Page 113 of Surfer's Paradise

There was no rhythm to it. No predictability.

And that was exactly why most relationships didn’t survive this life.

The job demanded everything.

Women wanted time, consistency.

SEALs had neither to give.

Zach walked over, securing his gear. “You guys hear anything about the next overseas rotation?”

Isaac shook his head. “Shaw’s keeping it close to the vest. He’ll tell us when he knows.”

Dom leaned back, expression unreadable. “It’ll be soon.”

Isaac exhaled, already accepting that reality.

Because it was always soon.

You trained. You deployed. You came back. You trained again.

And for the first time in a long time—

He thought about what he was leaving behind.

Chapter 21

The TV flickered in the dim room, casting a dull glow against the walls, but Rosie had stopped paying attention an hour ago.

She’d done what he asked. Stayed put.

And waited.

And waited.

Now, she was curled up on the couch, tucked under one of his oversized blankets, her body sinking into the plush cushions.

It was strange, being here.

Comfortable, but not.

Familiar, but foreign.

Isaac’s house wasn’t a bachelor pad, not really. Not how she’d always expected. Now how he sold it to be. It was lived-in, steady, with little touches that felt unexpectedly domestic—a surfboard leaned against the hallway wall, a well equipped kitchen, family pictures on the fridge, a record player stacked with old vinyls, books tossed around like they actually got read.

And she was here.

Like she belonged.

Except—she didn’t.

Because she still didn’t know where she stood. Where they stood.

She was still trying to figure out if this fit into the life she wanted.

If Isaac fit.

Her stomach twisted.

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