26

The past few weeks had felt like something out of a movie—a warm, golden haze that Stella never wanted to leave.

It wasn't flashy. Not with Rafe. Not this version of him.

It was the little things: the way he'd brush his fingers along her hand when no one was looking, or the late-night drives where they didn't need to talk, just exist in the same space with music humming low between them. Rafe had a way of making her feel like she was the only person in the world—when he wanted to.

It was secret, of course. Very. She knew Christopher would blow up if he even suspected she was spending time with Rafe Cameron. And her mom—God, her mom would probably call the cops herself. So it had become something quiet and hidden, a world built between stolen moments and text messages with no names attached.

It was thrilling.

He'd show up when she least expected it, sometimes just leaning against his truck at the edge of the beach or slipping into a party only to drag her out for something "better." He was always in control, always a little bit dangerous—but not with her. Not lately. With her, Rafe was soft, teasing, even kind. He hadn't raised his voice once. He made her laugh.

For once, things felt simple.

That was until she got home Thursday afternoon and found her mom sitting at the kitchen table, arms crossed, phone flipped face-down like she'd been waiting.

Stella paused in the doorway, tension crawling up her spine.

"Hey," she said, trying not to sound guilty even though she felt it all over her skin. "What's up?"

Her mom raised an eyebrow. "We need to talk."

Here it comes.

"Okay...?" Stella set her bag down and sat across from her, carefully neutral. "What about?"

Her mom gave her that look—the one that said she was trying really hard to stay calm but wasn't quite managing it. "You've been going out a lot lately. Random nights, coming home late, and barely saying two words to me or even contacting Christopher."

Stella's stomach knotted. "I've just been with friends. It's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal when I don't know where you are half the time. I know you're getting older, and I'm trying not to hover, but this isn't who you are, Stella."

That stung.

Her mom kept going. "You used to care about school. About college. About your future. And now it's like none of that matters. I don't want you throwing everything away just because you've suddenly decided parties are more important."

"I haven't—" Stella started, then caught herself. Arguing would only make it worse.

Her mom sighed, softening a little. "I'm not trying to ruin your fun. I just want to make sure you're focusing on what really matters. I don't want to wake up one day and realize I didn't do enough to keep you on track."

There it was—that mix of love and control, of fear disguised as concern. Stella couldn't even be mad about it, not really. Her mom meant well. She always did. But if she knew where Stella really was on those nights... with who...

She'd never trust her again.

So Stella just nodded slowly, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Okay. I hear you."

Her mom studied her face, like she knew there was more but didn't know how to get to it. After a moment, she let out a breath and stood up. "Thank you, dear. Just... think about it, okay?"

Stella nodded again, but her mind was already somewhere else.

Later that night, when the house had finally gone still, Stella lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the soft glow of her phone lighting up the darkness. She hadn't heard from Rafe all day, which was strange. He was usually the one to text first, to ask where she was, what she was doing, if she was alone.

But tonight? Nothing.

On impulse, she scrolled through her contacts and tapped her brother's name.

The phone rang a few times before he picked up, his voice low and a little groggy. "Stella?"

"Hey," she said quietly. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"It's midnight. So... yeah." He paused, then added, "What's going on? Everything okay?"

"Yeah. I just... I don't know. Wanted to check in."

Another pause. But this one was heavier. "Now you want to check in?"

She rolled her eyes even though he couldn't see it. "Chris—"

"No, seriously," he cut in, his voice sharper than usual. "You haven't called in over a week. You barely respond to texts. I had to hear from Mom that you've been out almost every night. And now you call at midnight like we're good?"

Stella's stomach sank. "I've just been busy."

"Doing what?" he snapped. "Running around with people you won't even name? Blowing off interviews? Avoiding Mom? Because from the outside, it kind of looks like you're spiraling."

That hit harder than she expected.

"I'm not spiraling," she said, biting each word.

"Then what are you doing?" he asked, not backing down. "Because it's not just partying. You sound... different. Distant. You used to actually talk to me, Stella. Now you're just some ghost I hear about secondhand."

"I didn't call to get lectured," she muttered.

"You didn't call at all until now," he shot back. "So yeah, maybe you need the lecture. You think I don't know what it looks like when someone starts hiding stuff? Don't think you're too special to fall into the same mess."

Silence.

Stella's chest felt tight. Her fingers curled into the blanket.

"Look," Christopher said, his voice finally softening. "You don't have to tell me everything. But I'm not stupid, Stel. I know something's up."

Her throat burned. "I'm fine," she said again, quieter this time.

"Yeah," he sighed. "You keep saying that."

He didn't push again. Just made her promise to text tomorrow—really text him, not some half-assed emoji reply, and told her goodnight.

When the call ended, Stella lay there, staring at the blank screen, every word still echoing in her head.

She hadn't told him about Rafe. She couldn't.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.