Page 114 of Lost & Found

Strike two.

We weren’t doing this. I learned the hard way with Hannah. Silence breeds assumptions. Assumptions breed resentment. And resentment destroys everything quietly before you even realize it’s happening.

A mature man never guessed. He asks. Nik taught me that.

I slowed my steps and tugged Isabella toward the edge of the boardwalk, letting the others drift ahead of us. Hannah noticed that something was off. Of course she did. She smirked. The bitch actually smirked.

Then she looped her arm through Trent’s and made a theatrical show of leaning into him, casting a sideways glance. I almost laughed. If she thought a little PDA would bother me, she was clearly mistaken.

Trent could bend her over the railing and fuck her. It wouldn’t bother me in the slightest. There was nothing left in me to care. And that clarity was mind-blowing in a way. In another time or place, I might have sat in it longer. Shared it with Marcel.

But right now my focus was on the woman standing next to me, pretending she wasn’t unraveling. I turned toward her.

Apologize. Explain. Bring up the roller coaster. Ask if you crossed the line.

“Talk to me.”

More silence followed. The boardwalk had been loud moments ago—laughter, music, the hum of rides—but between us it felt like someone had vacuumed the air out entirely. She wouldn’t even look at me.

“Isabella, you’re upset—”

“I’m fine, honestly.”

She wasn’t. And the way she pivoted and started walking ahead screamed the truth. The wooden planks thudded beneath her steps. My chest dipped. Now she was lying to me. I caught up in a few strides.

Somewhere ahead of us, Hannah laughed—sharp and loud.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend.”

She exhaled through her nose, but still wouldn’t meet my gaze. And that’s when it hit me. As much as communication mattered, as much as I’d promised myself I would never again let silence rot something good, it would only push her further away.

She wasn’t ready to talk. Pushing would turn this into a scene. If she snapped, which was entirely possible, she’d hate herself for it later. I knew that much about her character.

“When we get back,” I said, keeping my tone neutral and even. “Maybe some downtime will help.”

“I said everything is fine,” she insisted.

But her shoulders were rigid. Her jaw was tight. Even her fingers curled into her palms like she was holding everything in. It was written all over her face. I swallowed the words clawing at my throat.

The walk back felt longer than it had been earlier. The ocean wind had turned cooler, brushing across my arms. The glow from storefront windows cast long shadows across her face. I hated that I couldn’t read her.

We reached the hotel. The elevator ride up was thick with silence. The hum of the cables overhead filled the space neither of us dared to. Once inside the room, the door shut behind us. Alone with no audience, no distractions, and no Hannah, I opened my mouth to speak. But she beat me to it.

“I think you’re right. I could use some alone time.”

She didn’t look at me when she said it.

“Do you mind doing dinner and game night without me? I’ll order something in,” she added.

The boundary landed between us. Clean and unmistakable.

“If that’s what you want,” I replied, hoping I didn’t sound as needy as I was fucking feeling.

She moved past me without touching me. At the side table, she paused before opening the nightstand. Her fingers hovered over the drawer for a second too long. Then she pulled it open and dug around before pulling out the dice and cards.