“You live on an island. Go for a swim. Fish. Kayak. Go out with some of the guys. But you’re done working today.”

Cody couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like his master chief was still concerned about his well-being. As if he’d never rescued someone from the water before.

He was fine. Never mind that saving a life always reminded him of the ones he’d lost. He turned his arm over and studied the tattoo on the inside of his bicep—hash marks underneath two simple letters, D. B.—a painful but important reminder of why he chose this life in the first place.

Duncan hung up, and Cody plopped down in the lone armchair and sighed. He didn’t like sitting still. He needed to get out and do something. He changed into his running shorts and an old Nike T-shirt, tied his shoes, and headed out the door.

He’d run. That would clear his mind and give him a way to fill time for the next forty-five minutes or so. He’d figure out what to do with the rest of the day when he got back.

But ten minutes in, Cody realized running the streets of Nantucket didn’t clear his head; it clouded it. So many memories inched their way into his mind, and soon he found himself jogging toward their beach.

Not Brant Point, not the space where he and Louisa had made that ridiculous pact to meet on the day of their golden birthday, but their beach. His family’s beach. That’s what he’d called it after they moved into Seaside, because that’s how it had felt.

It had felt like he’d hit the jackpot. It was every kid’s dream to spend their summer days like that—running through the sand, diving into the surf, eating hot dogs off the grill and ice cream from the Juice Bar.

When his dad died, it wasn’t only that he lost his father—he lost everything. They lost everything. The cottage. The beach. The dream.

Everything changed that day. Because of him. Because Cody had been foolish and impulsive.

He ran toward the spot—the place where they’d pulled his father’s lifeless body from the water. Cody could hear his own screams echoing in the air overhead, mixing with the sound of his footfalls on the pavement. He stepped off the road and into the sand. His calf muscles tightened at the extra resistance.

Off to the side, something glistened, right near the spot where his father had drowned. He slowed his pace, aware of his struggle to get a deep breath, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he’d pushed his pace or because his heart simply couldn’t function properly in that space, looking at that ocean, that spot, with those memories infiltrating his brain.