Page 97 of Surfer's Paradise

Didn’t know how to say what was sitting tight in his chest, didn’t know how to fix the damage he didn’t even realize he’d done.

Rosie stared at him, eyes bright with unshed tears.

And then, without another word—

She turned on her heel and stormed away.

In the wrong direction.

Again.

“Rosie!”

“Fuck off, Isaac!”

And for the first time in his life, he didn’t know how to stop her.

Chapter 18

The world was spinning.

Rosie knew she was wasted beyond reason, past the point of even pretending she was in control. Her feet felt like bricks, her head a mess of wine and heartbreak and Isaac and more Isaac and why the fuck was it always Isaac?

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking—just that she kept taking turns that didn’t make sense, kept stumbling over the sand, losing her heels at some point, her bare feet scraping pavement.

Her eyes burned, her face sticky from sweat and tears. She kept muttering curses to herself, yelling at no one, yelling at him, yelling at the goddamn universe.

And then—

She looked up.

And there it was.

Isaac’s house.

Fuck.

She let out a shaky, wine-soaked breath, staring at it, her vision doubling.

God. Fate. Cruel fucking fate.

Her legs finally gave up on her, and she slumped down onto the front step, her arms wrapping around her knees.

And then, finally, she let herself go.

The tears came hard, fast, ugly.

A full, body-shaking, stomach-aching sob that tore out of her like it had been waiting all goddamn year.

She was so fucking tired.

Of wanting him.

Of needing him.

Of never being enough for him.

And of course—of fucking course—as soon as she let herself break, let herself unravel completely—

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