Who Stuck the Knife in First?
chapter ii
warnings: mentions of
sex & drugs
SHE FEELS SICK IN THE MORNING, and has a headache. There were bruises on her hips from when Rafe's grip would get too hard. She didn't like the way he manhandled her, sometimes. Often he wouldn't want to look at her—at least, that was the excuse that she would make to make herself feel better. Or, technically, to make her feel worse. She wished Rafe would look at her, as she wanted to look at him. She liked the faces he made. Layne just liked his face, in general.
Her room felt hot, but she wasn't sure if it was just remembering last night. The back of the car was hot, and so was his skin. Layne always noticed the flush that cascaded over his chest and neck. She stuffed her face further into her pillow to try and stop thinking about him. Her pillow smelt like Luna's litterbox, and she nearly threw it across the room.
She didn't expect herself to wake up this early, six AM, but it worked in her favor. She needed to surf, the waves were calling for her, practically. It was the only way she could free her mind from Rafe and his iron grip. The dirty feeling that she had the first few times they had sex hit her like a truck when she got out of bed. Maybe it was because it had been nearly five months since they had even seen each other—or maybe the familiar feeling of guilt was going to become a permanent reaction in their routine. She really hoped it wouldn't.
Rory was already up, despite the sun hardly going over the clouds, and Layne slightly cursed to herself. She was able to sneak back inside last night, while her parents were asleep (at least she thought they were asleep) change, and crawl into bed. It was an easy task, but being high off of coke and slightly drunk made it more like a ten mile run. Layne had slept in a fetal position that night to stop herself from vomiting, and it only worked slightly, before she had to run to the bathroom to throw up. She was pretty sure her mom had heard that—Layne felt pathetic. She had drank and done lines plenty of times, but she supposed she never really got used to that. Layne made sure there was no white residue around her nose in the hallway mirror before she entered the kitchen.
"You're up early," Rory kept her voice low, as Kurt was still asleep a few doors down. Layne could hear his snores very vividly, as the door was cracked open. She remembered when Rory would buy him nose strips to dwindle the snores when she was little and could hardly sleep, back when she had to keep her door open. Layne supposed her mother had gotten used to it at this point—and so did she.
"Yeah. Thought I'd go surf," she hopped up on the kitchen counting, picking at some of the strawberries.
"You got home late last night,"
"What're you, spying on me?"
"You know I can't sleep until I know you're home safely. Was that the Cameron boy who took you home? What's his name, Robert?"
Layne rolled her eyes. "His name is Rafe. So what if he did,"
She didn't understand why she was getting snippy with her mother, but it was a given. Layne knew that if her mother knew the extent of her and Rafe's relationship, it would end in a second, and she would tell everyone at the surf shop because she could. So many kids from school came in, and Rory wouldn't be able to help herself but ask them what they thought of Rafe Cameron, because he was "dating her daughter." Layne could imagine it in her head clearly.
"Is he nice?"
Layne had to think about that for a moment. Was Rafe actually nice? Instantly she would say no, but perhaps it required more thought than that. The fact that she even had to contemplate it should've made her say no. "Sure,"
"That's not really an answer,"
"Why are you interrogating me right now?"
Rory slammed the spoon down that she was mixing her coffee with. "You need to stop talking to me like I'm one of your friends. I'm not," Layne could tell she was trying to calm herself down by hanging onto the spoon—her knuckles were white. "Sorry," she whispered, hopping off the counter. "Can you please eat something before you leave,"
"I had some strawberries,"
"Layne,"
She held her hands up in surrender as she backed away, toward her room. "I'll get something on the way,"
"I want you to stop by the Wreck today. The Carrera's are nice people, and you're friendly with their daughter. Maybe they'll get you a job,"
Layne winced. She knew her mother would say something about a job. "Alright, will do," she saluted her mother, who only let out a short sigh before returning to mix her coffee in her mug. Layne quickly shut the door behind her and dug out the first swimsuit she could find. It smelt of laundry detergent, but not the one her mother normally used—it smelt of the one her grandmother used. She scrunched up her nose, and just threw it on the bed, before pulling out her wet suit from her closet. Her patterned backpack that she always used for surfing was still in its same place, hung behind her closet doors—her flippers were still in there. So was the sand from the previous summer. Her sunscreen was in there, too, and she wondered if it was halfway melted—but she was pretty positive her mom had bought new bottles, too. At least, she hoped she did.
Her surf wax, leash, and rash guard were all stuffed to the bottom, and Layne was surprised it didn't smell. The wind was calm outside, and her room still smelt liked incense. She missed the feeling of the early mornings on the island. She just wished her hangover would go away, her headache would subside, and she would be fine. It was easier said than done, and she knew that—Rafe always told her to drink water and eat a good breakfast. Or to do more lines. She did not want to choose the latter.
Layne had forgotten how difficult it was to secure her board in the back of her Jeep—no matter how many times she finagled it so that it wouldn't be interfering with her rearview mirror, it hardly helped. It wasn't a far drive, but she hadn't driven for months, and felt as though the minute she pressed on the gas, it was doomed.
The morning air felt nice against her skin. She still smelt like Rafe's BMW, she could smell the vodka on her breath. She forgot to brush her teeth before she left—now, she was bound to taste it all morning. She took a swig of the old water in her cupholder, and it was as warm as piss. Layne nearly wanted to spit it out of the window, but the early birds of the Cut were already awake, and smoking cigarettes on the porches. She gave them some curt nods and small waves as she drove through the empty streets, noticing how some of them were actually returning to their homes for the night, at six in the morning. Layne knew better than to question it. She had been in their shoes many times before.
It was pleasant to actually see the beach from the sun's rays. The sun was hidden by scarce clouds, and it was easy to forget about everything else once she was engulfed in the smell of the salty waves and, surprisingly, the sound of seagulls actually comforted her more than a petty annoyance. She had no food to hide, anyways.
Her board felt heavy under her arm, and she lugged it through the sand. Layne almost felt like a beginner again—but she hoped it would just be like riding a bike, and she'd catch on eventually, like she always does. There were a few people littered in the water, some as far out as to only appear as tiny dots. Sometimes Layne freaks herself out and watches Soul Surfer or watches videos on Youtube of surfers recounting their encounters with sharks. But all those feelings go away once she gets her hair wet.
Her wet suit fit like second skin, almost. She had lost weight since the last time she wore it. It was a bit loose at the ends, and as much as Layne tried to flatten it, it still didn't fit right. It almost made her want to cry—she even felt a few hot tears spring at the edges of her eyes. It makes her heart stammer in her chest, and she frantically changes into her rash guard instead. It was loose at well, but she tried to quell her shakiness by squeezing her hands in and out of a fist. She was hungry—those few strawberries didn't do much. Maybe she'd meet Marian and Claudia for breakfast afterwards. Part of her feels the need to have a sit down conversation with them before they start dragging her in and out of kook and pogue parties alike, as if she hadn't been gone for months. They hadn't left the island—they lived on without her, without skipping a beat. At least, that's what it seemed like. Layne liked to victimize herself, even subconsciously. It was a form of protection than accepting anything good—anything too good made her uncomfortable. Layne didn't like discomfort.
The water was cold—freezing, even. Layne should be used to it, but it seemed as though she never would be. The board was tied around her ankle, and she winced slightly when she stepped on the shells and rocks that littered the shallow areas of water. It took her a while before she got deep enough to mount the board, and dove beneath one of the higher waves. She found herself feeling slightly numb—although her rash guard provided a bit of warmth that made the water more bearable. The other surfers seemed to be in their own worlds—although, a boy she had known for ages, that always seemed to be there when she was, waved from a distance, giving her the gnarly sign with his hand. She returned it, shaking her wrist briefly while she straddled the board.
The waves were somewhat mellow for the morning, and Layne only teetered in the water, alongside the small waves. It was calming, and the sound of the water was like music. Her mind went empty, then. There wasn't much to think about besides the waves, and her feet dangling in the water. The water was clear enough for her to see her feet. There was a few minutes of solace before a wave started to form, one big enough for her to ride, and she turned around and watched the wave gain height before she started paddling to shore. Layne could practically feel the rust falling off her limbs before she was able to push herself up and ride it to shore—a few cheers from the other surfers being heard over the water.
She surfed for a few hours, until it reached about nine o'clock, and families of tourons, kooks and pogues began to congregate on the beach for the day. The sun was high, gone from orange to yellow, and was brutal. Although, there was a slightly breeze from the water and the trees that helped to alleviate the heat, and Layne was already done for the day by the time she got back to her bag that had been buried in the grass.
Layne could practically feel the sunburn tightening her skin when she lifted her rash guard over her head, and replaced it with her t-shirt. It smelt of seawater and sunblock, but she wrung it out before laying it out in the back of her Jeep to dry. Her eyelids were hanging low with slumber, from only sleeping a few hours last night and waking up in the early morning. She didn't understand her sleep schedule most of the time, if you could even call it that—but all she knew, was that it wasn't working.
By the time she drove through the town, it was like a completely different place. There was a heavy weight of loneliness that weighed on her shoulders, and she wasn't entirely sure where it came from—the longing to come home was seemingly replaced with something much more difficult to put her finger on. Almost nostalgia of a place she used to know—seeing children excited to go on the shore, or trailing at their parent's heels, made her miss what she used to have. She wasn't a kid anymore. She hadn't been for a while. Layne was almost twenty, yet she felt like an infant. Almost as if the minute she was expected to know things about the world, she lost grasp on it. Her heart ached for sincerity and authenticity, and she never got it. Not even just from Rafe, from everyone—it was like someone was dangling a carrot in front of her face, and then pulled it away.
She remembered suddenly when she pulled in the driveway that her mom wanted her to stop by the Wreck some time today to ask for a job. Layne knew Kiara, and the Carrera's, but still felt awkward. But, to be fair, The Wreck was the most pogue-ish, kook-owned restaurant she has ever stepped foot in. She'd fit right in.
Rory was already watering the plants in the front yard when Layne pulled home, and she acknowledged her with a brief nod. "How was the water?" she asked, unravelling the hose from the side of the house. Layne shrugged. "Fine," she muttered, too preoccupied with taking her board out the back of her car. Rory looked up at her for a moment before continuing to water the hydrangeas.
"Okay . . . what did I ask you to do today?"
Layne carried her board back towards the outdoor shower, propping it up where it was last. "To go find a job,"
"Go to The Wreck and find a job. I'll go with you, if you want,"
"I'm nineteen years old, I can do it," she breathed, sticking out her hand as if to ask for the hose, to wash the sand and seashells off of her board. Rory handed it to her silently, and Layne sprayed her board, and watched as the sand leaked off. Some of the water splashed onto her feet, and wet her t-shirt. Layne handed it back wordlessly.
"They don't open until twelve. I think I might go out to breakfast with Marian and Claudia," Layne had muttered, and the pair of them didn't keep much eye contact otherwise. Layne wondered if her mother was doing the same thing to appease her or to spite her. Either way, it didn't bother her as much as it should have. "That's nice," Rory had smiled without showing her teeth, and bent over to cut off some of the flowers. She realized, then, that her mother could have gone back to sleep after she left. Layne wondered if she stayed up to make sure that she did come home. A sudden pain in her chest arrived after that revelation.
Layne didn't say anything else before she grabbed the rest of her belongings and walked back inside. She remembered to throw her dirty wetsuit and rash guard in the laundry room, since her mother suddenly started doing laundry on Saturdays. She felt slightly disconnected from everything, alongside the small changes. She wondered if anything would have changed if she was home for the past year—or perhaps she was just overreading things. That seemed to be the most likely option.
Layne had to plug her phone in when she went back into her room. The smell of incense seemed to have filtered out by then, so she rummaged through her bed side drawer to find another stick. In the back, she found one of the slender plastic bags that contained about three more sticks—so, she lit one of them and enjoyed the nostalgic smell.
When she texted Marian and Claudia, it took them around fifteen minutes to even open the text. There was a brief pending bubble before Marian answered that they should meet at the coffee shop that rested near the bay—Claudia agreed, and ultimately, Layne really had no choice. She didn't like the food they had there, and she almost felt guilty eating in front of them, since they hardly ate anything. The place had panini's, ones the size of her hand, and croissants that tasted stale. Although, their coffee was mediocre—it wasn't like Layne had tasted enough to compare it to. She usually just told the baristas to make something they liked, and she'd endure it.
When she got in the shower, it was almost as if she was shocked by the warmth of the water, half expecting it to be cold like the ocean. There was still some sand that she needed to wash off, and she knew her mother would give her grief for trekking it through the house, although there really wasn't much she could expect with living in the Outer Banks. Layne snickered at the thought of her mother getting snippy with her again. Rory always made funny faces when she was mad.
Layne didn't bother trying to dress cute—despite the heat, she wore sweatpants and a slightly wrinkled half-top that she had cut herself. She also liked to wear lots of necklaces and handsome rings that she would collect from flea markets on and off the island. Claudia would always scowl at her for mixing silver with gold, but she did it anyways, even more so now to spite her. But, she found herself gravitating more so toward the silver, anyways. Her makeup was minimal but thick enough to hide the few pimples on her chin and the hickeys that were close to her ear. She always told Rafe to not go above the chest, but sometimes she thought he was too high to remember, or just didn't care in the moment. She wondered if he flaunted them or tried to hide them, like herself. Layne couldn't really get mad at him for that—maybe he told his friends they were from another girl.
Her hair lay in wet waves on her back, and she could feel them seeping through her shirt, but she didn't mind. "You need a hair cut," Kurt had chimed in from his chair in the living room when she emerged from her room, twirling her keys on her index finger. Layne stuck out her bottom lip. "I think you need a hair cut," she teased, reaching forward to pull on the ends of his hair, which cusped the nape of his neck. He jokingly reached behind him and slapped her hand away.
"Where are you off to?"
"Uh—just going out with Marian and Claudia for coffee," she pushed out the door, and didn't wait to hear what he said in return before she walked to her car. She didn't know where her mom was, but their car was gone, so she assumed she had gone off to the surf shop.
Layne didn't understand why she couldn't just get a job at the shop—but she supposed it was just recycled money—money her parents were technically making. It would be much easier than shopping around for jobs and trying to act like she had some sort of shoe-in at the Wreck, as if her and Kiara were more than just convenient friends at this point. Layne felt awkward mingling with sixteen year old kids—it was one thing when she was still in high school, but now, it was just weird. She wondered if they felt the same way—although, John B and JJ were like little brothers to her. They thought she was cool. Probably the only people who thought that way.
Layne liked to think she was moderately cool. She drove a Jeep, surfed, skateboarded, and knew shit about boats and fishing. She listened to reggae and classics alike and smoked pot. But, the more she looked at it, hanging around kids three years younger than her was probably the reason why they thought she was cool, and hot. It made her uncomfortable to think about.
The sun was already hot by the time she got there, which Layne knew was a sign that summer was sneaking up on them. Or, by some standards, it was already here—she didn't have classes until August. So, technically, it was summer for her. She didn't see either Marian or Claudia's car yet, but she didn't feel like waiting outside in the heat, so she went inside and decided to order her food and coffee and wait for them inside.
It wasn't very busy, and Layne was slightly shocked—usually it was bustling and difficult to find a seat, especially on a Saturday. She wondered if she should've brought a book to read while she waited—but opposed to it instantly. Her brain wasn't ready to read words on a page yet.
A girl behind the counter, who she recognized from coming here frequently, greeted with a tight-lipped smile. She had a lip piercing and multiple tattoos that peeked out from underneath her plain black t-shirt. Layne noticed her dark roots growing in from her bleached blonde hair, but diverted her eyes to hers as not to be rude.
She just ordered a simple vanilla iced coffee, and a chocolate croissant with a little cup of fruit on the side. Layne hoped the croissant wasn't stale, and the fruit wasn't mushy—she didn't understand why they frequented here. Nothing was ever good.
It was around ten minutes before Marian arrived, and shortly after, Claudia. They were both a bit annoyed that she had ordered without them, but Layne didn't take it to heart—she knew they would do the same, if she were late. They both ordered very specific lattes, Marian ordered a breakfast sandwich, and Claudia got a yogurt parfait. Layne knew Marian wouldn't finish her sandwich—sometimes she wondered if she ordered something bigger, to purposefully not eat a quarter of it, to show how little of an appetite she can summon. Maybe Layne was just trying to victimize herself again, and she stepped on her own foot particularly hard as a punishment.
They sat in silence for a few seconds before Claudia spoke up. "So, how was ECU?" she asked, while thoroughly mixing her yogurt. Some of the granola tipped over the top of the dish.
"Oh, it was alright. I missed it here, though,"
Marian quirked her eyebrows. "Here, as in Rafe,"
Layne shushed her rather loudly, as a swarm of kook girls were ordering at the counter—who weren't even paying them any mind. Marian seemed to get particularly annoyed by this gesture and gripped her coffee mug a bit tighter, knuckles turning white. "I don't understand why you want to keep it such a secret," she rebutted, leaning back in her chair. Layne's stomach growled and she silenced it with an aggressive bite of her croissant. She could hear them playing Jeff Buckley on the speakers overhead, and her heart skipped a beat. She had introduced his music to Rafe one night at the beach, and from then on out, he would always sing Grace to her—mainly when he was high, but she loved it nevertheless. Often she would compliment his voice and he would blush—sometimes, he would get embarrassed and would be quite rough with her as if to assert his masculinity. Layne wasn't entirely fond of that.
"He wants to keep it a secret. I don't want to upset him," Layne muttered, nervously swirling her straw around in her cup.
Claudia sheepishly looked up from her lap and grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table. "You don't think that's a bit . . . I don't know, weird?" she questioned, and Layne shrugged. She knew it was off-putting, wrong even, but she didn't really care.
"I don't know. I really like him—whatever makes him happy, you know?"
Both of them just nodded briefly, staring down at the food and taking small sips of their—still scorching—coffee. "Have you seen him yet?" Claudia asked, acknowledging the few people who were walking in and out of the shop. Layne nodded her head after a moment of internally questioning whether she should tell them or not. She wasn't ashamed of their relationship, as she assumed Rafe was—but, as she had said before, anything to make him happy. If he wanted to keep it a secret, she would (For the most part, although she mainly just reassured him it was a secret, even if pretty much everyone knew). If he wanted her to go to the highest point on the island and scream out every detail of their "relationship", she would. Anything to make him happy.
"Last night,"
Marian swallowed, and blinked a few times, as if she was having trouble focusing, or Layne had said something otherworldly. "Already?"
Layne shrugged, again, and nodded. "Yeah. I mean, he texted me a little after I got back. He wanted to see me,"
"So much for no strings attached," Marian mused, but Layne didn't laugh.
"We never said no strings attached,"
Marian drummed her fingers impatiently on the ceramic of her mug. "I guess I'm just confused by what the hell you guys have been doing for the past, like, two years,"
Layne shrugged, again. To be completely transparent, she had no idea what they had been doing, either. She felt as though she had seen every side of Rafe and everything in between. After a fight with his father, he was with her. When he was too high to function, she was coddling him back to health. Everything, before and after, was him. Sometimes she felt like she was digging her grave deeper and deeper with him, and she wasn't sure if she loved him, but it seemed like it. He wasn't the type of boy to introduce to her parents, which made her want him more—and, for some odd reason, she didn't hate the way he treated her. Most of the time she believed she was unwanted, and unworthy of anything she received. She accepted the way he treated her, because deep down she knew it was the love she deserved.
"You and me both," she had finally spoke up after being in her head for too long. Layne suddenly didn't want to make eye contact with them. She felt as though they could see into her mind if they tried hard enough. Layne was easy to read, and they always told her that. But some things she didn't need to tell them if she didn't want to—but guilt was a reigning emotion, so much so that she felt like her blood turned rotten.
"So why do you keep sleeping with him? He can't be that good," Marian snorted, and Claudia tried to kick her beneath the table. Layne forced a laugh at nothing. The fact is, he was good, sometimes Layne would drive herself crazy with jealousy when she thought of the possibility of him laying with anyone else, even though she knew it was happening.
"Dunno. I don't feel like talking about him anymore, alright?"
The pair of them nodded in agreement. They most likely didn't want to talk about him anymore, either. For another half an hour, they spoke about college, frat boys, and anything else they needed to catch up on. Layne didn't realize how much of a stark difference it was from high school than college, and she felt bad for Marian and Claudia that they really weren't going to be able to experience it. Layne would often feel bad for herself for being poor, but when confronted by the fact that Marian and Claudia couldn't afford anything other than online school, she felt shameful, sometimes enough that she would cry herself to sleep. (Sometimes Layne's emotions were too much for her to juggle, and it led to spirals such as that. Rory had thought of taking her to a therapist, but let go of the idea when she thought about it too much—sending her teenage daughter to confide in a stranger, just to get prescribed medication, seemed to do more harm than good in her eyes. Layne digresses the topic as much as possible.)
After they were all done with their breakfast and coffee, the slight tension from earlier in the morning seemed to have dissipated, which lifted a weight off of Layne's shoulders. They went their separate ways when Layne mentioned her needing to go to the Wreck to try and find a job—but all three of them promised to keep in touch and attend a Boneyard party the following night. Layne thought it might be too cold on the beach, but it didn't really matter—she had a longing to get drunk. Perhaps it was because of the intrusive thoughts and stress that still piled on her brow, but she hoped the only option wouldn't be cheap keg beer that the pogues supplied, and maybe the kooks could bring something. Maybe she could text Rafe to see if he could get those wine coolers he always had in his fridge, the few times she would stay at his house.
Layne burned some time looking at stores in the kook side of town, fingering some soft cashmere clothes that she couldn't afford and staring at necklaces that costed more than her car. The store attendants kept looking at her like she was going to steal something, and kept asking her if she needed help with anything—she would politely turn them down, but after a while, she felt uncomfortable and decided to leave. If she went to the Wreck earlier it would be easier to talk to them, so she arrived around 11:45.
When she pulled up, she saw some of the servers and bus boys walking in, alongside Kiara who was placing ketchup and other condiments on the tables outside. Layne felt nervous all of a sudden, as if she wasn't friendly with the Carrera's. Although, she hoped Rory had said something to them before she arrived.
Kiara hardly even noticed her walking toward her until Layne tapped on the table she was wiping down. "Oh, shit, Layne, I didn't even hear you coming," she held a hand to her heart for a brief moment before wiping the sweat off her forehead. "What's up?"
Layne noticed a slight hesitation in Kiara's stature. She had been like that since Layne had started seeing Rafe, but she didn't want to tie the two things together if they weren't even related—although, it seemed slightly uncoincidental. Layne knew Kiara wasn't fond of the Cameron family, let alone Rafe, but she didn't understand why Kie would get upset about something like that. But, Layne often wondered if she would feel the same way, if one of them was meddling with a kook. "Um—my mom said something about you guys hiring. I don't wanna put you on the spot or anything, I mean I totally understand—"
Kiara gave her a toothy smile, and Layne wasn't sure if it was in mockery or approval. "Oh, yeah! Yeah, come in, I'll get you an application," she waved her toward the entrance, and Layne felt slightly relieved at the ease of everything. The restaurant looked the same as it always did, although Layne noticed a bit more seating than the last time she was here, and the lighting was dimmer. Suddenly she got a warm rush over her body at the idea of being in a restaurant environment, and she wasn't sure if it was suited for her. The marina was always calm and very structured, for the most part. But, she figured this would be good for her.
She awkwardly stood near the host stand while Kiara retrieved an application, and Layne saw her parents rushing around near the bar and kitchen, and she felt obligated to say something. But, she just waved to them when they made eye contact, and Kiara's mother, Anna, seemed very happy to see her again, even if they never really saw her much in the first place.
"Layne! How have you been? How was school?" she yelled out over the music from the radio, and the noise from the kitchen.
"Oh, it was alright. I missed home, though," she answered, awkwardly fidgeting with her hands. Anna smiled, nodding her head. "I get it. How's Rafe?" she asked innocently, and Layne felt as though all the blood in her veins had stopped flowing. Kiara suddenly emerged and gave her mom a threatening look, as if she wasn't supposed to say anything. Layne looked at her with slightly widened eyes, but tried not to look too revealing. "Mom!" Kiara muttered through gritted teeth, and shook her head. Anna widened her eyes before looking back down at her hand, that was wiping down the surface of the bar, as if it was the most interesting thing she had ever seen.
"Here. Fill this out and come back tomorrow, and I can give you a little orientation," Kiara kept looking away from Layne's eyes, and she could tell she was trying to avoid saying anything about Rafe. Layne gave her a tight-lipped smile and nodded briefly. "Yeah, okay. Thanks," she waved goodbye to the family, before turning quickly on her heel to leave. Her face felt hot and she had to shake out her hands to try and quell the pins and needles feeling. There wasn't a particular reason why she was so nervous, maybe she was scared to see how Rafe would react, but anything other than that, she didn't know. She didn't want to disappoint him. When she got back into the car, she looked in her mirror to see that she had sweat off the makeup that covered the marks behind her ear. She wondered if Rafe covered his.
authors note: yayyy i actually liked this chapter. i love writing this story so much!!! as always, give me your thoughts and opinions :)))