22. Chapter 22
Chapter 22
I saac watched her go.
Watched as she marched down the hallway, straight-backed, unwavering, determined, every step a rejection without ever saying the word.
Not rejection. Something worse.
She was forcing him to grow up.
No one did that.
Not to him.
Not like this.
His chest tightened, frustration coiling low in his stomach.
The sound of her bedroom door shutting echoed louder than it should have.
Isaac exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.
He was hard as a rock, still aching for her, his body still caught up in the way she felt, the way she tasted, the way she nearly gave in before pulling herself back.
Fuck.
He hated how much he wanted her.
Hated how she walked away so easily.
And now?
Now it was almost ten, and he was fucking exhausted.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, standing in the middle of the living room, still barefoot, still worked up, still trying to make sense of whatever the hell just happened.
She was inside his house but felt a million miles away.
That wasn’t normal.
He didn’t do this.
He didn’t do waiting. Chasing. Uncertainty.
But Rosie had made one thing crystal clear—this would only go further if he gave her more than he knew how to give.
And that?
That scared him more than anything.
Because he didn’t do commitment.
Not because he was selfish.
Not because he wanted to be a player.
But because he couldn’t fall in love.
He wasn’t that guy.
Not built for it.
Not wired for it.
He didn’t know how to be what she needed.
Isaac exhaled, heading back to the kitchen.
He scooped another bowl of pasta, eating mindlessly, mechanically, barely tasting it, barely paying attention to the TV playing in the background.
His thoughts were somewhere else.
Somewhere behind that shut door down the hall.
She didn’t say she was done with him—not exactly.
But she might as well have.
She had drawn the line.
And for the first time in his life—
Isaac had no fucking idea how to cross it.
He cleaned up, shutting off the lights, going through the motions of normalcy.
By the time he hit his bed, it was nearly eleven, and he was still tense, still wired, still aching.
He could hear her.
Soft, quiet movements in the guest room.
Her door was closed.
Shutting him out.
That shouldn’t bother him.
It did.
Isaac exhaled sharply, slipping his hand under the sheets, gripping himself, working himself to relief.
It was rough, fast, frustrating, unsatisfying.
Even as he groaned into the quiet, even as his body tensed and finally released—
He still felt empty.
Still felt like trash.
Sleep was shallow, restless, twisted with dreams he couldn’t untangle.
When his alarm went off at 0600, Isaac was already awake.
Already staring at the ceiling.
Already knowing—he had a problem.
A problem named Rosie Quentin.
And he had no fucking clue how to fix it.
Isaac pulled into the parking lot at Naval Amphibious Base Coronado, his truck rolling into a familiar spot between Zach’s Tacoma and Shay’s F150.
He killed the engine, grabbed his kit, and climbed out, rolling his shoulders to work out the stiffness from a shit night of sleep. The air was already warm, the early morning sun bouncing off the asphalt, the scent of salt and jet fuel thick in the air. He was in for another long day. Another long-ass stretch of training.
Across the lot, Zach and Shay were already there, standing near the vehicles, finishing off their coffees, talking about the weekend.
San Onofre. Pacific Coast. Surfer’s Paradise.
“You in, or what?” Shay called, lifting his chin as Isaac approached.
Isaac rubbed his hand over his jaw, still waking up, still feeling like absolute shit.
Surfing. Diving. Distraction.
Yeah. He needed that.
“Yeah,” he muttered, setting his gear down beside them. “I’m in.”
Zach grinned, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Vero’s coming,” he said. “She wants to dive on Saturday, then surf Sunday.”
Isaac nodded.
Zach’s wife was cool as hell, marine biologist, a diver in her own right, member of La Jolla dive club, someone who got this life. She and Zach had figured it out, somehow.
Shay smirked, stretching his arms overhead.
“Vero better bring some friends,” he muttered. “We all know Isaac’s single, but I’d rather not be the only one without a girl in my tent.”
Isaac rolled his eyes, opening his truck and grabbing his pack.
“I don’t need a girl,” he muttered.
“That’s new,” Shay teased, grinning over his coffee.
Isaac didn’t respond.
Didn’t want to talk about it.
Didn’t want to think about how Rosie had walked away from him last night.
Didn’t want to acknowledge the way his stomach twisted when he realized he had no idea if she’d still be there when he got home.
He should have never let her walk away.
But he had.
And now?
Now, he didn’t know how to fix it.
Zach glanced at him, reading something between the lines.
“You good?”
Isaac exhaled, checking his watch, knowing they had to get inside, knowing time was ticking.
“Yeah,” he lied.
Shay didn’t buy it for a second, but he let it go.
They moved toward the entrance, boots hitting the pavement, the familiar hum of base life picking up around them.
Men moving in and out of buildings. The low thrum of helicopters somewhere in the distance. The muffled calls of instructors running PT on the grinder.
Isaac reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone one last time before shutting it off for the day.
He typed fast.
Isaac: I owe you a real conversation.
He hesitated.
Then added—
Isaac: Stay. Just stay.
He stared at the screen for half a second longer, then powered down the phone, shoving it into his pocket, stepping inside the building.
Time to work.
Time to push everything else out.
Time to stop thinking about her.
If only it were that easy.