Page 184 of Surfer's Paradise

He stalked forward, rage radiating off him. “You led her into a closed hallway. Away from the crowd. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Greg kept his tone calm. “She looked overwhelmed. I thought she could use a breather. That’s it.”

Rosie stepped between them, palm flat on Isaac’s chest—feeling his heart hammering beneath her fingers like it might crack his ribs from the inside out.

“Isaac,” she said gently. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t.

He was shaking.

Not with rage.

With something worse. Something buried.

That’s when footsteps slammed the marble behind them. She turned to see Chris, Shay, and Amy rushing in.

“Isaac, don’t—” Amy’s voice was tight, her heels snapping.

Shay reached for Isaac’s arm. “Bro. You gotta calm down. This isn’t you.”

Isaac didn’t even blink. He just kept staring at Greg like he was seconds from tearing his throat out.

Chris—of all people—was the one who broke the spell.

“He’s not okay,” he said.

Rosie turned. “What?”

Chris’s voice was low, controlled. “He fought your dad. Yesterday.”

Time stopped.

“What?” Rosie whispered.

Isaac didn’t speak. His jaw clenched, the tendon in his neck twitching. His hands dropped to his sides, fingers curling like he needed to hit something just to stay upright.

“He was outside the youth center,” Chris said. “Casing the place. Isaac spotted him.”

“He’s out?” Rosie breathed, blood draining from her face. “He’s—Troy—he’s out of prison?”

Isaac’s voice was gravel when he spoke. “He’s not your father.”

She turned to him. “What?”

His eyes met hers. Raw. Fractured. “He’s not your father, Rosie. He never was.”

Her stomach flipped.

“I followed him yesterday,” Isaac said, hoarse. “I didn’t know who he was at first. Just some strung-out guy watching the building. Then he looked at me. Smirked. And I knew. I remembered.”

Her whole body went cold.

“Troy. That sick fuck. The guy who used to answer the door like you were grounded when I came by. Who used to stare at me too long when you weren’t looking. Who smiled at you like he owned you.”

She didn’t realize she was shaking until Isaac reached for her hand.

“I didn’t know what he was doing to you,” he said, voice cracking. “I was twelve, Rosie. I didn’t understand. But you came to school with bruises and I still didn’t ask.”

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