𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 | 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

０１２．

Ward was waiting when Rafe got home.

He sat on the front porch, his face hewn from stone as he glared out at the rolling waves. He didn't notice, at first, when Rafe shut off the boat and set to tying it on. Part of Rafe was glad of that, of the opportunity to delay explaining to his father how his night off turned into almost an entire day of his being gone.

But when he finished the last knot on the last cleat and straightened, there Ward was, his fury rolling off of him in waves as he stepped onto the rickety dock.

"Where the hell were you?" Ward demanded finally, his voice so taut that Rafe flinched on instinct.

"I was out," Rafe said, attempting to walk past his father and into the house.

Ward would allow no such thing. He stepped firmly into Rafe's path, a wall between him and the rest of the island, and held out his hand.

Rafe looked at it, and then back at his father's face. He wasn't quite sure what to say, or what Ward wanted.

"Give me the keys to the boat, Rafe, and then give me the coke that I know you bought."

"I didn't buy shit, Dad," Rafe said as he handed over the keys to the boat, looking anywhere but at his father's face.

"You're a goddamn liar, son," Ward seethed. "Empty out your pockets. Now."

He did as his father ordered, turning his pockets inside out with an expression kept carefully neutral. Rafe was suddenly more grateful than he could even fathom that he'd had the foresight to hide the eight ball Ren had given him in the boat, beneath a pile of life jackets that would never be used.

Ward's face was blank for a moment. Completely neutral, the anger knotted up in his features relaxing to nothing. He smiled, shaking his head as he looked at his son.

Rafe's heart pounded. He couldn't trust that smile. He took a cautious step back.

And rightfully so, because a heartbeat later, Ward was launching himself at Rafe, grabbing hold of his face so hard that Rafe tasted blood in his mouth.

Ward's teeth were grit as he forced his son to look at him. "Your pupils are huge. Don't fucking lie to me again, Rafe, I know you're high right now. So if you don't have it on you, who the fuck did you spend the night with that gave you some? Huh?"

Rafe pushed his father's hands away, chest heaving with the effort of keeping the toxic combination of fear and frustration in check before he did something stupid. He couldn't lose his temper, not here, where things were supposed to be better. Not with his dad of all people.

"I didn't crash with anyone, okay? And I didn't get any coke from anyone. I got too drunk to drive back, so I got a hotel room. Is that not responsible enough for you, Dad? Did you want me to wreck the only boat we have?"

He felt wrong lying to his father, but the point remained.

Ward laughed, cruel and sharp. "Responsible!" He crowed. "You don't even know what that word means, son. Your multiple fucking DUIs can speak to that. Don't you dare talk to me about responsibility."

And it was the way Ward condescended, the way he laughed at Rafe's use of the word that had white-hot anger burning in his chest. Struggling to rein in the emotions that threatened to drown him, Rafe shouldered past his father roughly, pacing across the front yard and back.

Ward limped after him. "Rafe, get back here."

Rafe whirled on Ward, his hands trembling as he held them up. "Why, Dad? So you can tell me how much I fucked up, how you can't trust me, how irresponsible I am, when I'm the only kid trying to fucking fix things here?" Ward froze at that, but Rafe kept pacing. Walked right back to the end of the dock as he continued, voice wavering, "You got hurt, and I stepped up. I stepped up, while Sarah abandoned us. And all you can talk about is her! Her, and the cross that I got for us. Don't you understand? All I fucking do is take responsibility for us."