Scott pedaled his fixed-gear bicycle down the shoulder of the Pacific Coast Highway, his breath steaming in the chilly pre-dawn air, the surfboard under his arm bumping against his hip. The only sound was the squeaking of the bike’s rusted chain and the distant rumble of the waves against the rocks.

He steered his bike one-handed into the empty parking lot at Salt Creek Beach and coasted toward a row of palm trees inked black against the soft pink sky. He lowered his bike to the ground, then gazed at the water. The ocean was polished glass. He sighed. The surf report had promised chest-high swells. Normally, he would have been disappointed at having woken up extra early for nothing. Today, he didn’t care. He was awake anyway. He had never gone to sleep.

Scott sat on the beach and draped his arms over his knees. He checked his watch. He’d wait for a while, to see if the conditions improved.

Behind him, headlights swung into the parking lot. Tires crunched on the asphalt. The engine stopped. A door opened, then slammed shut. Footsteps whispered on the sand.

“Hey,” a girl’s voice said. “I thought I’d find you here.”

Scott didn’t turn around. The girl sat next to him.

Silence.

Finally, she spoke, leaning forward to catch his eyes. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Yeah,” Scott said. His gaze was distant, fixed on the horizon.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I was … angry. And drunk.” She laughed a little, an awkward flutter of a butterfly with a broken wing. “Really drunk.”

“You weren’t wrong though. I am a loser.”

She grabbed his arm and squeezed. “Baby, you’re not.”

Scott continued. “Shit job. Shit apartment. Shit life.”

“Stop.”

“It’s true.”

She leaned against his shoulder. “Let’s just start over, okay? Pretend it’s last summer.”

“A lot’s changed since then.”

“I haven’t.”

“Yeah.” He nodded thoughtfully.

He stood up and extended his hand to the girl. She took it. He pulled her to her feet. Their hands lingered for a moment, their fingers intertwined.

“Come on,” the girl said, giving his hand a gentle tug towards her car. “Let’s go home.”

Scott looked at the girl. Then he looked past her, at the vast ocean before him.

He let go of her hand.

Picking up his surfboard, he began walking toward the ocean.

“Scott …?” she called after him. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he plunged into the water and began to paddle.

The ocean was quiet and still. Scott sat on his board, lifted his face to the rising sun, and waited. He knew that, eventually, there would be another wave.

There always was.

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