17

Stella stirred, her head pounding lightly, eyes blinking open slowly to unfamiliar surroundings.

Then she felt it — an arm slung loosely around her waist.

She turned her head slightly and saw Sarah, still asleep beside her, makeup smudged under her eyes and lips parted just enough to hear her slow, steady breathing. Stella didn't move. The faint memory of the night before rolled in like a wave.

Sarah's sobs. The way she'd collapsed into her arms. Her voice cracking when she said he chose her.

John B had cut her off completely. Not a conversation, not an explanation — just silence. Like they hadn't existed at all.

Stella shifted carefully, not wanting to wake her. She stared at the ceiling, everything coming back in flashes — the chaos of Midsummers, the tension, the kiss-that-almost-happened, and the way Sarah had clung to her like a lifeline once she found her again.

"I'm so stupid," Sarah had whispered last night, tear-streaked, mascara down her cheeks. "I told him to pick and he did. He picked Kiara. Like I didn't even exist."

Stella had held her then, just like this, whispering soft reassurances and letting Sarah cry until her body finally gave out from exhaustion.

Now, in the morning stillness, Stella felt the weight of everything — the aftermath of secrets and hookups, jealousy and heartbreak, and realized none of them were as untouchable as they pretended to be.

They were all just kids trying not to fall apart.

Stella stared at the ceiling, her mind already racing even though her body hadn't moved.

Last night had cracked something open in her.

Sarah's pain had made something inside Stella ache — not just because it was sad, but because it was real. It was messy and vulnerable and human. And lying there now, with her friend curled beside her like a broken thing, she realized how much all of them were trying to pretend like they weren't just... hurting. In different ways.

And Rafe.

God — Rafe.

Her heart twisted remembering the way he'd looked at her last night. The warmth in his eyes that had nothing to do with the view or the drink in his hand. The way his voice had softened, like she was the only person he could talk to.

The almost-kiss.

She bit her bottom lip, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

She didn't know what it meant. Not really. Not when everything about Rafe was tangled and complicated and wrapped in red flags. But it wasn't nothing. That look hadn't been nothing. And the way her heart had jumped when he leaned in — that definitely hadn't been nothing either.

But what the hell was she supposed to do with that?

He was guarded and cold and sharp around the edges. And still, she couldn't shake the feeling that last night — sitting up on that cliff with the stars above them and the ocean below — he'd actually let her see the real him for once. And it scared her how much she wanted more of that.

She sighed quietly, shifting a little in bed, feeling the weight of Sarah's arm around her waist.

It was too much. Everything was starting to feel like too much. And she had no idea where to put any of it.

Sarah stirred beside her, letting out a soft groan as she buried her face deeper into the pillow. After a beat, she mumbled, voice hoarse and half-asleep, "Stella?"

"Yeah," Stella whispered, turning her head slightly. "It's me."

Sarah blinked slowly, eyes still swollen from the night before. "You stayed?"

"Of course I did," Stella said gently. "How are you feeling?"

Sarah let out a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Like I got hit by a truck full of emotions."

Stella gave a small, tired smile. "You kinda did."

Sarah was quiet for a second, eyes staring up at the ceiling. "I don't even know what to think anymore. About any of it." She looked over at Stella. "Thank you. For staying. For being here."

Stella reached over and squeezed her hand. "Always."

Sarah gave Stella a small, grateful smile before closing her eyes again, resting back into the pillows.

"I'll go grab you some breakfast," Stella said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from Sarah's face. "Be back in a sec."

She slipped out of bed, still in the clothes from last night, her hair a mess, eyes heavy. As she padded downstairs barefoot, the sound of voices echoed from the kitchen. Turning the corner, she paused when she saw Rafe, Topper, and Kelce standing around the island, half-eating whatever food had been laid out—probably by Rose.

Topper looked up first. "Yo, Sleeping Beauty."

Kelce smirked. "Rough night, princess?"

But Stella's eyes were locked on Rafe. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable, the kind of cold stillness he wore. "Rafe," she said, keeping her voice calm, "Can I talk to you for a second?"

He didn't move right away, just gave her a once-over. Then, finally, he pushed off the counter with a sigh and followed her into the hallway, Topper and Kelce exchanging raised brows.

Once they were out of earshot, Stella turned to face him, arms crossed. "What was that last night?"

Rafe looked at her like she'd just made something up. "What was what?"

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Are you serious right now?"

"You were drunk, Stella," he said flatly, folding his arms. "Really drunk. Whatever you think happened didn't."

Her chest tightened. "I wasn't imagining it. You kissed me. Or tried to."

He scoffed. "You leaned in."

Her mouth parted in disbelief. "Oh, so you're seriously doing this right now."

Rafe tilted his head, voice low and sharp. "You were slurring your words and spilling your feelings like some drunk schoolgirl. Don't twist it into something it wasn't."

The words hit her like a slap. "Wow."

He leaned in slightly, face hard. "You should probably get your head on straight before you start pulling people into whatever fantasy you're spinning."

Stella swallowed the lump rising in her throat. "You're unbelievable."

"Yeah?" Rafe stepped back with a cold shrug. "You'll get over it."

And with that, he turned and walked off—leaving her standing alone in the hallway, stomach hollow, blood burning.

Stella just stood there for a second, staring at the empty space Rafe had left behind, her heart thudding dully in her chest. She should've known better. Of course she should've.

This was Rafe Cameron. Cold one second, sweet the next, then cold again just to remind you it was never real in the first place. What did she think was going to happen? That he'd remember the way she leaned into him and stop pretending like none of it happened?

She scoffed softly to herself, eyes stinging. She was such an idiot.

Empty-handed, she made her way back upstairs, her footsteps heavier now. The silence in Sarah's room wrapped around her like a blanket, but it wasn't comforting—it just made her feel more alone.

She stood at the edge of the bed for a moment before yanking back the covers. "Alright, let's go," she said abruptly.

Sarah groaned, burying her face in the pillow. "What?"

Stella pulled the blanket more. "We're getting coffee. I need caffeine and you need to stop moping in bed."

Sarah cracked one eye open. "You didn't even bring breakfast."

"I got distracted," Stella muttered, already rifling through the pile of clothes on the chair. "Come on, let's get out of here. Your real boyfriend is downstairs."

Sarah blinked. "Who?"

"Topper," Stella said, deadpan. "Obviously."

Sarah huffed a tired laugh and finally started to move. "You're the worst."

"Yup," Stella replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Now come on"