Page 18 of Riptide

There’s a pause, then—

Finn

Nope. Pretty sure it’s something else entirely.

Want a hint?

I already know where this is going. And I shouldn’t encourage him. But I do.

Foxx

Enlighten me.

The image comes in a second later. His hand on his thigh, fingers relaxed, the hint of denim stretched just a little too tight.

I inhale sharply.

Finn

Technically not a dick pic. See you tomorrow, Foxx.

Chapter seven

Finn

“Finn,”Dr.Halesaysgently, her voice calm through the phone speaker, “you keep describing the ocean like it’s a person. Something that betrayed you. That kind of loss—when something you loved turns into a source of fear—can feel disorienting. It makes sense you’re struggling to trust it again. Or yourself.”

I swallow, my throat tight. “It used to be the only place I felt like myself,” I say quietly, rubbing the back of my neck. “When I was a kid, I’d paddle out, no matter the conditions. Like I was invincible.” I pause, a sharp breath slicing through my chest. “And now I can’t even look at it without remembering the silence after Jared went under. The stillness. Like the ocean didn’t care.”

There’s a beat of silence as Dr. Hale takes her time to answer.

“You’re not wrong to grieve that,” she says honestly. “Losing that sense of safety, especially when it’s tied to who you believed you were, is its own kind of trauma. But the ocean didn’t abandon you, Finn. It changed. And so did you. The questionnow isn’t how to go back. It’s how to live with both the love and the fear. At the same time.”

I nod, even though she can’t see it. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I just don’t know how to let it be both.”

“Then don’t rush it,” she says, something clicking in the background. “I want you to try something for me soon. You don’t need to surf. You don’t even need to get in. Just go near the water at some point in the next month. Bring your journal or a sketchpad, or even your phone, if that’s easier. Let yourself be near the thing you lost, without asking it to give anything back yet. Just…notice what it stirs. Not to fix it. Just to name it.”

I exhale slowly, letting that digest. The idea of going back to any kind of water scares me. But maybe that’s the first step. Let the ocean exist again, without demanding it feel safe. Without trying to make it something it used to be.

“Thanks, Dr. Hale.”

“And remember your coping techniques if it gets too much. Talk to you next week, Finn. Take care.”

The line disconnects, and I toss my phone onto my bed. Therapy always leaves me feeling oddly raw, like I’ve peeled back layers I’d prefer to keep hidden. But sometimes it also feels lighter, like I’ve released something heavy. Today, it feels like the former, and I need a distraction to help my mind process everything.

I guess it’s a good thing it’s Friday and I’m seeing Foxx tonight.

Throwing open my closet, I stare at the contents. Well, the few items in there, anyway. Mostly, I wear the same things on rotation, but I think shorts and a ripped t-shirt might not win this guy over. Nothing looks right.

Which is ridiculous because this isn’t a date-date, it’s a hookup. We both know this. A drink, some flirting, some very obvious tension that’ll make me hard as stone—which is how I’vebeen feeling pretty much since we started talking—and hopefully a night where neither of us gets much sleep.

I pull out a black t-shirt, tossing it onto the bed. Too casual? I grab a dark button-up, hesitate, then toss that next to it. Too much?

Groaning, I run a hand through my hair. Why the fuck am I overthinking this?

Normally, I’d just throw on whatever’s clean. Not that I don’t put a ton of effort into looking good, but I’ve never stood in front of my closet like some kind of dramatic teen girl in a rom-com. I don’t do this.

But then again, I haven’t done a lot lately, so is that what’s different? That’s what’s messing with me? Am I nervous?

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