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She's scared.
It is a culmination of the fear of days past, only now rising to the point where it feels suffocating, even as she sits in the back of the Kiara's car biting down on her nails waiting for John B to leave the police station he forced Kiara to drive to in the middle of the night.
Because God forbid, Rafe Cameron goes unpunished.
He's a sinner and he's sinned for too long now for them to know that if things were left to be handled by the Cameron patriarch then his son would never even glimpse the rusted bars of prison echoing his eldest's name.
To misbehave in public and punch a couple of rich kids at their end of Summer parties is one thing, but to shoot the County Sheriff is a completely different one.
There's no hope for him, not anymore. Maybe he could've sought some sort of redemption after things had died down, after some excuses would've surfaced.
But outrightly taking someone's life, no that is just the most cowardly and punishable of acts.
She knows this and she stands by it.
Yet an infected part of her heart compelled her to send a slew of texts inquiring him about his well-being, about what happened at the tarmac. Weirdly, that isn't the most peculiar thing she's done tonight.
No, the fact that she keeps actively checking her phone hoping to notice a reply has to be the most otherworldly decision she's taken in the past twenty four hours.
She saw him just this morning.
He'd been so nice, and gentle. That Rafe couldn't harm someone this way. That was her Rafe — though how exactly he's "hers" is something she doesn't quite have an answer for — and her Rafe couldn't kill someone.
