She nods, like she knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“Well, I won't tell you what I know, because those are his secrets to tell, but I can at least give you some warning.” We start walking away from the shop as we talk. “Rafe was in foster care as a kid. He didn’t have it easy—well, none of them did, but Rafe especially suffered, and I think he’s going to carry that with him for the rest of his life.”

“Did he tell you this?” I ask. The girl looks too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to be any ex or friend of Rafe’s, but I’m almost a little jealous that she knows more than me.

“No. Rafe confided a lot in my boyfriend’s brother, who passed the information on before he died. Rafe is not going to just come out and say it.”

“I assumed that much,” I answer.

She’s quiet a moment before she says, “I don’t know what your intentions are, but I hope you can help him. I want him to be happy.”

“I do want to help him,” I say.

“Rafe is like family to us,” she adds, and I wince at the statement. He called me his family once, and I walked away from him for a long time. Getting him to open up to me is going to be nearly impossible now.

As I walk back to my apartment, I shoot a text to Jillian, telling her thanks for coffee, but I don't need those records after all. I don’t know what changed since, and I don’t feel like I know anything more than I did earlier, but maybe it's just the new knowledge that I’m not the only person on Wickett who cares about him, and I don’t even know when that happened.

It’s like I forgot that I hated him. I was supposed to be sabotaging him, but now all I can think about is getting to a place where he’ll let me place my palms on his skin. And maybe he never will, and maybe I’ll still end up hating him when this is all over, but the only thing I do know for sure now is that I cannot hurt him anymore than he’s already been hurt.

But there just might be a way to help him.

Chapter Eleven

Rafe

Mondays are the worst. It’s like the whole goddamn beach goes nuts over the weekend and leaves me a mess to clean up when I get back to the office. There’s a stack of paperwork on my desk that I barely make a dent in by the time I head home after eight.

All I want to do when I get home is crack open the bottle and spend a few rounds in the basement. A trip to Vic’s would be nice, but I don’t have the energy tonight.

I haven’t seen Shelby since our little rendezvous over the weekend. She disappeared for most of the day Sunday, which is for the best. Things got a little too close with her in my apartment.