Page 104 of Surfer's Paradise

“You’re a mess, Coco,” he said.

She let out a weak groan.

“Stay here today,” he said, kissing her temple.

She blinked, frowning against his chest.

“What?”

He shifted, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear.

“Whatever you have planned, take the day off,” he said. “Stay here. Recover. Sleep. I’ll try to get back early.”

Her stomach twisted.

He was looking at her like last night meant something.

Like they were going to talk about it.

Like they were going to figure it out.

“Isaac…” she started.

He cut her off, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead.

“Promise me, Rosie,” he said. “Promise you won’t disappear.”

She swallowed, chest tight.

“I—”

“Promise me,” he said again, voice rougher.

She hesitated.

And then—

“I hate you,” she whispered.

“Say the words.”

She exhaled, staring at the ceiling.

“I promise,” she said quietly.

Isaac let out a breath, like he’d been waiting for that.

He kissed her one last time, soft and slow, before pulling back.

“Good girl,” he muttered, and then he was gone.

* * * * *

The truck rumbled down the I-5 with the windows cracked and the heater on low. The morning coastal fog hadn’t burned off yet, and everything looked hazy—washed out, soft, like a half-formed memory.

Isaac’s sunglasses sat high on the bridge of his nose, blocking the glare, hiding the bags under his eyes. His hoodie was on, hoodup. No playlist. Just road noise and the low, persistent buzz of his phone lighting up in the console tray.

He didn’t look at it.

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