Page 31 of Riptide

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 outof 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.

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