“I’m really glad you’re home, Logan. I wasn’t a fan of that trip of yours from the start,” he admitted.
“Yeah, I know, Dad.” Logan ran a hand through his sandy hair, feeling the awkward silence stretch between them.
After a moment, Robert broke the quiet. “Where’s your board?”
Logan swallowed hard, knowing his father meant his surfboard. “Um, it broke the other day… I’ll get a new one soon.”
His father’s expression faltered, skepticism creeping into his features. Logan could see him weighing whether to probe further, to ask how he had managed to surf without a new board. But Robert was pragmatic, a man who focused on the present and future, and he held his questions close to his chest.
“So, I think I can pull some strings to get you started in your position next week. What do you say?”
“Um, yeah. Sure,” Logan murmured, though every word felt like an anchor dragging him down.
“Good. It’ll give you a few days to rest before you start,” his father continued, oblivious of the chaos hiding behind Logan’s seemingly calm exterior.
The last thing Logan wanted was to join his father’s company—a corporate empire so powerful it practically dictated the flow of trade along the entire West Coast and across the Pacific routes. Vaughn Global Lines, or more popularly known as VGL, commanded a staggering market share, its ships moving millions of tons of cargo across the globe each year, its name a synonym for generational wealth. Logan had grown up in its shadow, the heir everyone expected to follow the path laid out for him. Butat twenty-four, he felt unmoored, unwilling to be chained to an empire he hadn’t chosen, even if someday he would have no choice but to claim it.
He had completed a BA in Business Administration and Economics, then went straight on to earn his MBA, with the implicit expectation that he would step into his father’s role one day. As the sole male in the Vaughn family, with his older sister, Jane, managing the legal department and his younger sister, Ann, choosing a completely different path by going to medical school, he felt the burden of obligation.
Another staff member entered, carrying a small tray with a steaming pot of tea and three mugs, setting it gently on the table.
“Thank you, Mr. Walker. You can go back to sleep; we’ll handle everything. We’re sorry to have disturbed you at this late hour,” his father said sincerely, a reminder to Logan that while his dad was a hard man, he was not unkind.
Logan grabbed a steaming mug, feeling the warmth seep into his hands. He listened as his parents filled the air with updates about the family, their voices a comforting backdrop that felt both familiar and stifling. It was hard to breathe; the weight of the room pressed down on him like a heavy blanket.
As his mother animatedly shared the news that Jane was pregnant and due in five months, Logan forced a smile, his heart clenching. She went on about Ann, about her start in medical school. He laughed at the funny anecdotes his mother shared, but all the while, he battled the tears threatening to spill over.
He kept the truth locked away, the events that had led him back home buried deep beneath layers of practiced smiles.
When he finished his tea, he tucked his hands beneath his legs, desperate to hide the twitching and shaking that gnawed at him. “I really need to sleep,” he finally said, his voice barely steady. “Let’s call it a night?”
“It’s almost morning, but yes, go get some rest,” his father replied. “You look like hell.”
“It’s the flight.” Logan offered weakly. Samantha reached over and brushed his hair back from his face.
“You need to sleep. Tomorrow, I want you to tell me everything about where you’ve been and what you saw. I want to see some photos!”
“No photos,” Logan blurted out, the words escaping before he could contain them. “I… dropped my camera in the water.”
“Oh. But your camera is waterproof, isn’t it? How else did you film all those surfing videos?”
“It is, but I dropped it without the case… and… I lost it…” he replied, his voice trailing off.
“Oh… But you must have some on your phone—”
“I’m really tired,” Logan interrupted, dismissing himself from the room. He grabbed his bag on the way out, focusing on one goal: getting to his own space.
Once inside his bedroom, he closed the door and locked it behind him, leaning against the sturdy wood for a moment before heading to the attached bathroom. Everything gleamed, clean and shiny, as if untouched by the chaos he carried. He opened one of the closets and found neatly folded towels, his soaps, and shampoos neatly stocked.
Logan stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, turning on the hot water. It cascaded over him like a comforting embrace, washing away the surface grime but failing to cleanse the hollow feeling lurkingbeneath. Soon enough, the heat of the water brought back memories of the night before—no, it hadn’t been last night, the flight had taken about sixteen hours—but the moments rushed back nonetheless, everything he’d been running from.
As the water continued to flow, Logan felt his eyes burn with tears he could no longer hold back. He let them slide down his cheeks, releasing the dam he had built so carefully.
He closed his eyes and found himself once again on that beach with him, the waves crashing, the warmth of the sun blending with the ache of longing, the memories flooding in like the tide.
The next morning came all too soon as Logan dragged himself out of bed, refreshing his messages as he paced to the bathroom, knowing that he would not get any messages from the one he had longed to.
After brushing his teeth and washing his face, gazing at his lifeless eyes and the puffiness underneath, he paced to the walk-in closet, everything as if he had never left. He slipped into a light blue button-down shirt and black jeans, completing the look with polished black shoes. As he rummaged through the top drawer of his dresser for his car keys, he felt a flicker of relief that no one was home to witness his hurried departure.
