Deran Cody had spent months convincing himself he was done with secrets. Adrian had been enough of that. Sneaking around docks at midnight, bruised knuckles from fights that started over nothing and ended with blood on concrete, pretending he didn’t care harder than anyone else ever could. When that ended, Deran went cold. No hookups, no numbers scribbled on receipts at the bar, no lingering looks at men who smiled too long. He buried himself in work at the bar and long mornings surfing off the coast of Oceanside, trying to outrun the feeling that something in him had cracked open for good.

That was where he first noticed you.

You sat farther up the beach than everyone else with a paperback in your lap and your shoes tossed beside you, oblivious to the shouting kids and drunk tourists stumbling around the pier. Deran saw you three mornings in a row before he finally stopped near your towel, surfboard tucked under his arm.

“You ever actually look at the water,” he asked, voice rough from salt and cigarettes, “or do you just come here to ignore people?”

You blinked up at him slowly, almost confused someone was talking to you at all. “Ignoring people’s kinda the point.”

That got a laugh out of him before he could stop it.

After that, it became routine. Deran would come off the water and end up beside you somehow, dripping seawater onto your towel while you complained about sand getting in your books. You never pried into his life the way people usually did. Didn’t ask why he had bruised hands sometimes or why expensive trucks kept pulling up beside the curb near the beach. You just listened, calm and soft-spoken, while Deran found himself talking more than he meant to.

One night he showed up at your apartment unannounced, leaning against his truck while the engine ticked in the dark. “Come out with me,” he said when you opened the door. “You spend too much time hiding in here.”

You hesitated at the sight of him. Black T-shirt, chain around his neck, eyes already carrying trouble. “Where?”

“House party. My brother’s throwing it.” He smirked faintly. “You’ll survive.”

The Cody house was loud before you even stepped inside. Music rattled the walls while strangers spilled beer across the kitchen floor. Girls danced on countertops. Someone shouted from the pool. You froze near the doorway, clearly overwhelmed, and Deran rested a hand against your lower back to guide you through the crowd.

“Stay close,” he muttered near your ear.

Craig spotted you first from across the living room, shirtless and grinning like he’d just won money. “No way,” he barked, pointing a beer bottle toward Deran. “You actually brought somebody home?”

Deran rolled his eyes immediately. “Shut up, Craig.”

Craig ignored him completely and wandered closer, looking you over with open curiosity. “This the beach kid you keep disappearing for?”

“The beach kid?” you repeated.

Craig burst out laughing while Deran’s jaw tightened. “Jesus Christ.”

“You should hear him talk about you,” Craig said, still grinning. “Guy acts like he’s not whipped already.”

Deran shoved his brother hard enough to make beer spill down Craig’s arm. “I said shut up.”

But you caught the quick flash of embarrassment on Deran’s face before he turned away, and something about it softened the edge he carried around everyone else.

The deeper you got pulled into Deran’s world, the uglier parts started surfacing. Men showing up at the bar demanding money. Bloody noses after fights outside clubs. Nights where Deran drove too fast down Pacific Coast Highway with one hand on the wheel and fury burning behind his eyes. You realized quickly that the Cody family wasn’t normal rich California chaos. There was danger in every room they entered.

One night, after a fight with a guy outside the bar left Deran with split knuckles, you sat on the bathroom counter while he rinsed blood from his hands. “You scare people,” you admitted quietly.

Deran looked at you through the mirror. “I scare you?”

You should’ve said yes. Anyone smart would’ve.