2
It was never about the party

                                       Waitressing doesn't pay much unless you're pretty. Lucky for Gracie, people usually like her good looks and charm. And when there's a birthday party at the restaurant, it's one hell of a gift from above.

So her hair's still pinned up behind her head and she's wearing her fancy button-up when she makes her way inside the Chateau and willingly ignores the clothes piled on the floor of the living room. There's Cody on the couch playing video games with JJ—something violent that makes Gracie secretly upset— and she can hear Jo's music blasting from the guest room. Gracie recognizes her playlist. She doesn't think it's fit for an eleven year-old, all that rage.

Gracie's balancing two plastic bags of groceries overflowing with all the cheapest things she could get at the supermarket in her arms, but enough to last them a week or two. It's not uncommon for her to spend her tips on food to satiate John B's otherwise empty refrigerator.

Especially since the Cedar household hasn't been lacking on groceries lately.

The Routledge boy follows her inside of the kitchen, shirtless and messy-haired. "If it ain't G. Cedar," he grins, wrapping his lean arms around her shoulder as she sets the bags on the counter by the stove. "Good tips?"

"Great tips," Gracie corrects him. "There was a birthday party or something. All super old men with itchy pockets."

John B starts unloading: sliced bread, vegetables, a couple of unripe fruits, two boxes of cereal, a nearly-expired pack of turkey and a block of cheese. On Sunday, she brought some juice and lemonade and another loaf of bread. He's sure that, if she ever forgets about him, he'll die of hunger.

   "Plastic bags? Kie won't like that," John B points out, watching as she folds them and places them in the cabinet over the sink. They'd use them for the trash can in the bathroom eventually, or to clean up the yard after the storm.

   "There was no more paper left at the supermarket, sue me." With a shrug, Gracie pops a can of beer open and takes a long sip. She unbuttons the top of her pink and white uniform and adjusts her hair with her free hand.

   John B laughs. "Like I have the money for that."

Here's the thing: John B's father (unironically, Big John) vanished at sea about nine months back and he's supposed to be staying with his uncle, but the man found better things to do somewhere in Mississippi. He likes to pretend it doesn't faze him anymore, but he's growing bitter every day. He also likes to pretend that his friends don't notice, but he knows in his heart that they do. Especially Gracie. He's never been able to hide anything from Gracie.

As for her, she sometimes wishes her parents would disappear like his, as fucked up as that was. No one has ever felt welcomed in the Cedar house and her and her siblings are not the exception. As a matter of fact, they're the prime example. Kildare has stuck them in a rot so they can't leave. Gracie prays the coffee fund will be her escape.

It's summer, it's time for them to put in the overtime work to make their longtime dream come true: get the hell off that God-forsaken island.

"You got a shift tomorrow?" John B asks, on topic.

She shakes her head. "I gave it to Alice. She needed the extra money to get her little sister a birthday gift."

John B grabs a two slices of bread and spreads a spoonful of jam on each of them. Gracie likes fig but he's always preferred the one with the mixed berries. He doesn't even bother setting them on a plate, just hands it to her and says: "that's nice. I don't have work either. You wanna, uh..."

"Go to the DCS meeting with you?" Gracie finishes, biting into the bread with a sigh. He likes when she's there to help convince that heinous woman that he's doing fine even if she doesn't believe either of them.

"Yeah."

"Yeah," Gracie repeats. That was her answer.

He bumps his elbow with hers in genuine thanks. He finds the bread tasteless but doesn't address it.

After seventeen years of being attached at the hip, John B's bound to know when something's bothering her. So he coughs the dryness of the nearly expired toast away—that's the only way she'll get it for half the usual price—and gives her a look that tells her exactly what topic he wants to address.

All she can bring herself to say in preparation is, "Don't."

"Come on, G," he pushes, watching as she rolls her eyes and pretends, too, that the breakfast will satiate them. "Three hours he stayed with Cods and Jo yesterday. Three. It obviously shows that he cares. And they're getting attached to him."

   "Because of you," Gracie emphasizes with a frown. "If you'd just pick him up after practice like you always did, then we wouldn't have this problem."

John B doesn't want to lie, but he swore to Cody he'd never tell her that the shifts he takes up urgently after his soccer practice don't actually exist. It all started when Cody confessed to him how miserable his assistant coach was and how he wanted to help make him feel a little better, and so John B gave him the benefit of the doubt and allowed him to get closer to the Cedars. And the more he interacted with Gracie, the thicker the tension got. Neither of them wants to be the one who'll use the knife.

   In retrospect, he stays silent on that front. He knows that anything he says will lead back to him. But he can't help it, it stumbles right out. "Haven't you noticed he's different?"

   It strikes Gracie like a slap. "Of course I have," she replies, almost irritated. "But old habits die hard."

"He's clean."

"Sure he is, but"—

John B interrupts. "It's a big deal, G. That he got that far. I'm sure he's got enough people pushing him away as it is. He's doing good with the team and for the kids, so why won't you let him in?"

He's right, but Gracie won't admit it right away. Not at loud, at least. She shakes her head like she doesn't want to hear a thing, and can't help but glance at her little brother complaining on the couch while JJ cheers his fourth win in a row. He's not bad with kids, but he's not great either.

In a way, him and Gracie have a lot in common. His father's abusive physically, hers doesn't even look at her; his mother's gone, hers might as well be. She doesn't take it as well as he does, though, unable to constantly keep a smile on her face and pretend as though nothing is wrong. He's the champ at that. But Gracie's seen him cry far too many times to pretend he's not messed up.

   It's something of the sort that scares her. She's afraid that Rafe will fall down the drain again and that she'll have to pick the pieces up. "I don't need someone else to take care of," she confesses. Between the siblings and John B, she's already got her plate full.

And she doesn't want to be the one who comfort the kids when he stops caring. She doesn't say it, but John B reads it in her eyes.

He doesn't try to push it any further. Instead, he wraps an arm around her shoulders and tells her that everything is going to be okay. That's a lie they always feel guilty repeating; the sentence itself is fruitless. It has never aided them nor made them feel any better in times of need. But Gracie takes it and swallows it like a pill.

By the time Pope makes it inside the Chateau, John B's delivering a sandwiches to Cody and JJ, and knocking on the room's door to give Jo hers. The Heyward makes his way inside the kitchen with a smile, grinning at Gracie's as she puts the jam, cheese and bread away.

He taps her back, letting her know that he's there, and she shouts him a surprised smile at his sudden glee. "What's up, Poppy Seed? What's got you smiling like that?" she asks amusedly.

"Remember that scholarship I told you about? Well, I scored an interview for it in a couple of weeks," Pope tells her proudly. She offers him a beer and he refuses like always, so she takes a long sip and tosses her arms around his with a smile.

"That's my boy!" she exclaims.

Pope's happier than ever. He's glad he told her first because Gracie has a habit of treating everyone success like her own. He knows that the others won't be as excited as she is; Gracie jumps around the kitchen, opening the cupboards one by one, squealing like a little kid.

   "We're throwing a party. Don't even try to convince me otherwise. This is gonna be the greatest party of the summer," she tells him, drumming on the counter.

She pulls the beer from the fridge and the bottles of vodka and other liquor they hide under the sink from the DCS agents that drop by like flies to check on John B. Pope tries to tell her that he doesn't need a party, but it's as useless as trying to get Cody out of the house in time. In fact, he's terrible late for his practice.

   Gracie calls for her brother, who finally drops the controller and grabs his sports bag from under the coffee table. When John B and him stop at the kitchen to grab some water, she pulls her brother by the arm. "Cody, can you stay at a friend's house tonight? We'll drop Jo off at Cindy's."

   "Yeah, sure," he frowns. "You guys plannin' a rager?"

   "Yes we are."

   John B raises a brow. "We are?"

   Gracie hums. She tells him to buy some more beer on the way and a couple more bottles of his choice. "Pope just scored a sweet interview for the Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship. We gotta celebrate," she adds with an obvious tone 

John B whoops, jumps on the boys back, and messes up his hair. Cody high fives him, too, and they all take turns congratulating him until the two boys are out of the door. Gracie goes to inform JJ, who's smoking weed in the backyard, and then grabs her keys to drop Jo off at her best friend's house.

In the van, Cody is giving John B an earful about being old enough to attend their parties. He calls it stupid but, deep down, he wants to stay and have fun with Gracie and the boys. He's sitting in the passenger seat of the Twinkie with his bag on his lap and John B keeps rolling his eyes as he cuts through the streets on the south side to make it to the high school which they use for the huge field out in the back.

If it's not Rafe who's taking time out of his day to drop and pick Cody off, it's John B. Gracie doesn't usually do it because she takes the most shifts she can at the restaurant instead and her brother has never blamed her for it. Not out loud, at least. Today, she's got a whole day of rest after working the night shift for a party, and she's throwing herself into another one headfirst.

And she prefers Cody and Jo stay with some friends rather than home alone.

   But Cody still grumbles and curses under his breath, and John B keeps telling him that he's too young. "I'm almost fourteen," he groans. "How old were you when you started drinkin'?"

   "You're supposed to be better than us," John B insists.

   "Well, I know for a fact that you and G went to parties and got drunk when you were like, twelve."

John B shoves his shoulder and struggles to park the van in front of the school. He's a reckless driver and not as careful as he should be with a kid in the passenger seat. So Cody gets thrown forward and he nearly slams into the headboard.

   "You know the drill, kid. Be careful and try not to get your nose broken or something," John B recites. He says the same thing every damn time. It drives Cody insane.

   He pulls the door open and jumps off, then flings the bag over his shoulder. "You know..." he draws out, watching half his teammates already warming up on the field. Like usual, he was late. "You should invite Rafe. Heard you defend him today."

   "I don't think parties are his scene now," John B purses his lips, running a hand through his hair.

He'd tossed on the nearest shirt he saw sprawled out on the living room couch, unaware that Gracie wore it to sleep the previous night. So it smelled like her perfume and body wash, and it was so strong it made him kind of dizzy.

   "Wouldn't hurt to ask."

Cody vanished with some of his friends inside the school to change in the locker room, so John B was left alone in front of the van, wondering whether or not Rafe would appreciate the invitation.

Between them, the fights had been uncountable. He could quite easily remember all the time he'd eaten Rafe's fist and vice versa (though he'd never won a fight against him)  and sometimes it made him bitter. But, being a boy who's lost it all, he understands how hard it is to survive that kind of thing. So now that Rafe is sober and no longer wants to clock him in the jaw, maybe he wouldn't be such a bad addition to their tight-knit group, he thinks. 

The boy in question is wiping his face with his shirt, hair messy over his forehead and collarbones beaded with sweat. John B will admit it, he looks even better than he did as a Kook. Bigger, he means, but also leaner. It's almost looks like he hasn't eaten well in a while.

"Yo, Rafe!"

Immediately, his head whips around and he frowns at the sight of the Routledge. He saw Cody go inside so he wonders why the teen's still sticking around. Nonetheless, Rafe excuses himself from the boys and goes to meet him off the field.

"Uh, hey," he greets, unsure of what to say. "Is everythin' all right? All's good with Cody?"

He wants to ask about Gracie, too, but holds his tongue.

   "Yeah, man, Cody's fine," John B replies. He rubs the back of his neck nervously. The only thing keeping his feet planted to the ground is Gracie's vanilla perfume radiating off his shirt. "Actually, it's 'bout Pope. You know Pope?"

   Rafe recalls the smile he gave him that night. It doesn't make him want to turn sour. "Yeah."

   "Well, Gracie's throwing him a party cause he scored an interview for that scholarship thing. Lots of money, so lots of drinks involved. You in?" he spits it out with one breath, feeling suddenly out of place for it.

John B, Pogue by birth, is standing in front of the Kook royalty by blood and asking him to attend his party due to the insistance of his best friend's brother. Jo should paint that.

The boy seems to be thinking about it really hard, like he isn't sure what to say but doesn't want to flat out refuse the offer either. Like he's trying to come up with a polite excuse to tell John B to fuck off before going back to tossing soccer balls to the boys. Davis, whistle hanging from his neck, calls him in. He's tall, too, and always looks angry in contrast to Rafe's newfound, quiet serenity.

   "Maybe," he tells John B with a slow nod. He always talks with a drawl and people used to think it was because he was high, but John B guesses that's just how he is. "I'll think about it. You comin' to pick Cody up?"

   John B shakes his head. "He's not allowed into the party scene. You know how prissy G is. He said he'll stay at a friend's."

Rafe tusks in understanding and they leave it at that. They don't shake hands or fist bump or high five, not even a nod. They just look at each other for a second and each go back to their respective duties: Rafe with the boys and John B with the list of party necessities written in cursive on a pink post-it.

౨ৎ

"Watch and learn, boys."

Gracie punctures the can of beer with her heavy house keys then tosses her head back to drown it. It doesn't take her more than a couple seconds and the headache is just as fast as the beer. She hasn't been this festive with her drinking since Pope's's birthday in march; the beer reaches her head when she straightens out and drops the can.

   JJ's arms wrap around her shoulder as John B bends a knee dramatically. The crowd around her cheers her name, and she feels a couple of hands on her arms but doesn't focus much on it. "Ladies and gentlemen, G. Cedar!" John B announces.

She laughs the pain growing in her temples away. She's not a lightweight but she has too many things on her mind to handle her alcohol, it seems.

   "All right, my turn," JJ introduces himself into the game, then grabs a can off the coffee table Gracie's standing on. He taps her leg and helps her jump down.

   "This is, like, your fourth," Gracie recalls.

   The blonde only laughs loudly, holding a hand out for her keys. "Live a little, won't ya?"

John B feeds into his ego, so Gracie can't give him anything other than a roll of her eyes. She leaves to boys to their yelling and senseless competition, knowing they couldn't beat her record if they tried.

The Chateau is filled with people they barely know who have the habit of dropping everything for a good party. They don't put much out but bags of chips since the real fun is in the drinking anyway. At least, that's what John B insisted on when he stepped into the house with fourteen bags of chips (on sale, clearly).

Most of these people don't even know each other's first name. Nobody's sure how it works. A text message, a shout from the window, words exchanged on the street. Either way, there's nothing the Pogues excel et quite like a party. It's no Kook thing—luxurious yachts, lavish houses and alcohol with unpronounceable names—but it's got its own charm. What, with the cheap beer, dim lights and clouds of weed, what could be better?

Pope can think of a thing or two. Parties aren't his scene, but he likes watching his friends have fun from the kitchen. There, it's mostly people making out or washing down their liquor with tap water. He's leaning against the cabinet, watching his own face in the water he's got in the red cup, all to prevent people from asking him if he wants a drink. He doesn't look sad, but he doesn't look too glad either.

Until he sees Gracie walking towards him with a wide grin and open arms.

"If it isn't the next big thing. I was starting to miss my favourite person." Gracie nudges her arm with his, then leans against it.

"I thought John B was your favourite person," he teases.

"I have a lot of favourite people," she laughs, hand on her stomach out of habit. "Today, you've got my heart, Mr Vanderhorst."

At this point, he can't keep his smile him. Gracie has that superpower, it seems. No one can keep frowning around her, especially not when she's so bright and bubbly. It doesn't happen often, but it's a real force of nature when it does.

Gracie's lips tingle from the beer. "You havin' fun?" she asks. She knows the answer, but can't help it with the words.

"Yeah, I am, G," he tells her. And he's sincere.

Sure, he was bitter for a second that all of his friends left him to grab a drink or talk to people he's never seen before, but he's over it. He was the second he saw Gracie's radiant smile singling him out in the crowd. And then he sees Kie walking towards them with JJ's arm over her shoulders and it fades just a tiny bit.

   "Man of the hour," JJ greets him. Man of the hour who spends all his time hiding in the kitchen. He refrains himself from saying it and avoids Gracie's pointed stare.

   "Congrats again," Kie tells him, slipping out of JJ's grasp and standing on his other side. Gracie nudges Pope again, but not roughly enough for Kie to notice as she looks up at him through her thick lashes and offers him a smile. "When's the interview, you said?"

With a grin that spread from one ear to the other, Gracie shoves JJ away from the counter then pulls him away from the pair. She ignores the holes Pope's burning in her back—he's always had a thing for Kie and she's giving him all the opportunities he can use to get her. JJ doesn't seem to understand however, and he's complaining that she's no fun as she drags him to the garden.

Outside, the lights strung up on the porch make everyone forget that's it's nighttime. They reflect on the wood and the beer in the cup. It's dark out, so a cold evening breeze takes the teenagers by surprise.

   JJ rubs at the skin of his arms, dressed in nothing but a stretched-out tank top. "What was that? Why'd you drag me like that? You lost your mind, G?"

   Gracie rolls her eyes. "You just don't get it."

   "Get what?" JJ scoffs. He's lying through his teeth and she knows it; JJ is no stranger to Pope's feelings.

The one and only time the Heyward boy got drunk, he spilled all his guts, metaphorically and literally. But JJ doesn't like to help him break the only rule that's ever made sense amongst the Pogues. They stay away from each other. No romantic ties, no one night stands, no impulsive hookups. Never amongst Pogues. Their friendship's too fragile and important for that.

So Gracie knows that JJ gets it, but she doesn't mention it. She wishes she'd grabbed a jacket on her way out. Evidently, Gracie wishes for a lot of things.

   "What the fuck's he doing here?"

If she wasn't such a fucking liar, Gracie would admit she wished for that, too.

Standing in all his glory, Rafe sticks out like a sore thumb. Not because he's wearing expensive clothes or still smells like lavish cologne, but because he carries on his back his entire history almost like it's been written, printed and permanently imbedded on him. People glance as he walks past, putting up as confident a facade as he could as he sinks into the crowd of people he spent most of his life hating by default.

JJ, definitely, is one of the boys he hates the most. Not just because he's from the wrong side of the island, but mostly since the hotheaded blonde has a habit of sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. He's got a mean right hook but still doesn't stand a chance when Rafe gets angry. It's good he doesn't get violent anymore.

Everyone obviously notices him, but no one makes a fuss of it like JJ. From the living room, John B can sense what's coming and makes his way to the backyard through the screen door, still in disbelieving Rafe's sudden appearance.

   Gracie grabs his arm, both a plead and a warning at once. Rafe doesn't stop walking towards them, and JJ grows visible restless. "Did you invite him? Why's the Kook here, hm, Gracie?"

   "Actually, I invited him," John B, as always, comes to the rescue. The knight with the dirty bandana. He fixes it around his neck, walking up to Rafe with a welcoming grin.

Rafe relaxes visibly knowing he's wanted by at least one of the people he's been dreading the most. When he looks for a sign of irritation in Gracie's face and can't find any, he concludes that she's indifferent to his presence as she always is. But it feels just a tad different than it usually does.

   He greets her and says her name with a drawl she's never heard before. Only Rafe addresses her that way. She shakes off the thought. "JB told me he invited you, but I didn't think you'd come," she tells him with a small smile.

   "I can leave if you want," he proposes, but it doesn't feel sincere. It makes Gracie laugh.

   "A full sentence!"

Suddenly, Rafe's laughing, too. He's transported back to Thursday afternoon in her kitchen, with the sun shining on his scraped knees through the window and basking the lower side of her face in golden light. It suddenly smells like home-cooking again and the aroma of beer and ocean salt is long forgotten.

   JJ doesn't even pretend to be as welcoming as the rest. He's never been good at hiding his anger, not like he does his fear and sadness. It must be a Maybank thing. "You know what? I actually like that offer better. You can leave. Hell, I'll even walk you to your damn car!"

   Gracie whistles a warning under her breath. "JJ, quit it."

   "I don't understand. Why are we fraternizing with Kooks all of a sudden?" The blonde gets all riled up and says the words so loud he turns a couple of heads.

   John B shakes his head and shoots Rafe an apologetic look. "He's not a Kook anymore. You've gotta calm down, JJ."

The laughter he gave them instead was a clear indication of his early inebriation. It made Gracie shake her head and want to sink six feet under the dirt floor. When he's drunk, JJ doesn't know how to act. She makes a mental note to chastise him about it later, but doesn't want to start a fight for Pope's sake.

The blonde boy's all riled up and his arms are itching. "You gonna leave, man, or what?"

"JJ."

Rafe doesn't answer so the blonde lunges forward and pushes him into the tree. It scratches his back and his jaw clenched visibly, but he doesn't swing back like he would've a little less than a year ago.

The ruckus distract Pope and Kie from their conversation in the kitchen so they make their way out to join the crowd. At the sight of the Cameron, she gets just as mad as JJ is, but uses her words to show it instead of shoving the tall boy or preparing to swing like her friend.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Kie asks bitterly. She's got nothing against him personally, just the name. "Gracie, did you invite him?"

Gracie tosses her arms in the air. "Why does everyone think that?" she groans.

"Because no one else wants him here," Kie responds like it's the most obvious fact she could've told them at the moment. Pope tries to tell her to leave it, but he should know better than to tell a woman to calm down.

John B opens his mouth to say something, maybe to defend him, but Rafe speaks before he can. "I'll fucking leave. I don't wanna start shit," he grumbles under his breath, arms flexing as he pushes JJ back, just enough to slither himself away from the group up but not brutally enough to be considered an attack.

"Wait...no, wait, Rafe!"

He's halfway off the property when he hears Gracie's voice and spins around so fast he almost gives himself a whiplash. She stops in front of him, and it suddenly feels incredibly obvious just how much taller he is. She's wearing a thin shirt and it's kind of cold, so he can see the goosebumps trail up her arms and legs. The light on that side of the house makes it impossible to hide.

Truth is: she doesn't know just why she went after him. John B held JJ back long enough for her to walk Rafe out, but he waits for her to say something before he gets in his car. For a moment, she regrets ever following him. What is she doing? What will she gain from this? A second passes and she feels the resentment again.

She's toying with her hands and has a hard time looking up at him. "I'm sorry about that. Of course you're welcome at this party, and you're welcome at the Chateau."

"Your boyfriend doesn't think so," Rafe scoffs.

He doesn't miss the frown on Gracie's face. "Boyfriend? No, JJ's not my boyfriend. Why would you think that?"

Because he had his arm around his, his eyes on her, and his too-strong stolen bottle of cologne—which he only uses on special occasions—had rubbed off on her. He doesn't say any of that however, just shrugs.

"Well, he's not. He's just a little...look, he gets angry easily, okay? It's nothing against you," she lies. JJ's eggshell temperament was no secret and neither was his hatred for the Kook boy.

Rafe shakes his head softly like he's not convinced but doesn't try to prove her wrong. He looks back at his truck, then glances at the movement that had revived in the Chateau's backyard. "You should go back to the party," he tells her, "tell Pope congratulations."

Maybe it was the fact that he cared that made her want to grab his arm and never let go.

"Why don't you tell him yourself?"

Rafe looks at her like she's insane again. "Were we not standing right there a second ago?"

"Come on," Gracie insists. "The Chateau's practically public property. There's people at this party that I don't even know! Besides, Pope doesn't like any of these people, but he likes you. I know he wants you there." She's not sure if what she's saying is true, but she knows Pope has nothing against him. "I want you there."

"Really?" he murmurs, almost like he's in disbelief. Like he's never had anyone want him anywhere before without some ulterior motive. Like he's never had anyone want him, period.

Gracie nods and flashes a genuine smile to him for the very first time. "Yes, really. You can stick with me, I'll make sure J's not on your heels or anything."

He nods after a long moment of reflection and Gracie's glad she won the battle. She spins on her heels and walks back towards the party, only halting when she feels something heavy on her shoulders. Rafe's jacket rests on her like a blanket, that old letterman he had made when he first start coaching the boys. It says Coach on the back in a dark yellow and Gracie feels weird because she hasn't worn a jacket like that since she'd dated that football player a year ago.

No words were exchanged and he walks next to her like nothing happened. Not like he just gave her a jacket to wear because she was cold, not like he noticed without her saying a word and certainly not like he cared enough both to notice and do something about it.

Gracie's loved by a lot of people. Superficially and truly, genuinely. But she's never been loved so quietly, if love is even the right word to use in that situation. Maybe it would be better if she settled on care, because she's never been taken care of either.

People stare again; JJ squares his shoulders from where he's sitting next to the fire. Both Gracie and Rafe ignore him and step into the kitchen for a drink, and he's infinitely relieved that there are no drugs on the counter. He's too emotionally unstable for that right now. He doesn't drink, either, but gladly takes the iced tea that Pope offers him. The Heyward's glad to find someone else in that mass of people that doesn't go insane at a party, or at least not anymore. Gracie smiles as they bond over it and doesn't feel like finishing her beer at all.

So the cup stays half full the whole night. Pope vanishes after a while, so it's just Gracie and Rafe. People are staring to pass out on the couches or call it a night and stumble out the front door.

"Hey, thanks for this," he tells her with a deep and calm voice. She remembers how angry he used to sound back when he was addicted to cocaine and bent in half to try and satisfy his father. "Really."

Gracie doesn't feel like talking. She's tired and wants to go to sleep, and she's been nursing a stomachache since she saw him. "Don't worry about it," she tells him, mirroring his pursed lips when he delivered that sentence to her after staying with the kids.

He still hadn't asked for anything back.

Rafe laughs enough to flash his dimples for a moment, so Gracie rewards him by doing the same. She adds: "I'm sorry, I was so mean on Thursday."

If he'd had the guts, Rafe would tell her that it doesn't matter because everyone's always mean to him. Never in his whole life has he been treated with kindness and the gentleness he watches other people receive with a burning jealously. He knows Gracie gets it sometimes from her siblings and her friends; the arm touches, the pats on the knees, the forehead kisses, and the hugs...God, it's been a long time since Rafe's gotten hugged.

But Rafe lost all his bravery when he dropped the drugs. All that's left is an envious shell of the man he used to be, and he can't quite figure out if it's for the better or the worse.

   So he tells her again: "Don't worry about it." He thought she'd take it as yet another joke, but her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.

   She thinks back to all the things John B told her about how hard it is to get clean and how it'd be good for him to have something who'd make it all worthwhile. Someone, maybe. "Come by anytime," she offers.

Rafe can't tell if it's sincere, but he knows not to push his luck. He watches her leave with a smile lingering on his lips, back leaned against the door of his truck, a picture of him and his sisters hanging from the rearview mirror.

Whoever's left is talking about the hurricane they're announcing since the television is still on in the living room. The wind picks up.

Gracie looks out the window and wonder if that's why Rafe had a hard time driving away.