Ransom lifts a chair until it reaches the high point above his head. He prepares to send it flying, but as he lifts, his eyes lock onto mine.

His body turns to stone and whether he intended to or not, the chair falls behind him, nearly ripping his arms backward, his torso twisting and throwing him off balance.

I push up into a sitting position and offer a tight smile, because what else can I do? He came here to lose his shit in front of the people he trusts to help him pull himself together, something most people don’t have and here I am, the ‘plaything,’ invading the space he requires.

Shame burns beneath my skin as his own flashes across his face, but it’s quickly replaced by sheer anger, and he charges toward me. He pulls on the top blanket, yanking and yanking until I’m before him.

His nostrils flare, his jaw flexing repeatedly.

I shouldn’t, but I know what comes next, and it takes effort I refuse to acknowledge to keep my shoulders high and my face blank.

Ransom stalks away.

With a low exhale, I climb from the back of the truck and step toward my car, but Beretta catches my arm as I pass, halting me.

“You can’t leave.” He frowns.

“Beretta, seriously?” My eyes widen. “I shouldn’t be here right now.”

“He doesn’t want you to go.”

A scoffed laugh escapes before I can stop it and his gaze narrows farther. I falter. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

He says nothing and I tug my arms free, glancing where Ransom disappeared and back. “Beretta...”

“If he wanted you gone, he would have no problem saying it.” The creases framing his hazel eyes deepen. “Just... give him a minute. He gets like this when he’s forced to go home.”

Forced to go home?

He doesn’t go home?

Where does he...

I glance over my shoulder at the mattress and blankets I just climbed off of, remembering the ones tucked into the corner of the beach cave. The take-out boxes and recent fire.

He can’t... no.

I shake my head, looking away, but when a light knock echoes to the side, we both follow the sound.

Arsen holds a paddle board in one hand, the paddle in the other. He shrugs.

“Yeah, perfect. It’s been a minute.” Beretta grabs my hands, pulling me to him. “You’re in, right? Ransom loves the water.”

He does?

Arsen lifts and carries two boards toward his car, and I watch as he wedges them into the back seat, the ends sticking over the side.

“Jameson.”

I shake my head. “Look, I—”

Ransom comes from behind the garage.

He avoids everyone’s eyes, but heads straight for where the other boards are leaning against the wall. He grabs two, walking toward Arsen’s car, and as he passes, his eyes flick to mine.