“Eggs are breakfast. This is church.”
A set came through. Luke caught the first wave—easy, clean, dropping in like he’d never left the water, which he probably hadn’t. Tyler watched him carve across the face and kick out and paddle back grinning.
“Decent,” Tyler said.
“That was excellent and you know it.”
The next wave was Tyler’s. He paddled, popped up, and immediately felt how long it had been—his balance a half-second behind, his legs protesting, the board feeling wider than he remembered. But the wave held and he held and for four seconds everything else disappeared. No grill. No eggs. No five-fifteen alarm. Just water and momentum and the joy of doing something your body knows even when your brain has forgotten.
He wiped out on the end section. Came up sputtering. Luke was laughing from twenty yards out.
“Graceful,” Luke called.
“I meant to do that.”
“You meant to faceplant.”
“It was a controlled descent.”
They sat in the lineup between sets. The sky was going purple. Stella was a silhouette on the beach, camera raised. Tylercould see the tiny flash of her shooting them—two figures on surfboards against the dying light.
“She’s going to get a good one,” Luke said, nodding toward shore.
“She always gets a good one.”
“You taught her well.”
“I taught her to hold a camera. She taught herself the rest.”
The ocean moved underneath them, lifting and dropping in the slow rhythm that Tyler had missed without knowing he’d missed it.
“I’ve been seeing someone,” Tyler said.
Luke glanced at him. “Who?”
“Her name’s Lindsey. Guidance counselor at the school.”
“Lindsey.” Luke waited.
“She’s—good. She’s really good.” Tyler watched the horizon. “She’s like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like being out here. We can just sit there and not talk and it’s fine. Nobody’s trying to fill it.” He ran his hand through the water. “I don’t know. It just works. At least when I can show up.”
“You keep canceling on her.”
“Because of the Shack.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean actually don’t do that. Don’t cancel on someone good because you’re tired.”
“Noted.”
Another set. They caught separate waves. Tyler’s was better this time—steadier, his legs remembering, the wipeout replaced by an actual ride that ended with him standing. Progress. Luke paddled back and gave him a nod, which from Luke was high praise.
