Page 13

Chapter thirteen

Finn

It’s been just under a week, and all I’ve done is think about him and spend my non-Rosie time messaging him. I’m not ashamed to admit that I caved and didn’t wait any acceptable amount of time to reach out. I lasted less than twenty-four hours.

I’ve had hookups before, with men and women, and they’ve always been a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am situation—no strings, no lingering thoughts.

But something about Foxx has me craving a repeat.

Craving him , and that’s totally new for me.

No one’s ever gotten under my skin. So tell me why I can’t stop thinking about this guy.

Foxx

So you’re saying you sleep with socks on? What kind of animal are you?

I chuckle at that. We’ve been debating random shit all morning. I’ve found out he likes puzzles, Italian food, his best friend is eighty, and he’s the type to remove pickles from burgers, which is a crime.

Finn

I get cold feet and then I wake up, so they stay on.

Foxx

I’m beginning to re-think this whole hooking up regularly thing with you… I had no idea about the socks.

Finn

What if I’m totally naked except for the socks?

The bubbles appear, and then…

Foxx

Totally naked implies there’re no clothes on you at all, and I could get on board with that.

The hunger I felt for him the first time we met flares to life inside me.

God, how can he affect me so much when we’ve hooked up once?

Yeah, okay, I’m thinking about it now, in detail.

Would it be the worst thing if we hooked up so soon?

I have no frame of reference for how this should go between us.

None of my one-night stands have turned into another night before.

It’s too soon to label anything, and I wouldn’t dream of bringing it up either.

Apparently, my brain is just on overdrive today.

I guess I’ll just be myself and own it. He can take or leave it that way.

Rosie’s sleep monitor lights up, just as her soft cries filter through the speaker, pulling my attention. Right on time.

Finn

As much as I’d love to keep talking to you about that topic, I’ve gotta run.

I see the read receipt, and then type one more thing.

Finn

Oh, and unlike you, I’m not opposed to a dick pic, so send whenever you’re ready and I’ll enjoy that.

Pocketing my phone, I set down my half-finished coffee and head to Rosie’s room, pushing thoughts of him from my mind. She’s stirring in her crib, little legs kicking in her sleep suit. Her cheeks are flushed, her light curls sticking up in sleep-tousled tufts.

“Hey, Rosie girl,” I whisper, scooping her up. She blinks up at me, dazed and grumpy. Same, kid. Same.

Nestling into my chest, she breathes out a long sigh as I carry her to the kitchen. One-handed, I get a bottle ready while she sucks on her fist, still in the midst of waking up.

The bottle warmer hums and eventually beeps.

“You had a good nap,” I say as I test the bottle temperature. “I should’ve napped too, huh? Rookie mistake.”

Her fist pops out of her mouth with a wet sound, and she wiggles with renewed energy. By the time we hit the couch, she’s wide awake and attacking the bottle like a starving baby cub.

My phone vibrates on the cushion beside me, and a thrill shoots up my spine. What if it’s Foxx? I flick the phone over to read the notification, immediately disappointed it’s not his name.

Hudson

Hope our little monster didn’t give you too much trouble this morning. Pretty sure her teeth are coming in.

I grin and shift Rosie to one arm while opening the camera app. She’s sprawled across me now, bottle still clutched in one hand, eyes heavy again. Snapping a quick pic, I send it with the caption: Training for the baby Olympics. Gold medal for milk chugging.

The replies come fast.

Hudson

That’s my girl.

Daphne

STOP she looks so grown-up already.

Rosie finishes her bottle with a sigh, milk-drunk and content. I burp her, then lay her on her play mat by the coffee table. She kicks her legs, eyes wide as she tracks the plastic giraffe dangling overhead.

I stretch out beside her, propping myself up on an elbow while she coos at the soft animals. It’s so easy to waste time watching her, analyzing every tiny expression she makes.

Smiling as I watch her play, my mind starts to plan something.

Is it weird if I stuck around? It’s my hometown, and I’ve got family here. I can make more friends. I assumed when I left surfing, I’d get better and go back, but that reality may not happen, and maybe it’s time to find something here.

Sitting up, I grab my phone and open a new search tab. I need to figure out what I can do before I throw myself into anything else.

Community college night classes near me.

The results appear: Oregon Community College .

As I scan the website, words are thrown at me.

Affordable. Flexible. Night and weekend classes.

I’ve saved all my money from comps, so this feels doable, and it gives me something to focus on.

I opted out of school initially in favor of surfing, but now, I guess I need to explore my options.

I scroll through, running a hand through my hair.

There’s everything, from auto mechanics to creative writing.

I think about what I want, about what could really make me happy, and it always comes back to the waves, the ocean, being out there.

But as much as I long for it, I know I’ll possibly never surf again.

Every morning used to start with a purpose—train, compete, win. Surfing was it. My compass. My whole damn identity. And now… Now, there’s just this ache I can’t name.

I exhale through my nose, trying to keep the panic at bay, trying not to spiral the way I always seem to when I let myself sit in this too long. Dr. Hale says to redirect, to ground myself. List things, anything I can think of.

Trees.

Birch. Oak. Fir—

But it’s too late. My mind’s already there.

The swell was cleaner than forecasted, overhead and smooth, sun high and everything blue and blinding. I was out with Jared. He’d been my closest competitor and my closest friend since I was sixteen, and we always said we’d go pro together. He was cocky and fast and better than he let on.

We paddled out for our heat, both of us amped and talking smack.

I remember dropping into my first wave, slicing it clean, feeling the high as I carved out along the face. When I turned back, Jared was paddling hard for the second set, his eyes locked on the biggest wave of the day.

He caught it. I watched him pop up, cut hard, and then he disappeared.

Wiped out, which isn’t unusual. But the seconds started stacking up.

Ten. Twenty. Still no sign of him.

I remember shouting. Ditching my board. Diving.

I remember the panic. The sound of blood rushing in my ears. The way my heart crashed against my ribs like the waves did against my body as I tried to get to him. And then the lifeguards came, and they pulled him out, and I knew that moment would haunt me forever.

I suck in a breath, sharp and slow, like it’ll help clear the tightness in my lungs. Pressing my fingers to the back of my neck, I count it out.

Birch. Oak. Fir. Palm. Redwood.

Jeez, that could’ve been bad. I haven’t thought about that particular moment for months… Maybe planning my future triggered something in my memories of Jared not being a part of that future anymore. Shit, I don’t know. I make a mental note to tell Dr. Hale, though.

I refocus and look down at Rosie playing on her mat, completely unaware of the turmoil in my brain.

Warming bottles and dodging questions is easier than trying to figure out what I want right this second.

I’ve gotten good at pretending I don’t flinch every time someone mentions surfing like it doesn’t taste like blood in my mouth.

I pretend it doesn’t affect me, but I feel the absence of it everywhere.

I miss the salt in my lungs and the way my body used to move without thought—fluid, certain, like it belonged to the water more than land.

I miss the sting of the wind cutting across my face, the adrenaline spike as I dropped into a wave, the deep quiet at the bottom of a wipeout.

I miss the discipline of it, the ritual.

Reading the sky like it held secrets meant only for me.

I miss feeling sure. Of who I was. Of what I was built to do. But now there’s a darkness there I can’t shake.

I’m just a guy with no direction and a browser history full of desperate Google searches. And a hookup who has no idea about parts of my past yet.

Maybe school isn’t the answer. But it’s something.

I could do the prerequisites to begin with and maybe sign up for business classes and see where that takes me.

I’ve always thought if I couldn’t surf, I’d still be involved with it somehow, but maybe I need to focus on actually being near the water before that particular dream manifests.

Rosie lets out a happy shriek as she kicks about. I glance at her and smile.

“Whatcha think, Rosie girl?” I ask. “Should Uncle Finn go back to school?”

She waves her arm in the air like she’s all for it.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “Maybe it’s time.”

Foxx might still linger in the back of my mind. But now I’ve got something else to think about.

A future. For me.