Page 57 of Isaac

The sun is already dipping below the horizon as Isaac and I step out of the house and into the fading daylight. The warm orangeglow paints the suburban street in a deceptive tranquility, masking the turmoil churning inside me.

As we climb into the SUV and begin our drive back to the city, my restlessness grows.

The silence sticks to us like glue and I feel like I can’t breathe. "Isaac," I begin hesitantly, unsure how to broach the subject. "Why do you take care of them?"

One hand on the steering wheel, he glances over at me while we're at a the red light, his gaze guarded but not hostile. His eyes are dark coffee with unexpected traces of gold. Perhaps it's just a trick of light from the tired sun lashing his face. I have no idea why I never noticed it before.

"Jaheim's doing time because of me. I couldn't keep him safe, and this is what we do. They're family. It falls on me now, looking out for Shonda and the kids when Jaheim can't."

His words, heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions, settle between us as the engine continues to purr.

"We’re not just about making money and spending it on expensive toys and booze, Hawk," Isaac adds when the light turns green. His eyes shift to the road ahead.

After this, we drive back to the Strip in silence punctuated only by the occasional hum of passing traffic and music on the radio reduced to a nearly indiscernible whisper.

"Got a second for a smoke?" Isaac suddenly asks as we pull into the parking lot upon our arrival.

"Sure," I reply, curious about what's on his mind.

We make our way up to the roof where a dazzling display of lights and shadows blankets our vision. The city skyline is a tapestry of glitter, pulsating with frenzied energy. The wind whips around us, tugging at our hair and clothes as we stand side by side, close enough for our shoulders to brush without actually touching.

Isaac pulls out a pack of cigarettes, deftly removing one for himself and offering me another. I take it, holding it between my fingers as he flicks his lighter open. The flame dances wildly in the wind, casting flickering shadows across his face as he leans in to light my cigarette first, then his own.

I inhale deeply, allowing the acrid smoke to fill my lungs completely before the exhale.

The smoke from Isaac’s lungs is swirling together with mine in the air above us like a toxic cloud. It's almost symbolic of what we are.

In this moment, the intimacy of our shared vice feels almost tangible, an understanding that exists in the space between words and actions.

I want to ask him questions. The man who’s on the job—Special Agent Bradley—realizes that Isaac Thoreau is vulnerable emotionally right now. This is when getting information is best.

But Hawk can’t do that.

"Sometimes," Isaac says, his voice barely audible above the rushing wind, "it feels like we're all just trying to hold on to something. Family, loyalty, love... whatever it is that keeps us tied to this world. And when you realize you've let someone down, someone who relied on you, it's hard to shake that guilt."

His eyes flicker to mine, and for an instant, I see the human fragility lurking beneath his tough exterior.

We continue to stand there in silence, my thoughts lost in the haze of smoke and fading twilight, as the lines between right and wrong continue to blur and twist within the confines of my stupid heart.

When I glance at Isaac, his eyes are focused on the glowing ember of his cigarette as he draws a slow, measured breath. It's now or never.

"Are we going to talk about what happened yesterday?" I ask, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions churning inside me.

Isaac hesitates, his fingers tightening around the cigarette between his lips. "I'm sorry," he finally says. "I was drunk and not thinking clearly. It won't happen again."

As the apology leaves his lips, something within me roars as if wanting for him to take it back, to erase that last sentence. But I also know that this growing closeness between us is a double-edged sword, one that could cut through the fragile balance we've managed to maintain thus far. And if that happens, my mission will be compromised.

Play it cool, Dallas, my inner voice of reason orders.

Isaac stares at me with those deep chocolate-colored eyes, maybe expecting some kind of acknowledgment of his apology for the kiss, but I’m too wired up to speak up right now. There’s a lump in my throat.

"Listen," Isaac finally breaks our shared quiet. "You should stay here in the hotel for now. Just keep the same room. Jeremy’s working on getting information about those assholes on the bikes who caught us off guard. He has several leads." Isaac looks at me pointedly. "And we may need your help." Pause. "That is if you want to keep going down this path."

I think for a moment. Staying close to Isaac is crucial for my mission. "Alright," I agree, my voice barely audible over the howl of the wind. "I'll stay."

"Good." Isaac nods, flicking his cigarette butt off the edge of the roof and watching it disappear into the night. "We'll need all hands on deck if things go south."

The tension between us lingers like a thick fog, every glance and touch sending tremors through my already frayed nerves.

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