But I’ve never tried. You don’t have to build a prison with walls and guards. You just have to find the one person someone loves most and use them as a pawn. My father figured that out a long time ago.
“It’s not that simple.” I’m amazed at how steady my voice sounds. “I have someone who depends on me.”
I leave it there. No details or names. Just the shape of the cage, visible enough that he can see it without me having to describe every bar.
He doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He watches the waves for a long moment, hands in his pockets, and when he finally speaks, his voice has lost the flatness from this morning.
“I don’t remember much. But I know a father who doesn’t want his daughter to be happy is wrong. Full stop.”
I have to look away. Out at the water, at the gray line where the ocean meets the sky, at anything that isn’t his face right now. Because if I look at him I’m going to cry, and I will not cry in front of this man.
“We should head back.” I start walking again, faster. “We’ve gone pretty far.”
He falls into step beside me. For a few seconds neither of us says anything, and I’m grateful for it.
“Wow.” He speaks eventually. “And I thoughtIhad problems. At least I have the excuse of brain damage.”
It’s such a perfectly stupid thing to say that a wet laugh escapes before I can catch it. I swipe my eyes with the heel of my hand and hope he thinks it’s the wind.
Johnny drifts toward the waterline, crouching to look at something the tide dragged in. I keep walking.
I’m so far inside my own head that I don’t notice the runner until he’s already beside me.
He’s wearing a tank top in November, which tells me everything I need to know about his decision-making. Tanned. Built like a guy who spends more time flexing in front of his phone than actually doing anything. I make the mistake of glancing over as he passes.
“Hey there. You’re up early. Lucky me, right?”
God. I’ve been dealing with men like this since I was old enough to fill out a dress at my father’s parties. The ones who take up space like they’re owed it, who read disinterest as a challenge. At least my father’s associates had the decency to only stare. This one plants himself in my space like he belongs there.
“Let me buy you a coffee. There’s a place just up the road.”
“Not interested. Thanks.”
“Come on, don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be friendly. What’s your name, sweet?—”
He doesn’t finish. Johnny’s there and everything shifts. He doesn’t touch the guy. Doesn’t puff up or say anything clever. He just steps between us.
“She said no.” Quiet. And dangerous.
“Easy, man. I’m just being friendly.” The runner tries to square up, but Johnny has two inches and something far more dangerous than height on him. Something in Johnny’s posture shifts, barely visible, like a safety clicking off.
I’ve grown up around men who do violence for a living. I know what it looks like when someone stops decidingwhetherand starts decidinghow.
The guy lasts about two seconds.
Then his hands come up, palms out, and he’s jogging down the beach like he just remembered somewhere else he needs to be.
Johnny watches him go. It takes a few seconds for his shoulders to drop, his hands to unclench. Wherever he just went, he doesn’t come back from it easily.
I should be unsettled by that. A man I found bleeding on my beach two days ago just made a stranger retreat without lifting a finger. I search for the fear and come up empty. I don’t know what to do with that.
When he turns back to me, the coldness is gone. What’s left looks almost confused, like he startled himself.
“You okay?” He’s searching my face like he’s checking for damage.
“I’m fine.” And I mean it.
He puts his hand on the small of my back, light, barely there, just enough to steer us toward the house. And I don’t flinch.
