「 ✦ THE MOST RELAXED ✦ 」

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LATER THAT DAY, the group found themselves back at the Château, sitting around the kitchen table, the air thick with the musty scent of old wood and lingering tension. The remnants of their uneaten lunch were scattered across the table, and the only noise that filled the room was the occasional creak of the old house settling into the evening.

MJ leaned back in her chair, her legs stretched out, and a small joint dangling from her fingers. JJ took it from her with a quick, practiced movement, lighting it up and taking a long drag. He passed it back to her with a smirk, eyes scanning the room lazily as he did.

"Remember when we convinced Dad that the cat was allergic to us so we could get out of going to the family reunion?" MJ asked, her voice amused, a twinkle in her eye.

JJ chuckled, taking another hit. "Oh yeah. We spent hours convincing him that Fluffy was suffering from some kind of existential crisis. Then when he was buying us a whole new set of clothes to 'prepare for the reunion,' you told him you were allergic to being surrounded by family drama."

MJ snorted, almost coughing as she took the joint from him. "I told him I couldn't breathe in confined spaces, especially not when Aunt Jean was there with her 'quinoa casserole'—the one that looks like a science experiment. He bought it."

JJ grinned, "And then when we got out of the car, you practically sprinted away, saying you could feel the air finally again. You're a genius, you know that?"

MJ shrugged, nonchalantly taking another drag. "I'm just resourceful. Plus, you were the one who started crying when you saw the mashed potatoes at the table and pretended you had 'emotional trauma' from being forced to eat them every year."

"Hey, I'm scarred for life. Don't knock my trauma." JJ laughed, passing the joint back to her.

Pope, who had been silently observing them, cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. "You two know that weed is still drugs, right?"

The twins exchanged a glance, both of them rolling their eyes at the same time. They didn't even need to speak to understand each other.

"Weed doesn't count," they said in perfect unison, both speaking with the same confident snark in their voices.

Pope gaped at them. "What? How does that even—"

"Doesn't count," MJ repeated, shrugging as she took another drag. "It's nature's way of telling you to chill."

"Yeah, it's like a herbal break," JJ added, leaning back in his chair, his face a mix of mock seriousness and mischief. "Not a big deal."

Pope sighed, shaking his head. "You two are something else, you know that?"

The twins shared a knowing look, their smirks widening.

"We know," they both answered together. And then, in near-perfect sync, they added, "It's a gift."

Pope just shook his head again, muttering something under his breath as he grabbed a soda. Kie, who had been quietly watching, shot them an amused look but didn't say anything.

JJ and MJ exchanged another glance, both of them too comfortable in their own shared world to care what anyone else thought. As the joint passed between them again, they continued to talk, their voices soft and familiar, as though they were in their little bubble where everything else could just fade away for a while.

When John B showed up with Sarah Cameron, the room seemed to freeze for a moment. Kie's mouth dropped open, and her eyes narrowed like she was seeing a ghost.

"No effing way," Kie spat, glancing from John B to Sarah. "You brought her here? So what, she's in on this now?"

MJ rolled her eyes dramatically, taking a lazy drag from her joint. She blew the smoke out slowly, staring at Sarah with an unimpressed look. "Are you seriously here again? You just can't stay away, can you?" she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Always need some kind of fucking grasp in my life, don't you? News flash, blondie, we're not seven anymore. I don't need you to survive."

John B shot a helpless look to Pope and JJ, hoping they'd back him up, but Pope just shrugged while JJ looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Look, all I care about is her cut comes out of your share," JJ said, pointing at John B and then at Sarah with an exaggerated deadpan.

MJ snorted, rolling her eyes. "You already made room for one Kook, who, might I add, gave up everything for this." She shot a pointed look at Sarah. "Including you, blondie, so fuck off."

Kie leaned forward, her arms crossed over her chest, ready to pounce. "I gotta say, I'm just a tad uncomfortable with all of this," Pope spoke up, clearly trying to steer the conversation into calmer waters.

"Thank you!" Kie shouted, looking at Pope like he was a godsend.

John B shot Pope a glare. "When are you not uncomfortable?"

Pope grinned, not missing a beat. "I dunno. I rode here on the back of JJ's bike pretty comfortably."

"True, that was the most relaxed I've ever seen him," JJ chimed in with a smirk, looking at MJ, who would've laughed if it weren't for the rage simmering beneath her cool exterior.

"Yeah, real cute, guys," John B said through clenched teeth.

MJ leaned back in her chair, taking another drag of her joint. "You know what else is cute?" she started, only to be interrupted by JJ.

"Tone it down, M," he muttered, shooting her a look.

MJ narrowed her eyes, biting back the retort on her tongue, but instead of arguing, she exhaled slowly, clearly annoyed but staying quiet. Sarah, feeling the heat of the room, snapped.

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" she shouted.

"Well, then leave," Kie shrugged, not fazed by Sarah's outburst. "No one's forcing you to stay."

Sarah scoffed and then turned to John B, her expression hardening. "I told you," she said, almost like a warning.

"Told him what exactly?" Kie interjected, her voice icy. "That you're a liar?"

"No, that you're a shit-talking bitch," Sarah shot back, her voice a hiss.

MJ stood up now, walking slowly toward Sarah, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "So we're going there, huh?" she asked sarcastically, her voice dripping with venom. "You're the shit-talking bitch that told people I'm a drug addict, didn't you? That's why you're here, isn't it?" she spat, eyes narrowing. "You've been telling everyone some bullshit story about me, trying to ruin my life for kicks. Are we going to talk about that?"

John B shot a panicked look at Pope and JJ, but Pope just shrugged, not knowing how to deal with the tension. JJ, however, leaned against the railing, his arms crossed, waiting to see if this would turn into something more. 

Kie was ready to jump in, but the guys were exchanging glances, unsure whether they should intervene or let the girls fight it out.

MJ didn't even flinch. "If you fucking pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, I'll knock your teeth in." Her voice was low, threatening, and utterly unamused.

JJ leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "I'll put my money on psycho blondie," he said, pulling out a five-dollar bill and holding it up like it was a bet.

Sarah's eyes widened in disbelief. "I don't know what you're talking about, MJ. Seriously."

"Everybody shut up!" John B finally shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. "Kie, you are my best friend, right?"

Kie just nodded, crossing her arms tighter. "Yeah. I'm your best friend, but this is our thing. Pogue thing."

John B sighed, then turned to MJ. "MJ you're an honorary Pogue now, but you need to calm down." He then looked to Sarah. "And Sarah, you're my—"

"Say it," Sarah smiled sweetly, a hint of challenge in her voice.

John B gulped, clearly uncomfortable. "You're my... girlfriend," he admitted, reluctantly.

"Oh my god," MJ snorted, clearly not buying the sincerity in John B's tone.

"She's your girlfriend now?" Kie said through clenched teeth, a mix of disbelief and frustration in her voice.

"I didn't expect it. It just happened," John B muttered, looking between Sarah and the group, not knowing how to fix it. "And I'm not gonna deny it."

"Oh, that's corny," Pope whispered under his breath.

MJ crossed her arms, taking a long drag from her joint before she spoke up again. "Love? Dude, you barely even know her."

JJ tensed beside her, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation, but MJ didn't seem to care.

John B sighed and turned to Kie, his voice strained. "Look, I'm not doing this. I can't!"

"You are going to decide." Kie stepped forward, her eyes blazing with frustration. "Me or her?"

John B shrugged. "Both."

Kie's eyes went wide, and she shot a look at MJ before storming off without another word.

Sarah turned to John B, a small, worried smile on her face. "It'll be cool, right?"

John B nodded, but his eyes flicked to MJ, who was glaring at Sarah with a mixture of disbelief and contempt. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

Sarah glanced around at everyone, sensing the hostility in the room. "I'll just go," she said quietly, her voice faltering slightly.

John B's expression softened. "No, Sarah, please. Let's figure this out."

But the damage was done. MJ wasn't about to let it slide, and even though John B had his feelings for Sarah, the group's dynamic was fragile, and Sarah's betrayal was something they weren't going to forget easily.

As Sarah turned to leave, MJ shot a final, cold glance in her direction. "Bye, Sarah. Try not to wreck anyone else's life on your way out." 

The tension in the room simmered as Sarah left, and the moment Sarah was out of earshot, John B's frustration boiled over. He couldn't keep quiet anymore. His face was flushed, and his jaw clenched tightly as he turned toward MJ.

"Why do you always have to make things worse?" John B snapped, his voice sharp and heated. "You think just because you're JJ's twin, you can act like you run things? Like you have some kind of automatic right to be in this group? You need to calm the hell down, Rosemary."

The words hit MJ like a punch to the gut. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she just stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. Her fists clenched at her sides.

"Are you seriously going to pull the 'you're only here because of your brother' card?" MJ's voice was low, but it carried an edge as sharp as glass. She stepped forward, narrowing her eyes at John B, her gaze never leaving his. "Is that how you see me? Just JJ's twin? You're telling me that's the only reason I'm in this group?"

"Don't act like you don't know it," John B shot back, his voice dripping with annoyance. "You've been nothing but trouble since you showed up. Every damn time you open your mouth, it's like we're walking on eggshells. I get it, alright? You've had a rough past, but you don't get to keep pulling that card every time someone disagrees with you. We're a team. It's not just about you."

"Yeah, and I'm real tired of hearing you talk about what the group needs while you're still so damn hung up on Sarah," MJ growled, her voice laced with venom. "Don't talk to me like I'm the problem when you're the one who can't even decide where your loyalty lies. You're so concerned about fitting her into the group, but where the hell does that leave the rest of us, huh? Who's got our backs?"

The words stung, and John B's expression tightened, his fists balling by his sides. "You're out of line, MJ," he hissed. "I'm trying to keep this all together. And if you can't see that—if you're too busy with your damn vendetta against Sarah to understand that—you don't belong here."

The words cut deep, but MJ wasn't about to let him see that. She leaned in closer, her breath steady but her heart pounding with anger.

"I don't belong here?" she repeated, voice colder than ice. "You want to talk about belonging? Maybe you should look around and see who's been trying to hold this group together when you're too busy with your whole 'new Kook' thing. Maybe you should realize that none of this would be happening if you had half a brain and kept your damn promises."

John B's face reddened, but he didn't back down. "Maybe it would help if you stopped acting like you're above all of this," he shot back. "You're part of this group whether you like it or not. So you're either with us, or you're not. You want to keep making things harder on all of us, MJ, then maybe you should get out and quit making it everyone else's problem."

MJ's chest was rising and falling rapidly, her frustration threatening to boil over. But instead of shouting, she just took a deep breath and forced herself to take a step back. She wasn't about to let him win, not like this.

"You think you can tell me to calm down?" she seethed, her words slow but deliberate. "You're so busy trying to hold on to your Kook princess, that you've forgotten who the real problem is. You want me out? Fine. But don't pretend like you're some kind of saint in all of this." Her words were sharp, the air around them crackling with the heat of their argument.

JJ, who had been silently watching the confrontation unfold, finally stepped in. His voice was a low, frustrated growl, but it was enough to break the tension.

"Alright, enough," JJ said, holding up a hand. "This shit is going way too far. John B, you can't just throw MJ under the bus like that. And MJ, this is not the time to start making everything about you either." He glared at both of them, before adding in a quieter tone, "We're all on the same damn team, remember?"

John B opened his mouth to argue, but when he saw the expression on JJ's face, he closed it again, glaring at the ground instead. There was an awkward silence between them as the weight of their argument settled over the group.

MJ crossed her arms, her anger still simmering, but for now, she wasn't going to escalate it further. Not here, not with everyone watching.

She shot John B one last, withering glance before muttering, "You really should think before you speak. Might save you from a lot of regret."

With that, she turned on her heel, the tension between them lingering in the air like a storm waiting to break.

MJ stormed down the hallway, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and John B. The anger still burned hot in her chest, but she couldn't shake the sting of his words. She'd heard worse, of course—a lot worse—but there was something about it coming from someone she considered a friend that felt like a betrayal.

She didn't expect anyone to follow her. That was until she heard Pope's voice behind her, quick steps echoing down the hallway.

"MJ! Hey, hold up," Pope called, a bit out of breath as he caught up to her.

She didn't stop walking, keeping her head straight ahead. "What's up, Pope? Need a reminder of how not to throw a friend under the bus?" she snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Pope's face fell, clearly caught off guard by her response. "No, no, that's not what I meant," he said quickly, his hands raised in a peace gesture. "I just—look, things have been rough for John B lately, okay? He didn't mean what he said. He's just frustrated."

MJ didn't look at him, but her lips curled into a bitter smile. "Oh, poor little John B, huh? So sad. Is he that much of a martyr now that he's playing house with Sarah? Maybe he should have thought about his frustration before trying to make me feel like garbage."

Pope shifted uncomfortably on his feet, looking a little more unsure than usual. "I'm not saying it's okay, MJ, but—look, we all know John B doesn't always think before he opens his mouth. He didn't mean to go there, with the whole—"

She spun around, interrupting him with a harsh laugh. "'Didn't mean to go there'? Please, Pope. He's been throwing people under the bus since Sarah showed up. He doesn't even know what loyalty means anymore."

Pope winced at the bluntness of her words. "I'm just trying to smooth things over, okay? I—I don't like seeing you two fight. You and John B... you've always been tight."

MJ rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, maybe I'm just realizing I've been giving him more credit than he deserves," she muttered, looking down at the floor.

A long silence passed, and then Pope hesitated. He cleared his throat nervously. "Uh, MJ... I gotta ask. Is it true about... you know... what they said? The... drug thing?" He looked away for a moment, clearly uncomfortable, but then he forced himself to meet her gaze. "About the overdose and everything?"

She froze at the mention of it. For a moment, the walls went up again, the sharp edges of her defensiveness falling into place. But she wasn't about to let Pope of all people see her break.

"Wow, Pope, really going for the jugular, huh?" she said, her voice dripping with icy sarcasm. "Next time, maybe just hand me a shovel so I can dig my own grave."

Pope stepped back, his eyes wide with genuine concern. "No, no, I didn't mean it like that, I swear! I just—I've heard things, and I wanted to know if you're okay."

MJ laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Am I okay? Well, Pope, I'm still here, aren't I? So clearly I'm doing better than some people who've got their noses so far up someone's ass they can't tell which way is up." She shot him a look, her eyes narrowing, but there was no malice in it, just the cold bite of someone trying to push everything down and hide it.

Pope took a step closer, his voice softening. "Look, I'm not judging you, alright? But we're friends, MJ. I want to make sure you're okay."

She let out a breath through her nose, shaking her head. "You think asking about that makes it better? You don't know what it's like, Pope. You have no idea."

"You're right, I don't," he said quietly. "But I do know that if you need help, or if you need someone to talk to... we've got your back. All of us."

MJ met his eyes then, a flicker of vulnerability behind her sharp gaze. But she was quick to shut it down, replacing it with her usual snark. "Well, lucky for me, I don't need a fucking pity party. But thanks for the concern," she said, her tone back to its usual sarcastic bite.

Pope wasn't sure if she meant it or not, but he nodded slowly. "Alright. But if you ever want to talk... you know where we are."

"Yeah, sure. You guys are all great at that. I'll keep it in mind, Pope," she said, her voice flat, and she turned away, heading back toward the rest of the group.

Pope watched her for a long moment, the weight of her words hanging in the air. He had no idea how to fix things between her and John B, or even if he could. But one thing was clear—MJ was dealing with a lot more than she let on. And whatever that overdose was, it wasn't just some rumour. It was real. And it still hurt her.

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The moon hung low in the sky, casting its soft glow over the dark water below. MJ sat on the edge of the dock, her legs dangling, feeling the cool night breeze whip through her hair. She had retreated here after the mess with John B and the others, needing some space to think. The only company she had was her phone pressed to her ear, the faint sound of Rafe's voice on the other end.

"I'm telling you, MJ, it's gonna work out," Rafe's voice crackled through the line, full of quiet confidence. "I've got it all under control. The drug money debt? Gone. I'll take care of it. You won't have to worry about a damn thing."

MJ's lips twisted into a smirk, though there was no humour in it. She could feel the weight of the words hanging in the air, a promise she was too used to hearing. "I've heard that before, Rafe. Just make sure you do something this time. I don't need anymore empty promises."

Rafe's tone softened, but it still carried that edge she recognized all too well—the kind of charm that could make people forget how dangerous he was. "You don't trust me, huh?"

She sighed, leaning back, her hands braced on the wood behind her. "What do you want me to say, Rafe? I don't trust you, I don't trust anyone. You've gotta prove something first. We've been through this."

"That's fair," Rafe acknowledged, the sound of rustling papers coming through the line as if he were scribbling something down. "But listen. I've got a plan, and once this debt's cleared, it's all going to fall into place. Then... we can figure things out. No more secrets. No more games. We can be together, properly, like we always talked about."

MJ's eyes narrowed at the mention of together. She thought about the past, the chaos, the lies—and a part of her wanted to believe him. She wanted something simple, something that wasn't tied up in all the mess of their past. But she knew better than to get her hopes up. She didn't need to be another pawn in his game.

"You're real good at making promises," she said, a biting edge to her voice, "but I've learned the hard way not to trust anyone who's only got their own interests at heart. Just handle the debt and we'll see where we go from there."

"I'm not just talking about the debt, MJ," Rafe replied, the flicker of sincerity in his voice making her pause. "I'm talking about us. You know what I mean. All the shit that's happened, the way it's all been... messy. I'm done with that. I want you in my life. For real."

MJ didn't respond right away. The words hung between them, a tether she wasn't sure she wanted to hold on to. She hated how much he could still affect her with just a few words. How he could make her feel like maybe—just maybe—there was something more between them than just the wreckage they'd created. But she couldn't forget everything that had led them here, either.

"You say that now, but I'm not stupid," MJ muttered, her gaze fixed on the dark water in front of her. "You always want something, Rafe. Always. Just get this debt cleared and we'll see what happens after that. But I'm not waiting around for you to fix your messes anymore. I've got enough of my own shit to deal with."

Rafe was quiet for a beat. She could almost hear him thinking, weighing his words carefully. "Alright, MJ. I hear you. I'll take care of it, I promise. And once it's all done... it'll be just us, like we talked about. No more games. You and me."

MJ let out a humourless laugh, rolling her eyes. "You really don't get it, do you? You're still playing the same damn game, Rafe. And I'm not playing anymore."

There was a long pause on the line, but Rafe didn't push her further. Instead, his voice softened again, like he was trying to reach her in a way he hadn't before. "I'll make it right, MJ. Just trust me on this."

She didn't respond. She couldn't. The weight of the conversation pressed down on her, and for a moment, all she could do was listen to the sound of Rafe's breathing on the other end of the line.

"Yeah," she finally said, her voice quiet, almost resigned. "We'll see."

And with that, she hung up, her finger lingering on the screen for a moment longer than necessary before she shoved the phone in her pocket. The night air was cooler now, the tension in her chest lingering like a storm about to break. She didn't know what to make of Rafe's promises anymore. All she knew was she couldn't keep going back to him. Not like this. Not until he proved he could be someone worth trusting.

She stood, pushing herself to her feet with a deep sigh, the weight of the night settling over her. She wasn't sure where things were going with Rafe, or with anyone. But she knew one thing for sure: she wasn't going to be anyone's second choice. Not again.

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It was the middle of the night when MJ stirred awake. Her phone buzzed relentlessly, its bright screen casting a faint glow in the dark room. Groaning, she rolled over, rubbing her eyes as she glanced at the caller ID. Rafe. Her stomach tightened instinctively. What the hell did he want now?

She almost ignored it, but curiosity gnawed at her. With a deep breath, she slid out of bed and padded silently across the room to the window, slipping out onto the balcony to answer the call in peace. The cool air of the night hit her skin, and she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, waiting for the connection to be made.

A moment later, Rafe's face appeared on the screen, and for a brief second, his usual confident smirk softened into something more sincere. "MJ," he greeted, his voice low but warm, as though he'd been waiting for her to pick up.

"What is it, Rafe?" she asked, her tone sharp, betraying her exhaustion and the thinly veiled irritation she had every time he popped up unannounced.

Rafe didn't immediately answer. Instead, he held the phone up, moving the camera so MJ could see what was behind him. The sound of a revving engine echoed through the night air. MJ squinted, frowning slightly. In the darkness, a dirt bike stood at an angle, its sleek frame illuminated by the faint light of a nearby streetlamp.

"Got it back from Barry," Rafe said, his voice taking on a prideful edge. "She's mine again. Took a little convincing, but you know how I work."

MJ stared at the bike, her mind drifting for a moment before something caught her eye. Her gaze moved from the bike to Rafe, and she immediately noticed something that hadn't been there before—a bandage wrapped around his right hand, the fabric dark with what looked like dried blood.

"Wait," she said, frowning. "What happened to your hand?"

Rafe's eyes shifted, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features. He quickly adjusted the phone, holding it a bit higher, as if to distract her from the injury. "It's nothing. Just a small cut. I burned it, that's all," he said, his words smooth but rushed. "Don't worry about it."

MJ didn't buy it for a second. The lie was too obvious, the story too convenient. She crossed her arms over her chest, her sharp gaze never leaving his face. "You burned it?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "That's a hell of a way to get a cut, Rafe."

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words seemed to falter. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, MJ could almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to come up with another explanation.

"It's nothing, really," Rafe repeated, but there was a tightness to his voice now as if he were trying to convince himself more than her.

MJ wasn't having it. She leaned forward, eyes narrowing as she studied him. "What kind of burn was it, huh? A small burn? From what?" she pressed, her voice low but demanding.

Rafe shifted uncomfortably, the facade slipping a little. His hand instinctively went to rub the bandage, and he winced as if the motion caused him pain. "It was... just a stupid mistake, alright? I wasn't thinking," he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

MJ's lips curled into a smirk, a bitter laugh escaping her. "A mistake, huh? Sounds more like something went down and you're trying to cover it up. Come on, Rafe. I'm not stupid."

Rafe shifted again, clearly uncomfortable, but he didn't back down. "It's nothing serious. You're worrying over nothing," he said quickly, a forced grin trying to play on his lips. "I'm fine."

MJ's gaze hardened, her patience thinning. She'd seen enough of Rafe's lies over the years to know when something was off. But tonight, she wasn't in the mood to dig deeper. "Fine," she said, her voice sharp and dismissive. "You're fine. Whatever. Just don't call me unless it's about something that actually matters."

Before he could respond, MJ turned abruptly, swiping her phone off and cutting the call short. Her heart was pounding a little faster than she cared to admit, but she wasn't about to let Rafe drag her into whatever mess he was trying to hide this time.

With a sharp exhale, she walked back inside, the chill of the night still lingering on her skin as she locked the door behind her. She could hear Rafe's voice echo in her mind, his words shifting from smooth to strained. Whatever was going on with him, she wasn't about to get caught up in it. Not tonight.

She sat down at the desk, staring at the phone in her hands for a long moment before tossing it aside. The familiar weight of the situation pressed in, but she wasn't going to let it consume her—not again. Not when she knew he was still hiding something.

MJ had barely managed to settle into the quiet of the room when her phone buzzed again. She hesitated for a moment, fingers hovering over the screen before she answered. Rafe's face appeared again, this time his expression was tight, his jaw set in a way that suggested he wasn't in the mood for games anymore.

"MJ," he started, his voice low but heavy with something she couldn't quite place. "Do you trust me?"

She froze for a moment. It wasn't the first time he'd asked her that, but something in the way he said it made her spine stiffen. The question felt too loaded, too weighted for the casual exchange she'd been expecting.

Her response was slow, deliberate. "I don't know. I mean, I used to. But you've lied to me more times than I can count, Rafe." She let the words hang between them, sharp as ever.

Rafe's eyes flickered, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to say something else. Then his shoulders slumped slightly as if the weight of her words had hit him harder than he'd anticipated.

"I'm not a liar," he muttered, his voice growing quieter. "I'm not a thief either. You gotta believe that. I'm not those things."

There was something raw in his tone that caught her off guard. MJ took a step back, trying to make sense of the sudden shift in his energy. This wasn't the Rafe she knew—the arrogant, manipulative Rafe. This was someone who sounded like he was actually... hurt.

She eyed him, her own heart tightening in a way she didn't quite expect. She opened her mouth to speak but then paused, unsure of how to proceed. She wasn't about to let him pull her back into his web of half-truths, but part of her was curious.

"Did something happen earlier?" she asked, her voice softer now, more probing than accusing. She could sense something had gone wrong earlier, even if he wasn't showing all his cards.

Rafe's face tightened, and he bit his lip as if trying to hold back whatever was brewing behind his eyes. For a second, MJ thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he finally spoke, the words coming out quickly and a little too harsh.

"My dad," he said, the words flat and final. It was as if the name alone explained everything. He didn't give any further details and didn't offer any more context. His dad was always a point of contention, a sore spot that neither of them really wanted to delve into. But in that moment, the silence that followed spoke volumes.

MJ frowned, her brow furrowing. "Your dad? What happened with him?"

Rafe's gaze darkened, and he shook his head as if the subject were one he didn't want to revisit. He let out a breath, then swiftly changed the subject, his demeanour shifting once more. "Forget it," he said, his voice suddenly colder, more distant. "It's nothing you need to know about."

MJ was taken aback by the sudden change in his mood. She opened her mouth to press further, but something about the way he held himself—tense, withdrawn—told her it was better to back off for now.

Rafe was already glancing away, rubbing his hand absently where the bandage still clung tightly to his skin. Then, as if on cue, his whole demeanour lightened, and he gave her that familiar, almost dismissive smile. "Anyway," he said, dragging out the word, "I'm tired. Goodnight, MJ."

The phone call abruptly ended before she could respond, leaving her standing there, staring at the screen for several long moments, her mind racing with unanswered questions. What was going on with him? And what had happened with his dad this time?

She let out a frustrated sigh, tossing the phone onto the bed before running a hand through her hair. As much as she hated it, she knew Rafe was always going to be a mystery she couldn't crack. There were pieces to him that didn't add up, and he wasn't about to let her in on them.

But the truth was, she had her things to deal with, and she didn't need Rafe's cryptic answers and emotional outbursts to complicate it all further.

With a shake of her head, MJ turned and walked back to her bed, the night air still lingering in the room. But it was clear that no matter how much she tried to shut out the noise of the world around her, it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.