Page 41 of Surfer's Paradise

Rosalie.

The bed.

That fucking dream.

The sound her breath made when she turned into him.

He gritted his teeth and moved on to weapons check.

Someone stepped into the room behind him. No words. Just presence.

Dom.

He didn’t look up.

“Locker code wrong again?” Dom asked.

Isaac gave a short, quiet snort. “Reflexes are slow.”

Dom opened his own locker, methodical. “That why you’re vibrating like you snorted regret?”

Isaac said nothing.

Dom waited. Then, simply:

“She stayed over.”

Isaac sighed. “Yeah.”

“She knows?”

“No.”

Dom nodded. “You tell her you’re fine?”

“Of course.”

Dom gave him a long, unreadable look. “That’s a lie.”

Isaac set down the rifle he was reassembling. “You got something to say?”

Dom shrugged. “Just recognizing the pattern. That’s all.”

Isaac’s jaw clenched. “What pattern?”

Dom met his eyes. Steady. Unapologetic. “The one where you convince yourself it’s safer to lose her quietly than risk letting her stay.”

The silence hung.

Then—Dom turned back to his gear.

Isaac stared at him. “You’re not this wise.”

“I’m not.” Dom reloaded a mag. “I just fucked it up already, so I get to notice when someone else is halfway there.”

Isaac didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

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