His Only Exception

Reputation

"Would it matter?" I mumble as I pick at my breakfast, breaking apart the flatbread on my plate. I glance up, trying to read her reaction.



Her back is turned as she scrubs dishes in the sink. "No."



"Rafe wants to act like he belongs somewhere else," Mason mutters. "You can change your name, bro, but nobody’s ever gonna mistake you for anything other than what you are."



"Mason, cállate la boca," I warn quietly. I don’t want to be something else. I just don’t want to be tied to my father.



"Please, both of you," our mother pleads softly. "Not today. Just one peaceful morning."



"Foreign boy," Mason sings under his breath, pushing it further, grinning like it’s funny.



That’s enough. I push my chair back hard, the legs scraping against the floor. Mason stands too, stepping into my space like he’s trying to prove something. He knows I could drop him if I wanted to. One day, his attitude is going to get him into real trouble.



"Mason, sit down," my mother orders sharply.



"Street boy," Mason mutters again, dragging it out in a mocking tone.



"Enough, Mason!" my mother snaps, stepping forward.



I move between them before it gets worse and grab him by the shirt.



"Yeah, that’s what everyone already thinks of me," I say low. "But keep running your mouth and they’ll start thinking it about you too."



"Bro, they’re already gonna think it anyway. Whether I like it or not."



I let him go slowly. "You’re wrong. You can be better than this."



"Better than you?"

"Yeah," I say. "Better than both of us."



He stares at me for a long moment.



"Then act like it," I add. "And apologize to Mom."

Something shifts in his face. "Sorry, Ma," he mutters, sitting back down.



She doesn’t respond. She just turns away and opens the fridge like she’s hiding something behind it maybe tears, maybe worry.



I grab my jacket from the back of the chair. 



I need air. I lean down and kiss her cheek quickly. "Sorry for ruining breakfast."



She doesn’t look at me.



Outside, the air is sharp. A group of guys in matching colors stand down the street, flashing a hand signal two taps against the arm, fingers folded in a pattern I know too well.



I answer without thinking.



That’s the problem.



Before I know it, I’m on my bike, engine rumbling beneath me. They want a reputation? I give them one.



Then a voice cuts through "Rafe, wait up." I already know who it is before I turn.

Carmen Reyes jogs up, hair bouncing slightly as she stops beside me.



"Hey," I say flatly.

"Give me a ride?"

Her outfit is tight, confident, familiar in a way I don’t want to think about. She used to mean something. Now she’s just a reminder of how things change.



"Come on," she says lightly. "I won’t bite… unless you want me to."



I don’t respond. I just nod once.



She climbs on behind me, hands settling where they always used to. It doesn’t do anything anymore.



Nothing does. We’re not who we were,we never really were.



I start the engine and pull out, forcing my mind forward toward school, toward routine, toward anything that isn’t the mess behind me.



Because after graduation?

I don’t see anything changing.



"My hair gets frizzy the second I open the roof, Lila. It’s like the wind has a personal vendetta against me," I say, gripping the steering wheel as we head toward school.



"Image is everything," I add automatically, like it’s been programmed into me.



Lila laughs beside me, resting her arm against the door. "We’re literally surrounded by wind half the year. You can’t fight physics, sweetheart."



"I can try."

"You’re just nervous about him," she says casually.



My eyes flick to the small photo stuck near the dashboard. I don’t answer.



"A few months apart changes people," I say instead.



"Or makes them worse," she replies.



We pass familiar streets, everything polished on the surface, everything carefully separated underneath. Wealthy blocks. Rougher blocks. Everyone knows where they belong.



At school, the parking lot is already filling up. I barely brake in time.



A motorcycle is there.

Too close.



I jerk the wheel slightly, tires squealing.

A girl turns sharply on the back of it, glaring at me.



"Watch it!"

I blink. "Sorry, I didn’t see"

Then I see him.



Everything in me tightens instantly.

He turns his head slowly.



Dark eyes. Controlled expression. Like he already decided I was a problem before I even spoke.



"Great," I whisper.



Lila goes still. "Tell me that’s not him."

"It is."



He steps off the bike.



And just like that, the space between us disappears.

"You almost hit us," he says simply.



His voice isn’t loud. That’s what makes it worse.



"I didn’t see your bike there," I say quickly.

His gaze drags over me briefly calm, unreadable.



"Next time, look."

That’s it.

No raised voice. No drama.

Just control.



And somehow that’s worse.



"You done?" I ask, forcing confidence into my tone.



A faint smirk touches his mouth. "For now."



The girl behind him laughs under her breath.



I hate that I feel heat in my face.

I hate even more that he noticed.



"Let’s go," I say sharply, pulling Lila with me toward the building.



But as I pass him, I feel it like pressure in the air.



Like something already shifted and I don’t know which is worse, that noticed it too,

Or that I can’t stop thinking about it.