks exactly the same as it did the last time I saw it. It looks like nothing happened. Like my baby sister wasn't half-dead a week ago.
    I'm halfway to the front door before Sofia catches up.
    "Rafe," she says gently, grabbing my hand before I can twist the knob. "Remember what we talked about. Be understanding."
    "I remember," I mutter.
    "Then mean it."
    I nod. She lets go. I open the door.
    Sarah is there when I walk in, lips pursed in thought and hands flat against the counter. She's been waiting.
    "Hey," she greets softly.
    Sofia pushes past me towards the blonde. "Hey, honey," she coos. They hug in a way only they have before. There's something special between them, even after whatever this chaos is. "Is she in the guest room?"
    Sarah nods, and that's enough. Sofia practically teleports to the room, leaving everything out here in the kitchen, but I don't follow. I stay with Sarah.
    We both want to say something. I can see it in her eyes—her deep, exhausted eyes. There's something else in her eyes for a second, though. Hope. Hope that we won't fight again. Hope that this will blow over. And I almost let it, but in the end, I hold on to the last angry thread.
    I start. "You really thought this was the best option?"
    She jumps right in. Her body twists away from me for a second with some mix between a smile and a snarl, hands still clenched painfully around the edges of the marble. She has the attitude of "I knew this would happen."
"You were leaving for your honeymoon! I wasn't going to ruin it just because Rose got out of jail!"
    "Oh, please," I cut in, trying to keep my voice as level as possible. Sofia asked me not to yell. "The honeymoon could have waited. This isn't something you just breeze past."
    "She was there for maybe five minutes. She hasn't shown since that night," Sarah yells. "She isn't here now, she hasn't bothered us, she isn't stalking Wheezie—"
    "That you know of," I snap. "What if she is? What if she knows what happened to Wheezie that night—which you also decided to keep from me—and uses it against you?"
    Sarah visibly recoils at my words. I keep going.
    "You think she wouldn't use that?" I say. "You think she wouldn't twist this to her advantage if it meant getting Wheezie back under her control?"
    Her eyes are getting red, and I know by the subtle twitch of her lips that she won't last much longer. "Why are you saying it like this was my fault?"
    "I'm not."
    "You are!" she barks back. "You're making it sound like Wheezie might get taken because I let her go to that party and get drugged."
    The air in the kitchen turns razor-sharp. Sarah's breathing is ragged, and my heart's hammering, but I can't stop. Not yet.
    "She did get drugged," I snap. "That's not something to just move on from. And I'm not saying it's your fault she got hurt, but you covered it up. You kept it quiet, like the right thing to do was to wait. That's not your call. That's our sister. Mine too."
    "Okay, but you don't get to swoop in now and act like I abandoned her," she fires back. "I know I haven't been perfect, but you're no saint either. You think I didn't blame myself the second I saw her? You think I don't relive that night every single—"
    "Stop," I say, but it's too late.
    "I cleaned puke off her shirt while she cried in her sleep!" she shouts. "I found that Narcan—which I bought for you, by the way!" I wince. She bought it for me? She doesn't leave any time to think. "I hold her in my arms night after night while she sobs because she can't stop thinking about that night and she's terrified you won't let her forget."
    And then I snap. Louder than I intended. Loud enough that it silences the house.
    "THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE CALLED ME!"
    It echoes. Too much. Way too much.
    There's a cavern of long, paralyzing silence. A silence so powerful that even Sofia stops whatever she was doing with Wheezie.
    Sarah stands frozen, face pale and wide-eyed. My voice might've cut through every wall in the house.
    I open my mouth to take it back, to say something—anything—but Sarah beats me to it. Not with a scream. Not with another defense.
    Just a whisper. Like glass cracking. "The abruption's worse."
    I blink. "What?"
    She swallows, and suddenly she's not fighting anymore. She's shrinking. "We went to the doctor today. The abruption is worse," she repeats. "And the baby is measuring small. Dr. Patel's putting me on full bed rest. She—she said she doesn't know if I'll make it past thirty-seven weeks."
    That's when my chest caves in.
    I step back a little, stunned silent. "What do you mean, she doesn't think—"
    "I mean, she said we might have to deliver early. That there's too much strain and my body isn't doing what it should, and I'm fucking failing at everything," she whispers.
    I can feel my hands shaking. I almost ask why she didn't say anything, but I already know the answer. She didn't want to make it worse. She didn't want to admit how bad it was. She's scared, and she's been pretending she's not.
    I look down, jaw tight. All the anger just drains out like it never had a place here to begin with. "Sarah..."
    She doesn't say anything else. She just looks away. I don't know how to end it. I don't know how to comfort her. So I don't. Not yet. I just step away.
    Sofia meets me halfway down the hall. She doesn't ask what happened. Her eyes say she heard every word. She touches my arm lightly, but I don't stop walking.
    The guest room door is cracked. I ease it open.
    Wheezie is curled on her side, back to the door. Her hair's a mess. The sleeves of her hoodie are tucked over her hands. She's watching something on her phone, earbuds in, but I can tell she knows I'm here. Her shoulders tense. Like she's bracing.
    "Hey," I say quietly.
    She doesn't turn around. "Hey."
    I step into the room and sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to shake it. We sit like that for a long minute. Just breathing.
    "I'm sorry," I finally say.
    She blinks. "For what?"
    "For not being there. For not knowing. For not protecting you. For making you think you needed to be scared."
    She finally looks over her shoulder at me. Her voice is so quiet it almost breaks. "It wasn't your fault."
    "I'm your brother," I say. "There are things I'm supposed to do."
    She shifts slightly. "It happened so fast, Rafe. I was fine, and then I wasn't, and calling Sarah was the last thing I could manage to do before my fingers and mind went to mush. I'm the only one who could have stopped this."
    I clench my hands. The image of her scared and helpless burns behind my eyes. "You're safe now. Okay? I'm not letting anything happen to you again."
    She nods, then after a moment, quietly says, "I didn't want you to find out like this."
    I shake my head. "I'm glad I found out at all."
    The silence is softer this time.
    "Don't be too harsh on Sarah," she whispers. "She's not doing great. She wants to think the news doesn't affect her too much, but it does. She's having a hard time."
    "I know," is all I can say. I run a hand over her blanket. "You need anything?"
    She lifts one shoulder. "Can you just... stay here for a bit?"
    "Yeah," I say. "I'll stay."