Page 42 of Surfer's Paradise

Later, in the hallway outside the comms office, Adam intercepted him.

No clipboard. No orders in hand.

Just the CO standing there with that tired, married-too-long look in his eyes.

“You cleared inventory?” Adam asked.

“Yeah,” Isaac said. “Twice.”

Adam nodded.

A beat.

Then: “You seeing her again?”

Isaac stiffened. “That a question or an order?”

Adam didn’t smile. “Neither.”

They stood in the hallway, static between them. Just enough traffic that neither of them had to speak louder than necessary. Just enough military etiquette to keep them from saying anything too honest.

Finally, Isaac asked, “How’s Lila?”

Adam’s face twitched, barely visible. “She sent a photo of a dog. Said it misses me. I’m pretty sure it’s our dog. Not one hundred percent confident.”

“That mean you’re going home?”

“Means I answered ‘Thanks’ and didn’t say anything else.”

Isaac nodded slowly. “So… no.”

Another pause.

“You want advice?” Adam asked.

“No.”

“Good.” Adam turned to walk away. “Because I’ve got none.”

By 1500, Isaac was back in the dive prep room. Alone. The room smelled like neoprene and salt and metal.

He stripped down the rebreather system just to do it again. Every motion exact. Every seal checked, re-checked. Every valve turned with tension that wouldn’t release.

The routine helped.

Until it didn’t.

Because her voice still echoed in his ears.

Her laugh.

That exhale.

That kiss they weren’t talking about.

That dream he couldn’t stop dreaming.

He closed his eyes.

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