Page 183 of Surfer's Paradise

The lighting shifted. Quieter back here. The noise of the crowd dimmed to a murmur.

And there they were.

Greg and Rosie.

His hand was still on her back.

Rosie was mid-sentence, turning to glance at something on the wall.

Isaac didn’t wait.

“Step the fuck away from her.” His voice was low. Sharp.

Both of them froze.

Greg’s hand dropped. Slowly. Deliberately.

Rosie turned fully, eyes wide. “Isaac—”

He stepped forward, closing the distance in three strides, blood pounding hard in his ears.

He didn’t care who was watching. Didn’t care about Amy or Shay or Chris whisper-shouting behind him.

He was done watching from the edges.

Done letting anyone else get close.

Greg straightened, expression shifting into something cold and composed. “Excuse me?”

“I said,” Isaac growled, voice dropping to lethal, “get your fucking hands off her.”

* * * * *

The second Greg’s hand left the small of her back, the air changed.

No—it cracked.

Rosie barely had time to register the shift before she heard it:

“Step the fuck away from her.”

It wasn’t loud.

It was lethal.

Her breath caught. She turned—and there he was.

Isaac.

Storming toward them like a loaded weapon, eyes sharp as knives, mouth drawn into a line so hard it might’ve been carved from stone. His shoulders were set like he was walking into a fight. His fists were clenched.

“Isaac,” she said, stunned. “What are you—?”

Too late.

Greg instinctively stepped back, both hands up like he knew better than to posture. “Hey. Hey—whatever this is—”

Isaac’s voice broke. “Whatever this is?”

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