RIPTIDE | Rafe Cameron

10. 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦

None of us got much sleep last night. Sarah and I tried to sleep on plastic chairs at John B's bedside, but that didn't work. We ended up playing the category game for hours before talking about her and Topper for a bit, all while I remained tight lipped on my involvement with her brother.

This morning Ward returned to the hospital, and Sarah explained everything from John B fleeing from the DCS to what happened with Topper. When Sarah relayed this to me I expected her to tell me that her dad had ratted out John B's whereabouts to the police, not that Ward had offered to be John B's legal guardian.

When John B was discharged from the hospital earlier I insisted that I could walk home or get a taxi. But Ward insisted he would drive me, he said it was the least he could do, to say thank you for being so supportive of Sarah.

But he did explain that he wanted to drop John B off at Tannyhill immediately, given the concussion and broken arm he sustained in the fall. So here we are, Sarah, John B, Ward and I pulling onto the driveway of the Cameron residence. Hopefully we won't be here too long, I have no desire to see Rafe after what the boys told me last night, besides I look like a mess, wearing my dress from the night before with JJ's hoodie.

"Sidney, would you mind taking John B's bag inside while Sarah helps him into the house? I've just got to make a business call." Ward says to me.

"Of course." I smile, grabbing the duffel bag from the backseat containing a few of John B's belongings and climbing out of the car, following after John B and Sarah into the house.

I follow them down to the spare room, placing John B's bag on the bed, before turning to leave the room, giving them both some space.

As I walk back down the corridor another door on the right opens.

Why does this always happen when I'm in this house?

Rafe stands in the doorway, staring at me with sleep deprived eyes, his hair a mess which suggests he's just woken up, wearing a white t-shirt and blue shorts. I don't really have anything to say to him, I don't have the energy to fight, so I just stand there, looking at him with an empty gaze.

"Sidney." He whispers my name, and the sound makes my insides melt.

"No." I shake my head, proceeding to walk down the corridor to leave the house.

"You've not been answering my texts." He continues, following me as I walk.

He kept texting me last night, saying that he was worried about me, to call him. But I didn't know what to say then, and I don't know now either.

"And you're still not getting the hint?" I mutter, stopping in my tracks.

"What are you talking about?" He asks me, "If you regret what happened last night, that's okay, but I'd rather you tell me."

"I don't regret what happened, but part of me regrets that it happened with you." I reply, focusing my gaze on my feet, feeling weakened by the intensity of his eye contact.

"Why?" He asks, taking a step toward me.

"Because of what you did to my friends," I exhale, looking back up at him with glossy eyes, "Because you thought that battering Pope with a golf club was a fucking rational resolution."

"We can't have this conversation out here," He tells me, "Anyone could interrupt us."

"Fine." I reply, letting him lead me into his bedroom, closing the door behind us. His bedroom is nothing like Sarah's, it feels far more traditional, and he seems to have kept all the original furniture which does surprise me.