𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 | 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

００２．

Rafe couldn't tell if it was withdrawals or if he was actually crazy now.

He couldn't sleep. Hadn't slept more than an hour or so in the days since they'd arrived at that private island, since they'd watched The Coastal Venture sail off with the cross like it wasn't their fucking lifeline.

Rafe tried. He'd tossed and turned in the creaky bed for hours, pacing his bedroom until Wheezie had crossed the hall to beg him to be quiet. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw the cross. He saw the Pogues, beating his father to a pulp and leaving him there to die. He saw gold and lifeboats and blood on tarmacs.

He saw the look on his sister's face when she realized that he'd shot her. And that one was the worst, because he couldn't remember. Couldn't remember if he meant to shoot her or not, if it really had been a stupid accident or if he'd tried to murder his own blood.

He didn't know.

He couldn't sleep.

Thank God that Ward was an early riser.

Rafe was already dressed when he heard his father stir in the next room over. He'd gotten dressed somewhere around midnight, when he'd decided that he had to get off of this tiny island. Since then, he'd perched on the edge of his bed, bouncing his knee tirelessly as he waited for his father to wake so that he could convince him to hand over the keys to the old cruising boat outside.

He was waiting in the hallway by the time Ward's bedroom door creaked open.

"Morning, Dad." Rafe forced himself to smile as Ward turned to look at him.

Ward scanned him for a second, brows knitting together as he stared too closely at his son's face. He knew something was off. Of course something was off -- something had been off with Rafe for over a decade now.

But it was worse now. Worse than it might have ever been. Rafe couldn't let his father know that, so he stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned against the doorframe as casually as he knew how to. He kept smiling.

"Good morning," Ward rasped, voice still in recovery after several days of disuse. How much of that silence was self-imposed and how much of it was as a result of his head injury, Rafe wasn't sure. He was just glad to hear his father's voice again.

He followed a careful half-step behind as Ward limped out to the front porch, where he leaned heavily against a railing and stared out over the sea.

The quiet made Rafe nervous, though he certainly preferred it to when his father was yelling.

His voice wavered, just slightly, as he said, "Rose was talking about running some errands, you know? Getting some stuff hammered down on the big island so we can really settle in. I thought I'd go ahead and go now, get over there before it gets too busy. Is -- uh, is that cool with you?"

Ward nodded slowly. "Thank you, Rafe," he said softly. He pushed himself off of the railing as he continued, "Just let me change out of these pajamas, and we'll head out. I want to talk to you."

Rafe paused. He'd hoped to go alone, to look around this island and figure out what kind of threats it posed, check on the cross and The Coastal Venture while he was at it.

But there was no changing Ward Cameron's mind once he'd made it, and things were too precarious between them for Rafe to try. So he just nodded and stepped back to allow his father to step past him and back into the house.

He walked alone to the boat.

Ward arrived a few minutes later, his limp a little less pronounced as he worked the stiffness out of his bones. He hesitated when he reached the boat, drawing in a long, ragged breath.