His shaking fingers found the bracelet again, the cool metal carrying the echo of Adrian’s touch or perhaps only the echo his longing had invented.
“Thanks, Dad,” Logan managed, his voice barely above a whisper, a mix of gratitude and guilt tightening around his chest.
“I…” His father began, clearing his throat as if steeling himself for the words that were about to follow. “One question, Logan.”
“Yeah?” Logan braced himself, sensing the weight of the inquiry.
“Doyou love her?”
Logan swallowed hard, the question hanging in the air like a fragile glass ornament, cradling every secret that the fraying mask of his smile fought to hide. One small push, and it would fall and shatter as it hit the unforgiving ground, releasing a cascade of secrets like ghostly whispers spilling into the silence.
“I… I know her well, and we’ve been together for a long time…” he mumbled, the truth of his words feeling inadequate, as if they were merely a shield against the deeper reality.
His father nodded thoughtfully, a smile creeping onto his face. “Don’t worry, son. You will love her with time. She’s a good match for you. Your feelings will grow. You don’t marry who you love; you marry who’s right for you. Love will come with time. And if it doesn’t, well, that’s really not a big deal, because you’ll be with someone good for you.”
Logan felt as if the ground beneath him might crack open and swallow him whole. He wanted to scream, to tear apart the façade he was trying to uphold. He didn’t love Sandy—not at all. She was lovely and kind, a warm presence in his chaotic life, but she didn’t spark that exhilarating tingle in his chest or the electric thrill that surged through him when he thought of Adrian. There was no excitement, no rush of adrenaline; just a steady, comfortable rhythm that felt more like resignation than love.
“I’d love to come with you,” his father said, breaking through Logan’s turbulent thoughts. “What do you say? Take your old man with you to search for the perfect ring?”
“Sure… tomorrow?” Logan replied, his heart heavy as he forced a smile, the prospect of ring shopping feeling like a final nail in the coffin of his own desires.
Chapter 2
Where the Stream Rewrote the Storm
July 6, 2018—North Shore, Oahu, Hawaii—Five Months Earlier
Loganfeltarushof exhilaration as he shut the shabby cabin door behind him. With a grunt, he tossed his oversized duffel bag to the floor, the thud echoing in the small room. In a flurry, he began shedding his clothes, eager to escape the confines of the musty space.
He had never been one to care much about where he slept or what he ate; all that mattered to him was the beach. The sound of the waves seemed to call out to him, their rhythmic crashing blending with the whispers of the wind urging him to come closer. Even his deep-seated aversion to flying faded into insignificance at the thought of the shimmering ocean waiting just beyond the horizon. The mere anticipation sent a thrill coursing through his body, igniting a longing for the freedom the sea promised.
He rummaged through his bag, finally finding his board shorts from within the mess he would never clear up. The sight of them filled him with uncontainable excitement. Hawaii—a paradise for surfers—was a dream he had long cherished. Born and raised in Seattle, he was an unlikely candidate for a surfer’s life, yet the ocean had captivated him from a young age. Weekends were dedicated to the ritual of traveling back andforth to nearby beaches, chasing the perfect swell. Summers unfolded in endless drives to the sun-drenched shores of California, where he truly discovered the art of riding the waves. Those sun-soaked days and crashing surf solidified his passion for the sport, weaving it into the very fabric of his being.
With a burst of energy, he grabbed his surfboard, disregarding the need for shoes and leaving his duffel open on the floor of the too-small cabin. He had seen the beach from the cab, just a short distance away, and the urge to run—no, to sprint—was overwhelming.
As Logan stepped out of the cabin, he took a long, lingering look around him, allowing the intoxicating vacation vibes to seep deep into his very soul. It was uncanny how just a day ago he had been at his graduation ceremony, and now, liberated from all of that, he felt as if he were truly breathing in the crisp, clear air and soaking up the warmth of the sun on his skin. The serene atmosphere enveloped him, punctuated only by the gentle sound of waves lapping at the shore and the soothing hum of the wind dancing through the trees.
It was an addictive rush, like the first sip of a long-forgotten cocktail on a sweltering day. His body, almost instinctively, began to guide him toward the beach, drawn by the siren call of the coastline.
A wave of joy threatened to spill from his eyes as he stood on the shore, the warm sand cradling his feet and a gentle breeze brushing against his face, like a soft caress. The salty tang of the ocean filled his lungs, each breath a reminder of the freedom he had long yearned for. The tension that had wrapped itself around him like a vice began to dissolve with the rhythmic crash of monstrous waves meeting the shore.
He closed his eyes again for a moment, disbelief washing over him; he was here, he was free. A shiver of animation coursed through him, and he opened his eyes to feel the ocean’s playful touch as it tickled his bare toes under the heat of the sun. He had never craved anything as intensely as he craved the embrace of the water at that very moment.
Logan’s gaze hungrily sought out the ocean, where a lone surfer broke free from the undulating waves. The man emerged like a sea god, shaking his head to flick droplets of water from his long hair, each bead glistening like diamonds in the bright sunlight. His toned, sun-kissed body glimmered, every muscle defined and glistening with the remnants of the ocean’s embrace. The black board shorts hung low on his hips, accentuating the powerful lines of his physique, a testament to hours spent riding the waves. Logan tore his eyes away, discarding the sensation is had stirred in him.
A little further down the shore, a small group of sun-drenched revelers laughed, their joy echoing in the crisp morning air.
The early hour that Friday morning kept the beach hushed, save for the slow whisper of waves meeting sand. Logan had read that this stretch of the North Shore could stay nearly empty in summer, and today proved it true. No crowds, no chaos, just a quiet swell rolling in with the grace of something half-asleep.
In winter, this coastline earned its infamy—thundering with double-overhead sets, spitting barrels, and reef breaks sharp enough to slice pride clean through. But July was different. The giants had long since retreated to deeper waters, leaving behind mellow, chest-high peelers that broke with a kind of kindness.
Logan didn’t consider himself a pro, not by a long shot. And today, that was a blessing. He wasn’t here to charge. He was here to breathe.
He craved the isolation, yearned for the challenge. Perhaps he sought to prove something—something impossibly futile—to someone who would never know, someone who would never see the struggle. Perhaps he was only trying to prove something to himself. Or perhaps he simply wanted to be free, to feel freedom in its wildest, most unbridled form. He wanted to dive headlong into the waves, into the vastness of the deepest swells he could find, to let the water lift him and carry him far away from the unbearable weight of a life that felt as if it had to be endured.
His eyes held a mischievous look, a glint of something untamed and restless, as a small smirk danced across his full lips as he surveyed the rolling waves, the thrill of anticipation igniting his spirit. He was determined to ride those beauties. Without a moment’s hesitation, Logan snatched up his slender white board and sprinted toward the beckoning ocean, an uncontainable smile lighting up his face. As he plunged into the water, the cool embrace soaked through his shorts, invigorating his bare skin and washing away the remnants of his worries, while the salty spray dotted his cheeks like nature’s confetti.
He began to paddle into the depths, each stroke slicing through the cool water, a soothing balm for his restless soul. The currents moved rhythmically beneath his board, urging him deeper into the embrace of the sea. As the waves swelled ahead, Logan prepared himself, gripping the rails of his board tightly. With a deep breath, he angled the nose downward, pressing his weight into it, and plunged beneath the cresting water. The wave rolled over him in a brief, muffled roar, the turbulence ruffling hishair and tugging at his body before releasing him into the calm on the other side.
