Laughing at me, he says, “Ryan, don’t act so surprised. We’re almost thirty. Don’t you think you should slow it down a bit yourself? Find a girl?”

“Nope. You know I don’t do the whole girlfriend thing. Never have. I like being alone.”

“No one likes being alone.”

“I like being alone,” I repeat, but it’s a lie. Truth is, I’ve always been too scared to have a girlfriend. Too scared to allow myself to even have feelings towards someone else. Too scared of putting myself in a situation only to discover the person I believe lives inside of me. A person just like my father.

“Whatever you say,” he teases as we continue our run. “My buddy, Chase, was wondering if we needed his help when classes start up in a few weeks.”

“Working the door?”

“Yeah. He’s a good kid. He’s in school full-time but said he’s free to work evenings.”

Rounding another lap, I tell him, “Yeah. That’ll work. Have him call Michael.” Michael has been managing the bar for the most part lately. Knowing that the bar is in good hands and is running smoothly has allowed me more freedom with my schedule, and the income has been nothing but generous.

After a long workout with Max, I decide to stop by the office and take care of a few things before heading out of town.

“Hey, Mel,” I say as I make my way past the bar to the stairs, and she gives me a flirty wink laced with mockery. Shaking my head at her, I go up to Michael’s office.

“Hey, I thought you were out of town,” he says from behind his desk. Michael started working here at the beginning of the summer. He’s in his mid-thirties with a wife and kids. Dependent on the paycheck I write him, he’s proven to be dependable.

“Tomorrow.” Taking a seat in one of the chairs, I tell him, “Max has a friend that’s gonna be calling you about a job. Check him out, and if he doesn’t work, I need you to find someone who does. We need another guy to work the door. Summer has been a little slow, but shit always kicks up when classes at the university start.”

“Got it,” he says as he files through a stack of orders. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, I need you to start booking out the bands for at least six weeks. I’d really like to find a few we can book steady, so see what you can come up with. You can always call Gavin to see if he has any leads as well.”

“Sure thing. When are you gonna be back?”

“Few days or so,” I respond as I stand up to leave. “You got everything under control?”

“Yeah, man. Don’t worry about things here. I’ll catch you when you get back.”

“It’s about time you got here.”

“Sorry. Got tied up this morning,” I say when I walk through the front door.

“Spare me the details,” Tori teases as she shakes her head before giving me a hug.

Walking into the kitchen, I ask, “Where’s Mom?”

“You just missed her. She ran to the store to get stuff for dinner.”

“Wanna head out so when we get back you women have enough time to cook for me?” I joke while she gives me a jab to my ribs.

Tori is only three years older than me. Our moms are sisters, so we spent a lot of time together growing up. I have three cousins, all girls, but Tori is the closest in age to me and the only one that surfs, so we were pretty inseparable when our families would get together. We’ve always been good friends. She married Trevor in her early twenties and now has two kids. Seeing her as a wife and mother never deters me from giving her shit the same way I did when we were younger.

“You know Indian Beach is going to be insanely busy today,” she tells me.

“Yeah,” I sigh and look out the windows onto Cannon Beach. The waves aren’t hitting as hard here, but they’re big enough. “Let’s stay here then.”

“You sure?”

“We can wake up early and hit Indian tomorrow before the crowds get there.”

Nice weather is short-lived around here. Once the grey skies clear and the rain slows, everyone swarms to the Oregon coast, and Indian Beach is the spot that draws in the most people.

Hopping off the couch, she says, “Sounds good. I’ll go grab my wetsuit.”

We spend the next hour in the water until I hear my mother calling my name up on the beach. Paddling in, I walk out of the water, and my mother knows me too well when she starts taking a couple steps back, but I rush in and wrap my arms around her, soaking her clothes.

She laughs, and when I let go of her, she grumbles, “Now I have to go in and change. Thanks!”

“You’re welcome,” I tease.

Shaking off the mock irritation, she says, “It’s good to see you, honey.”

“You too.”

She tucks a lock of her short blonde hair behind her ear and asks, “How much longer are you guys going to be out here?”

“Not too long.”

She gives me a smile. “Okay. Well, I’ll be inside whenever you two are done,” and turns to go back in.

When I paddle back out, Tori is sitting on her board, and I join her as we bob up and down in the choppy water.

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

“Taking a break,” she responds as she looks out to the setting sun.

I can tell something is bothering her, so I come out and say, “Talk to me, Tor. What’s up?”

She looks over at me, annoyed that I can read her like I do. Letting out a big sigh, she questions, “You ever wonder what it is we’re doing?”

“Meaning?”

“Life,” she says, taking a pause before continuing, “I guess I just thought I would feel more content than I do. Truth is . . . sometimes I feel like I’m too settled. Kids. Husband. Like I’m stuck.”

When she looks over at me, I grab her board, steadying it next to me. “You’re not happy?”

She doesn’t respond.

“No,” I answer for her.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. You’re thinking too much.”

“Are you happy?” she asks.

It’s a loaded question. I’m numb most of the time. Friends are dropping off the scene, settling down with girls, and I’m still doing the same old shit. But the fear outweighs the jealousy, so I don’t get too hung up on the fact that I’m emotionally incapable of having that. I never have had that. Never allowed myself the opportunity. All I know how to do is care for myself. I’m selfish just like he was. I’m not a provider the way a man should be; I’m a taker. I stay disconnected—and take.

“I’m as happy as I can be, I guess.”

Tori never knew about my father, that he was a dick who used to pound his fists into his wife and son. Black eyes, broken ribs, bruises, and concussions. We kept it hidden well, my mother and I. They knew he drank, maybe not as heavily as he did, but that much they knew. Everything else, we never spoke about. Once he died, Mom was determined to start a new life. A life that had nothing to do with our past.

“Do you ever think about settling down?” she asks.

“No,” I respond with forced ease.

“So you’re happy? Having a different girl in your bed every night?”

I laugh. “Every night is an exaggeration, and those chicks aren’t in my bed either. They stay downstairs.”

“How is it that you haven’t gotten the shit beat out of you yet?” she jokes in disgust.

My laughter grows as I say, “Lucky, I guess.”

We sit for a minute or two when I finally ask the kicker, “Are you not happy with Trevor?”

It doesn’t take but a second for her eyes to gloss over as she admits, “I don’t know.” When the tears fall, she reveals, “Maybe it’s supposed to be this way. Maybe what I was expecting just isn’t reality. My reality is . . . I’ve lost myself along the way somehow. Between two kids and not working, I’m just lost. I don’t know of any other word to describe what I feel.”

“What does Trevor say? Does he even know?”

“He doesn’t want to hear me complain after he’s been at work all day.”