The morning fog rolled in low over the Santa Barbara coastline, softening the sharp lines of the cliffs and blurring the horizon where sea met sky.
Dave walked alone, boots crunching over damp sand, the Pacific wind tugging at his coat.
Clinton had rattled off his schedule before breakfast, two phones buzzing with updates, but Dave had waived him off.
Not today. At least, not right now.
Secret Service lingered somewhere behind, careful shadows on the bluffs, but Dave ignored them, too.
He needed air. He needed space.
But mostly, he needed to think.
Every path in his mind circled back to the same point—Stone.
The distance between them was more than miles now. No calls made, none received—only silences filled by Clinton.
The walls he kept up—distance, silence, restraint—he told himself they were for protection, for both of them. But the truth scraped at him like sandpaper.
The surf thundered against the shore, pulling his thoughts outward.
That was when he saw him.
Far down the stretch of beach, moving with that same unhurried, predatory grace.
Broad-shouldered, dark hair swept back, stride loose but lethal. Dave would know that walk anywhere.
Stone.
Even at a distance, the sight caught him in the chest, the air tightening in his lungs.
For a moment, Dave considered turning back, armor snapping into place. Pretend he hadn’t seen, hadn’t felt. But he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. He kept walking, closing the distance.
Stone’s gaze was locked on him from halfway down the beach. His pace didn’t change, it was purposeful, like a predator.
By the time they stopped a few feet apart, the ocean filled the silence between them, steady and relentless.
“You ditch your babysitters?” Stone asked first, voice low, roughened by the surf.
Dave’s mouth twitched. “They’re around. They’re always around.”
Stone studied him—storm-colored eyes cutting deeper than Dave wanted to allow.
“Looks like you wanted to be alone.”
His gaze lingered on Stone, tracing the threads of gray in his hair, the lines cut deeper at the corners of his eyes. “Looks like you found me anyway.”
That earned him the faintest tilt of Stone’s mouth. Not a smile, not really. But close.
For a moment, they just walked. Close together, the water lapping over their boots, the morning air sharp with salt. The rhythm of the ocean filled their silence.
Finally, Stone broke it. “You’ve been quiet. Too quiet.”
Dave exhaled, the sound lost to the waves. “Noise doesn’t fix much.”
Stone angled his head, studying him. “Sometimes silence makes things worse.”
Dave didn’t answer. He kept his eyes forward, but Stone’s presence pulled at him—steady, grounding, impossible to ignore.
