Chapter 21 – Nathan
CHAPTER 21
NATHAN
S tanding in my living room, I gaze out at the beach through my floor-to-ceiling windows. The sight of the Pacific Ocean used to call to me, like I could conquer the world out there surfing the waves. But after Saint Lucia… after Emma… life drained out of everything I once cherished.
Nothing sparks joy in me anymore.
Walking through the streets of California, I'm a ghost. A car honked at me when I crossed a street, and I barely registered its existence. The driver cursed at me for not paying attention, but I couldn't muster the energy to care. Songs blare from the radio as I drive, but they're just noise, a hollow echo in the emptiness.
The living room that once felt like a sanctuary now suffocates me.
When a top-shelf margarita hits my tongue, it's like tasting nothingness. The salt, the lime, the tequila—they're all just empty flavors now.
Memories of Saint Lucia haunt every corner.
The laughter we shared, the warmth of her touch, the way her eyes lit up when she smiled—they play on a loop in my mind, torturing me with glimpses of what I’ve lost.
I thought distance might help, that coming back home would drown out the memories. But Emma is everywhere. I see her in the waves crashing on the shore, in the laughter of strangers passing by, in the sunset that used to bring me peace. Every moment without her feels like a step deeper into the abyss.
One night, I pushed myself to go out, to force myself to have a good time with some liquor shoved in me to lift my spirits. I thought I saw a glimpse of Emma walking through the bar. I just about screamed to get her attention, the confusion on some stranger's face letting me know I'd lost my mind as they turned around.
I try to distract myself. I throw myself into workouts, pushing my body to its limits, hoping the physical pain will drown out the emotional agony. I run until my legs give out, lift weights until my muscles scream for mercy. But no matter how hard I push, the emptiness remains.
Friends call, inviting me out, but their voices are distant, their words meaningless. I force a smile, pretending to be okay, but inside, I'm falling apart. The world moves on, but I'm stuck in that moment, replaying our last conversation, the heartbreak in her eyes when she said goodbye.
Was there something I could have said? Did I scare her away? She hurt too–I could see it in her eyes.
Why does it feel like part of me is still sunken with my plane, helplessly strapped to a seat, a hundred feet below the crashing waves of the Atlantic Ocean?
Unable to bear the repeating questions rolling through my mind any longer, I head to my favorite bar.
The dim lights and loud music are a temporary escape, a chance to lose myself in chaos.
I order drink after drink, hoping margaritas and lagers will quiet my mind, but they only slow the intrusive thoughts down.
A woman approaches me, her smile inviting, her intentions clear. My body and mind go on auto-pilot—a flirty remark here, a touch there––the motions leading to intimacy are like breathing to me. Her tiny torso finds its way under my hand, and cute little whispers from her fill my ear.
I'm relieved to find her touch comforting and cathartic. Honestly, I was beginning to worry I'd never enjoy a woman's presence ever again. Whispers turn into nibbles, and we decide to head to my home.
Confused and feeling hollow, I wake up face-down in my bed.
I look around my room, trying to figure out what had happened. Oh, ya... the pretty girl from the bar.
I hear no rustling about the house and assume she's already gone. I look to my clock. Holy hell! 3pm?!
I take a deep breath and head for the kitchen, a deep hunger driving me to feed. I make myself a pot of coffee and pour cream in it. I feel... better somehow. Maybe life's returning to me after all. I just had to give it a little time. Hell, I actually feel like doing something today.
I check my watch for the tide and figure there'll be waves enough for a few runs.
I grab my shortboard and head down to the beach. Pulling on my wetsuit, my whole left side feels stiff as a rock, not giving me the flexibility needed to reach over my shoulder for the zipper.
I might have been a bit too optimistic about this.
Physical therapy was finished.
It's been six months since the crash.
I'm done pampering my injuries.
It's time to start living my life again.
I dig deep, stretching as hard as I can, and my left side feels like it's going to snap under the tension. My fingertips meet the end of my zipper and I tug it up my back, my whole left side relieved that I stopped straining against it.
I charge headlong into the surf and paddle beyond the break, waiting for the perfect wave. The sun peeks over the tops of the condos on the beach. Normally, this would have ignited the clouds on a evening like this, but it didn’t. At first, I thought maybe the smog from LA was blowing in from the North, muddying the colors that I’d always thought were so beautiful.
But it wasn’t the smog…
It was me – I’d changed.
Emma came into my life for three stupid days, and I hadn’t been the same since.
Maybe it was a good thing, and it was high time I grew the fuck up. I was long overdue for some karma after all the girls I’d strung along over the years.
I couldn’t even count the number of hearts I’d broken, but this was the first time I had ever hurt like this.
A curvy girl in a pink and black wetsuit with a longboard paddles up a few yards away and flashes a smile that usually means game on .
Hell, maybe I just needed another lay.
No one would blame me for moving on–it's the only healthy thing to do! Emma probably already had. And yet… even with a beautiful girl in front of me, I was fixated on how her hair reminded me of Emma’s when it was all wet from the rain.
My thoughts drifted back to the freckles across Emma’s nose and I found myself smiling like a damn fool, staring into space.
Dammit all.
I let out a heavy exhale, acknowledged the girl with a friendly nod, and returned my focus to the horizon.
I’ve never been so fucking lost.