Pretty When You Cry ୨୧ Rafe Cameron

thirty six

3 MONTHS LATER

Life doesn't stop. Not even when you need time to grieve. This is something Isla learned rather quickly in these past three months since her father died, her boyfriend's father died, and she got $30,000.

Isla wasn't made for college. She'd known that all along. So she spent her money practically, and slowly. She was honestly afraid to spend it because once it was gone it was gone. There was no more gold, Singh got all that was in that cave.

Not that she wanted it. She was done treasure hunting. For life.

She was doing better though. She had put back on the weight she'd lost on that deserted island. She goes to school, sometimes. She started going on runs. She slept over at Rafe's almost every night. Life was good.

They had a trauma bond now. They knew that. They lost their fathers together. They grieved together. It knitted them closer.

But when Isla had a bad day and tried to drink herself to death, Rafe was there to help her. When Rafe had a bad day and tried to snort a few lines, Isla stopped him. It was a silent agreement to keep each other safe. Maybe it was simply love.

It was a Saturday morning in October, but it was still hot in the Outerbanks. Isla kicked off her blankets, stirring awake. Last night she slept at the Chateau for the first time in ages. It wasn't an enjoyable experience.

She got up and brewed a pot of coffee. John B came out of his room, and oddly enough he was dressed and ready for the day even though it was seven in the morning. He was scrambling around, panicking over something.

"What's going on?" Isla asked.

"I was looking through Dad's office and guess what I f—"

"No." Isla had to cut this conversation off. She couldn't take it. All her twin brother did was search that office, and study their father's old documents and maps. He was desperate for more treasure. For something to focus on. He couldn't sit still since their father's death, and he couldn't accept the fact that it was for basically nothing. He was trying to find meaning. Isla just wished he could pick up painting or journaling instead of whatever the hell this is.

"What do you mean 'no'?" John B leaned against the table, eyebrows furrowed.

"There's no more treasure. There's no secret Dad kept you don't know. Whatever you found is more bullshit you made up to keep yourself from falling apart. Just let go, John B. Let him go."

"How do you know, huh? You haven't helped for two seconds. And that's what we said about the gold from the wreck, then there was the cross, and when we thought all hope was gone we found the jackpot of gold. You don't have a clue."

"You're gonna become him," Isla muttered under her breath, tired. It was true. John B was going down a slippery slope and she knew it. She knew what was happening. He would waste his life away looking for more if he didn't stop now. He would become their father, and that scared Isla.

"What was that?" John B snapped.

"You need to stop."

"I'm not hurting anyone. I'm just trying to figure this out. It couldn't have been for nothing."

"It was for nothing, John B. He's dead and he didn't even get his fucking treasure," Isla replied.