Rafe Cameron

Working on the Cameron family’s yacht had never been part of your plans for the summer.

A few months earlier, your family had still been comfortably settled among the Kooks of Figure Eight. Then your father, Edward, made an investment that went catastrophically wrong. The money disappeared quickly, and with it went most of the life your family had spent years building.

Ward Cameron had almost lost money because of the same investment. That was the reason Ward and Edward no longer spoke unless they absolutely had to.

It was also why your new job felt humiliating sometimes.

Ward paid you well to help maintain the Cameron family’s yacht: cleaning, repairing small things, keeping everything in order. He treated you professionally enough, as if the history between him and your father had nothing to do with you.

The real problem was Rafe.

Somewhere between late nights conversations and moments neither of you had ever bothered to explain, you and Ward Cameron’s eldest son had become something. Rafe had never called you his girlfriend, and you had never asked him to. Whatever existed between you had no name, which made it easier for him to pretend it meant nothing.

At least, that was what he told himself. It also had to remain a secret from Ward.

You had known the Pogues long before your family’s money disappeared. Kiara was your friend, which meant that sooner or later you had become friends with the rest of her group too: John B, Pope, and JJ. Rafe hated that you spent so much time with them, although he would rather choke than admit it.

The night before, all of you had ended up at the Boneyard. Rafe had spent most of the night with a girl, she looked like a kook. You had spent most of yours talking to JJ.

Neither of you had been particularly happy about it.

The next afternoon, you were kneeling near one of the storage compartments on the yacht, putting away a set of tools, when you heard footsteps behind you. You didn’t need to turn around.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Maybe because i’m working?” you said as if it wasn’t obvious. Rafe let out a short, humourless laugh. “Right.”

When you finally looked at him, he was standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, sunglasses pushed into his hair. He looked irritated, which was almost funny considering he was the reason you had barely looked at him since yesterday. “Don’t look at me like that, do you think i can fucking read your mind? Just tell me what’s going on”

“You really don’t know?”

“Why? Am i supposed to?” That answer irritated you more than it should have.

“You were with that girl all night.”

For a second, Rafe simply looked at you. Then his expression hardened. “Seriously? What does that have to do with anything?” You just picked up the toolbox, trying to move past him. Rafe stepped aside, watching you.

“Besides,” he added, “you seemed pretty busy yourself.” He scoffed and looked away “Whatever, I don’t give a shit who you talk to.”

You studied him for a moment, trying to read his face. “Good,” you said quietly. “Because I don’t care who you hook up with either.”

That made him look back at you. For a second, neither of you moved. Then Rafe took a step closer, his expression still irritated, but there was something else underneath it now, something neither of you seemed willing to name.

“If you don’t care,” he said, lowering his voice, “then why did you ask me about that girl? Since you’re so unaffected of what i do”