Drew Starkey Imagines

Rumor Has It

Rumors had a way of moving faster on the island than the tide.

They slithered through bonfire smoke and dockside bars, through whispers on boats and half-drunk confessions shouted over music that was too loud to drown anything out. By the time you heard them, they were already polished, twisted, sharpened into something crueler than the truth.

And tonight, every single one of them had Rafe Cameron's name stitched into it.

You stood on the edge of the dock, arms crossed tightly over your chest, nails digging into your skin as if you could physically keep yourself from storming over to him. The water below reflected the moon in fractured pieces, rippling every time a boat idled past. You barely noticed. All you could see was him, leaning against the hood of his truck like he didn't have the weight of your history sitting heavy in his lungs.

Beside him was her.

Too young. Too polished. All wide eyes and effortless smiles, like she didn't know what it meant to love someone who could tear you apart and still look at you like you were the only thing keeping him breathing. She laughed at something he said, her hand brushing his arm as if it belonged there.

It didn't.

You and Rafe had history carved into bone. Late nights when the world felt too small and the only thing that made sense was each other. Fights that left your throats raw and your hearts bruised, apologies whispered against skin, promises made in the dark that felt unbreakable in the moment. You knew him in ways no rumor ever could. You knew the way his jaw clenched when he was cornered, the way his voice softened when he was scared, the way he unraveled when he thought he'd already lost you.

And now he was standing there, acting like none of it mattered.

"She's not real," you muttered to yourself, the words bitter on your tongue. "She can't love you like I do."

You hated that part of yourself, the one that still believed that should matter.

Rafe spotted you then.

For a split second, everything cracked. His smile faltered, his shoulders stiffened, and you saw it, clear as day. Guilt. Confusion. Something dangerously close to longing. His eyes followed you the way they always had, like you were gravity and he was never strong enough to resist.

You turned away first.

Inside the party, the air was thick with heat and noise, laughter bouncing off the walls, bodies pressed too close together. Someone shoved a drink into your hand, and you took it without thinking, the burn of alcohol doing nothing to quiet the storm in your chest.

People were watching you. You could feel it. You were the story tonight.

"Is it true?" someone asked, too casually, too eagerly. "About you and Rafe?"

You laughed, sharp and humorless. "Depends who you ask."

Because the rumors said everything and nothing all at once. That he'd replaced you. That you were ancient history. That he'd been sneaking back to you when she wasn't around. That you were the reason his new relationship already looked like it was cracking at the edges.

Bless your soul, you thought bitterly. Everyone's got their head in the clouds out here.

You pushed through the crowd and out onto the porch, the cooler night air hitting your skin like a slap. You barely had time to breathe before footsteps followed you.

"Y/N."

His voice still did that to you. Still slid under your skin, still pulled something loose in your chest that you hadn't managed to stitch back together.