Page 90 of Rafe: Sins of the Father

They stand around me like they feel the need to watch me.

I crane my neck and look over my shoulder. “You can knock off the suicide watch. I’m fine.” Then I down another shot.

In the mirror behind the bar, I see them exchange a look, then drift off toward the pool table.

They mean well. I get that. But right now, I just need time to think.

The longer I sit at the bar, the lower the liquor in the bottle gets, until I’m barely able to stay upright.

The room spins, and the jukebox gets louder. People come and go around me, but like I asked, my brothers leave me alone until I slip from my stool and hit the floor.

I vaguely remember four of them carrying me down the hall and tossing me in one of the bunks we keep for out-of-town club members.

I pass out again, visions of Tori tormenting me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Tori—

Aching sobs escape the pillow I cry into. Sleep eludes me, and all I can see when I close my eyes is the look on Rafe’s face when my father accused him.

Why did he leave? I can’t make sense of it. There is no explanation that seems plausible, and I’ve been over every single one I can come up with.

Except one. Except the one Alex suggested. Rafe got what he wanted and dumped me. Men do that. I know that. I’m not naïve.

But that explanation doesn’t make sense, either. Not after the night we shared. Not after the things he said to me. Not after the way he kissed me this morning. God, was it only this morning? It feels like a lifetime ago.

Did Rafe simply come to realize with the fire and the accusations that it just wasn’t worth it? ThatIwasn’t worth it? That a relationship with me was too complicated? Too much trouble? After all, I’m sure he could replace me with a snap of his fingers. I’m sure there are dozens of women who would love to take my place. Women who wouldn’t bring as much baggage as I do, women whose father wouldn’t stand in the way, and women who don’t have crazy college boy stalkers.

Finally, I give up on sleeping and toss the covers back. Crossing to the window, I stare out at the remnants of the mill. It used to be so easy to spot the light above the office door. Now it's inky blackness and shadows. Where once a structure stood, now lays a pile of ash and rubble. I see the picnic table under thetree across the parking area from where the building once stood. Images of all the times I snuck out of the house in those predawn hours to meet Rafe there. All the stolen kisses, ones that were all the more precious and all the more erotic because they were stolen. Every time we met, he went a little farther with me, until one morning we came so close to having sex on that table.

I would have done it. God forgive me, I would have.

But he stopped us, holding me at arm’s length, breathing heavy, his face twisted with need and desire. “Not here,” he said. “Not this way. You deserve better than a dirty old wooden table, Tori.”

“I don’t care, Rafe. I want you,” I begged, but he wouldn’t relent, and then headlights had flashed as a car pulled in the lot.

“It’s Ed,” Rafe said. “Go back to the house. Hurry.”

I listened to him. I obeyed his command. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have let everyone know about us right from the start. Maybe then…

I stare into space, and all I can think of is Rafe’s hands on me. His body over mine in the dark of his bedroom. The look in his eyes when he took me.

I return to bed, but I don’t sleep. Instead, I stare at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it all.

I take my phone and text him again.

ME: Rafe, please talk to me. I need you.

ME: Why did you leave? What did I do wrong? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

He never replies, and I roll to my side, a tear slipping down my cheek.

There has to be a way to fix this.

I’ve got to figure it out.

Days turn into weeks, and he doesn’t return my calls or texts.

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