Page 124 of Surfer's Paradise

And now?

Now, he didn’t know how to fix it.

Zach glanced at him, reading something between the lines.

“You good?”

Isaac exhaled, checking his watch, knowing they had to get inside, knowing time was ticking.

“Yeah,” he lied.

Shay didn’t buy it for a second, but he let it go.

They moved toward the entrance, boots hitting the pavement, the familiar hum of base life picking up around them.

Men moving in and out of buildings. The low thrum of helicopters somewhere in the distance. The muffled calls of instructors running PT on the grinder.

Isaac reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone one last time before shutting it off for the day.

He typed fast.

Isaac: I owe you a real conversation.

He hesitated.

Then added—

Isaac: Stay. Just stay.

He stared at the screen for half a second longer, then powered down the phone, shoving it into his pocket, stepping inside the building.

Time to work.

Time to push everything else out.

Time to stop thinking about her.

If only it were that easy.

Chapter 23

Los Angeles

Rosie stood in the small, cluttered studio, surrounded by half-finished canvases, the scent of oil paint and turpentine thick in the air.

She was back.

Back in her space.

Back with her people.

Back on the beat-up couch in the corner, the one she slept on when she wasn’t pulling all-nighters at the easel.

She’d left Isaac’s house days ago, taken the train back up the coast, not looking back.

It was the right thing to do.

She couldn’t be around him anymore.

---