23

The music thumped through the walls, vibrating against the tile floors. Stella sat on the kitchen counter, legs swinging slightly, a plastic cup in one hand, the other clutching onto the edge of the marble like it was holding her up. Her birthday crown sat crooked on her head, hair tousled, eyes glassy—drunk.

Next to her, Oliver stood leaned against the fridge, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and clipped, deep in yet another business call.

"Yeah, but if they don't close by Monday, we walk. That's it. I'm not going to beg for a deal that's already losing—" He cut off briefly, chuckling to whoever was on the other end. "Exactly."

Stella leaned against his shoulder lazily, rolling her eyes in exaggerated circles as she fake-mouthed his every word.

From the doorway, Sarah stood, arms crossed with an expression that could only be described as what the actual fuck.

Stella spotted her, and with a tipsy grin, she slurred, "Sarah, come join our little... power board meeting."

Sarah didn't laugh. She just walked up, yanked the cup from Stella's hand and whispered, "Can I borrow the birthday girl for a second?"

Stella's expression shifted, her smile faltering just a bit. She glanced up at Oliver, still on the phone, still completely tuned out.

"Get him out of my party," she muttered under her breath, teeth clenched. "Before I lose my mind."

Sarah nodded. "On it."

She stepped away from the kitchen, weaving through the crowd, past the makeshift bar and toward the back patio where Kelce and Topper were leaning against the railing with drinks in hand and their usual smug expressions.

"I need help," Sarah said without preamble.

Kelce raised a brow. "Is this about the suit in the kitchen?"

Topper snorted. "Oliver? What's his problem?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "He won't leave. Stella's spiraling and wants him gone. She's seriously going to blow."

Kelce and Topper exchanged a look.

"We got this," Kelce said, grinning.

Oliver was still mid-call, still oblivious. Stella had now slumped further down the counter, fiddling with a half-empty bag of chips, her face set in a pout.

Kelce strolled in first. "Hey, man," he said loudly enough for Oliver to hear over the phone. "You mind stepping outside? Someone said your car's about to get towed."

Oliver held up a finger. "One second—"

Topper followed right after. "No, seriously dude. It's blocking the driveway. We tried to move it but couldn't find your keys."

Oliver, clearly irritated, held the phone away from his face. "It's fine. Let them tow it. I'll pay the ticket."

Sarah's scoffed a bit. Unreal.

Topper turned back to Kelce with a look. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Okay," Sarah muttered. "New plan."

Stella's head lolled a little to the side, her eyes catching a blur of movement as Oliver ended yet another sentence into his phone. She was trying to be patient. Trying. But the noise, the call, his suit, everything was starting to get on her nerves.

She straightened up, blinking hard, and slurred with a half-smile, "Hey, um... I'm gonna go hang with my friends for a bit, okay?"

Oliver didn't even glance down at her. "No. Just give me one more minute, Stella."

She groaned audibly, tilting her head back and letting it thunk against the cabinet behind her. "You've been saying that for twenty minutes."

He held up a finger, clearly still on the phone. "Just one more minute."

Stella muttered something under her breath, rolling her eyes and pressing her forehead to the cool marble of the counter.

Finally, after what felt like another eternity, Oliver ended the call. He turned to her with a grin, completely oblivious to her mood.

"You've been such a good girl for waiting," he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll go get us drinks."

Stella squirmed in disgust as she heard the words come out of his mouth. He kissed the top of her head gently, like that somehow made up for ignoring her, and turned to head toward the bar.

The moment his back was turned, Stella bolted.

Shoeless, stumbling slightly, Stella weaved through the party crowd, scanning frantically until she spotted a group near the back—Sarah, Topper, Kelce, and Rafe. All clustered by the outdoor doorway, drinks in hand, deep in conversation.

She practically sprinted over.

"Hide me," she gasped breathlessly, stopping in front of them.

They all paused and looked at her. Hair wild, and eyes wide with panic and alcohol.

Topper blinked. "Uh... from who?"

"Oliver! Who the fuck else?" she said quickly, looking over her shoulder. "He's getting drinks. If he finds me, I swear to god, I'm gonna lose it."

"Unbelievable" Sarah mumbled,

"He won't let me go hang out with you guys. Keeps me at the damn kitchen counter like I'm on a leash. I'm supposed to be having fun." Stella whined.

Rafe's jaw clenched, watching her, taking in the state she was in—flushed cheeks, red eyes, clearly overwhelmed.

Kelce chuckled, "Alright, come here, Kook princess. You're with us now."

Rafe stepped aside, and Sarah pulled her in like they were forming a barricade around her.

"Let's see if golden boy tries anything," Topper muttered, cracking his knuckles playfully.

Stella, tucked safely in their circle now, leaned into Sarah with a dramatic exhale.

"I owe you all my life." She hiccuped,

Topper leaned casually against the railing, his cup half-full, watching the mess of people filter in and out of the yard and patio.

"So where'd you disappear to after the whole pool thing?" he asked Stella, raising a brow with a crooked smirk.

Stella froze for half a second, her eyes darting to Rafe.

He was already looking at her—leaning just slightly forward, his back a bit straighter now, his stare locked on her like he could read every word forming in her brain. She swallowed hard, her hands suddenly sweaty, and she started stammering.

"I, uh—I had to pee. And then, I ended up changing. The dress, it—yeah. I just changed."

Sarah shot her a look, suspicious but choosing not to press. Topper just shrugged, "Fair enough."

Before anyone could get another word in, a voice cut sharply through the music.

"There you are."

Oliver.

He stepped up with tension in his jaw, looking directly at Stella—his eyes scanning the group like they were insects around a light. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Stella froze again, but this time, Rafe moved.

Subtle, but protective—he stepped in front of her just enough to block Oliver's full view, casually but firmly shifting his stance so she was tucked a bit behind his broad frame.

Kelce raised a brow, catching on immediately. "Haven't seen her, man."

Rafe, cool and collected, added, "Pretty sure I saw her going out front. She looked like she was gonna be sick."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "She needs to learn to hold her liquor, man."

Rafe's jaw flexed. His voice dropped, sharp and biting. "You need to shut the fuck up and get out of the party."

Topper and Kelce both straightened, the tension building in the circle like a live wire. Stella's heart thudded in her chest as she looked up at Rafe, still shielding her, his shoulders square, his tone unforgiving.

Oliver looked between them all, clearly weighing his options.

No one moved.

Rafe didn't flinch.

Oliver scoffed, glancing around at the sea of people dancing, drinking, laughing—none of whom gave a single shit that he was storming off.

"This party sucked anyways," he muttered, throwing one last glare in the groups direction before turning and walking off toward the gate.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Stella—still very much drunk—let out a breath of relief and suddenly launched herself onto Rafe with a giggly, unsteady jump, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

"Thank youuu," she slurred, face smushed into his shoulder. "You guys are like my tall, terrifying knights"

Rafe stumbled back half a step, catching her easily with both hands around her waist. He let out a surprised laugh, shaking his head. "Jesus, Stella."

She leaned back just enough to look at him, her eyes glassy and glowing, a crooked smile on her face.

He smirked. "You're ridiculous."

Before she could say anything else, Sarah appeared beside them, grabbing Stella gently by the arm with a soft laugh. "Okay, birthday girl, come on. It's time for cake before you pass out standing."

"I'm fine," Stella sang as Sarah started tugging her away, though her feet stumbled and she clung to Sarah for balance.

Rafe watched them go, his smile lingering as Stella glanced over her shoulder one last time—eyes finding his like a magnet—and stuck her tongue out before disappearing into the crowd.

Music still played faintly through the outdoor speakers, but most of the guests had already stumbled out—carried off by friends or driven home by sketchy Uber drivers. The pool had gone still, glittering under the lights, and the once packed dance floor was now littered with forgotten cups, confetti, and a lone high heel.

Sarah sat slumped on a patio couch, her head resting against the backrest, eyes half-lidded and glassy as she muttered something incoherent. Kelce had passed out with one of the bartenders' aprons draped over him like a blanket and gave a tired grunt when Rafe tried to rouse him.

"I'm not moving him," Rafe muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

That left just Stella—still buzzing with alcohol, but slower now, softer. She stood near the edge of the deck barefoot, her heels tossed somewhere hours ago, hair messy and wild from dancing, mascara slightly smudged beneath her eyes. She held the half-eaten piece of birthday cake Sarah had forced on her earlier in one hand, poking at it with a plastic fork and humming something off-key.

Rafe stepped up beside her, watching the slow sway of her body and the way the wind played with her dress. "You good?"

She blinked up at him, giving a lazy grin. "Define good."

He smirked. "You look like you're gonna either pass out or start singing."

"Mmm... tempting," she said with a laugh, then swayed slightly on her feet. Rafe reached out without thinking, a hand at her waist to steady her.

"Alright, that's it," he said, firm but amused. "Come on, party girl."

"I'm fiiine," she giggled again, clinging to his arm anyway.

"Yeah, and I'm sober," he shot back, rolling his eyes but still holding her steady. "Let's get you upstairs."

She didn't protest as he guided her inside. The once-lively house was mostly silent now, lights dimmed and only the distant thump of the playlist still running echoing in the kitchen. He helped her up the stairs carefully, one arm tucked under hers while she leaned heavily on his side.

"I had fun tonight," she mumbled, glancing up at him with tired eyes.

He looked down at her. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Thanks for... being here," she added softly.

Something about the way she said it made his chest feel tight.

When they got to her room, he pushed open the door with his shoulder and helped her sit down on the edge of the bed. She flopped back with a groan, one arm flung dramatically over her eyes.

"You're gonna regret this in the morning," he teased gently.

"Worth it," she said, eyes still closed. Her hand dropped to her chest and she gave the tiniest smile.

"Stay?" she asked, barely a whisper.

Rafe shifted beside her on the bed, propped on one elbow as he glanced down at her. Stella's eyes were half-lidded, her lashes fluttering every time she blinked, the flush on her cheeks still from the alcohol—or maybe something else.

"You sure you want me to stay?" he asked quietly, his voice a low rumble in the dim light of her bedroom.

She turned her head toward him slowly, her lips curving into a soft, sleepy smile. "Mhm," she mumbled. "Come here."

He hesitated for half a second, searching her expression, but then gave in—leaning closer.

Her fingers reached up to touch his face, thumb brushing gently over his cheek. "You've got... really pretty eyes," she said with a drunken giggle. "Like, annoyingly blue."

Rafe let out a low chuckle, the corners of his mouth twitching. "You're wasted."

"Not that wasted," she whispered, before pulling him in and pressing her lips to his.

The kiss was slow at first—unhurried, familiar, like muscle memory—but then her hands slid up his shirt, fingertips tracing the lines of his stomach, trying to pull him closer. Her body shifted beneath him, tugging him down with her.

Rafe hovered over her, his hands planted on either side of her body as he looked down at her with careful eyes. "Stella," he said again, his voice quieter now, rougher. "Are you sure?"

Her eyes met his, a little glassy, a little dazed, but full of something that felt a lot like certainty. Her lips parted slightly, and she nodded before whispering, "I'm sure."

That was all it took.

He leaned in, and she met him halfway, their mouths crashing together in a kiss that was deeper—hungrier—than the ones before. Her hands tangled in the collar of his shirt, pulling him down, and he went willingly, kissing her like he hadn't done it a thousand times in his head before. His hand cupped her jaw, fingers trailing into her hair as her body arched into his.

She let out a small sound against his mouth—half a sigh, half a quiet plea—and it lit something in him, something he thought he buried. He kissed her again, slower this time, like he wanted to memorize every part of her.

Her fingers fumbled at the hem of his shirt, brushing against the warm skin beneath, and he moved his hand to her hip, pulling her in closer. There was no one else. Just the two of them, the low hum of music still thumping faintly from outside, and years of history bleeding into every touch.

Stella pulled away only for a breath, her forehead resting against his, lips swollen and smile soft. "You don't get to run after this," she whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere," Rafe murmured, before kissing her again—slow, certain, and this time, like he meant it.

Rafe's hands moved with uncharacteristic care, thumbs tracing slow, reverent circles against Stella's skin as if he couldn't believe she was real beneath him.

Her lips parted slightly beneath his, her breath catching as his fingers slid up her thighs, under the hem of her dress. She didn't stop him—didn't want to. Everything in her body was humming, alive with the warmth of his touch and the way he kissed her like she was something sacred. Soon after, he quickly held her up, unzipping the dress, and leaving her in only wet panties and a bra.

She tugged lightly at the fabric of his shirt, and he helped her pull it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind them. His skin was warm under her palms, his chest rising and falling steadily even though she could feel the way his pulse kicked up when her fingers brushed across his collarbone.

"You're shaking," he whispered against her lips, noticing.

She laughed softly, breathlessly. "So are you."

He leaned his forehead against hers again, grounding himself in her presence, just slightly chuckling.

This time there was no rush, no cloud of drunken haze. Just want. Just her. Just him.

Her breath hitched as he hovered over her, blue eyes darker than usual, clouded with something deeper than just lust. His fingers brushed her cheek, slow and rough at the same time—calloused but gentle, like he was still trying to figure out if she was real.

"Last chance to tell me to stop," he said, voice low, thick, that familiar edge to it, but his eyes searched hers carefully.

Stella looked up at him from beneath her lashes, skin flushed, lips parted, and whispered, "Don't you dare."

Rafe's restraint snapped like a rubber band. His mouth crushed hers in a hungry kiss, one hand tangling in her hair, the other gripping her waist like he needed to anchor himself. She gasped against him, but it only made him hungrier—he needed to taste all of her. He kissed down her jawline, her neck, biting just hard enough to make her body jolt beneath him. His hands roamed her bare sides, gripping, exploring, memorizing every dip and curve like she belonged to him.

"You don't get it," he muttered against her skin. "You have no fucking clue what you do to me."

Stella let out a soft, breathless laugh, her fingers curling into his hair. "Then show me."

His eyes flicked up, sharp and intense, and then he kissed her again—deeper this time. Slower. Their bodies pressed flush together, her legs wrapping around his hips as he rocked against her, making her whimper. She could feel how hard he was, the heat radiating off him like a storm.

"Jesus," he breathed, dragging his mouth across her collarbone. "You drive me fucking crazy."

He moved like he wanted to be careful, but Rafe was never fully gentle—there was always something unhinged in the way he touched her. Like he needed her more than air. Like he was claiming something. His hand slid up her thigh, firm and confident, fingers grazing dangerously close before pulling away, teasing.

"Rafe," she whispered, breath shaky, desperate now.

He met her eyes again, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. "Say it again."

"Rafe..."

"Louder."

She pulled him down by his chain and kissed him hard. Her hips shifted against him with purpose, and he groaned into her mouth—low and deep.

He got up for a minute, shoving his pants off of him, along with his boxers. He watched her desperately rub her clit, as he reached into his wallet and grabbed a condom.

He watched her for a few more seconds, watched how needy she was of him. "Rafe, please" She whined,

When he finally slid inside her, the world stopped. She let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan, her fingers digging into his back as her head fell back into the pillows.

He buried his face in her neck, voice muffled but thick with something real. "You feel so good, fuck—Stella."

Each movement was intense, unrelenting, like he couldn't get enough. Like he needed to feel every inch of her, over and over. The sounds she made—the way she said his name—lit something up inside him. She arched into him, their rhythm a perfect, desperate match.

"You don't get it," he breathed, forehead against hers, sweat beading at his brow. "You don't understand how much I need you."

Stella moaned, looking up at him, dazed, drunk on him, body trembling. "Then don't let go."

He didn't.

Not once.

And when she finally broke beneath him, breathless and shaking, his name on her lips like a secret, he followed—mouth on hers, holding her like he'd never let her go again.

And for the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron felt something terrifying.

Peace.

Because in that moment, tangled up with her, he didn't feel like a fuck-up. He didn't feel broken.

He felt whole.

y'all have been fed.