Page 78 of Bend

Because nothing works.

A couple sponsor posts. Reign resharing something Lena tagged him in that’s mostly just him pretending he doesn’t like being photographed while she’s kissing his cheek. Talon posted a practice clip an hour ago with no caption because of course hes up at the crack of dawn thinking about training. Draygon shared some restaurant story from his parents’ place.

Then I hit Echo’s post.

It’s just one photo, posted a few minutes ago.

No face.

Just her boots kicked out in front of her in pale sand, the edge of a driftwood log, a stretch of early morning water gone all silver-blue under the sun, and the curled corner of a notebook in her lap. Caption’s short.

trying not to become one with the ocean out of spite

That gets a laugh out of me before I can stop it.

And immediately after that, a whole different kind of ache.Because I know exactly where she is.North stretch of the beach, past the public access, where the dunes get taller and the crowds thin out and there’s a half-buried log that washed up after a storm last year and never moved again. Quiet spot. Good place to think, write songs, or stare at the water until your problems get bored of waiting for you and leave.

I look at the photo for another second.

Then at the time, and then at my own reflection faintly caught in the dark phone screen—bed hair, annoyed mouth, eyes still full of a kiss I didn’t get to keep.

“Fuck it,” I say to no one.

Because I can stay here and think myself into a worse mood, or I can go talk to the one person in this whole mess who might actually say something honest without pretending she doesn’t mean it.

And if I’m being really honest with myself, I want to see her. I toss the phone onto the counter and get dressed quick.

Jeans. White tee. Flannel thrown on open because the morning breeze off the water still has a little cool to it before Florida remembers what state it is. I scrub my teeth, drag a hand through my hair, grab my helmet and keys off the table by the door, and head out before I can overthink it.

The bike starts on the first try, engine rumbling low under me as I pull off the dirt drive and onto the road.

The ride out helps. Something about being on a bike always does.

Even when my head’s a mess, movement gives it somewhere to go. Trees blur green on either side. The air smells like wet earth and salt. By the time I cut off toward the beach access and park next to Echo’s bike, I’m still pissed off, but the edges of it have rounded into something I can actually carry.

I kill the engine, swing off, and scan the stretch of sand ahead.

There.

Echo’s exactly where I figured.

Perched on that driftwood log with one knee drawn up, hair down and blowing wild around her shoulders, black bikini top under one and oversized white tee that's knotted on the side so show off just enough of her toned stomach to have you biting your lip. Little denim shorts riding high on her thighs, and her notebook in her lap.

She looks up when she hears me coming over the sand.

The second she realizes it’s me, surprise flashes over her face.

Then something warmer that gets me right in the chest.

“What are you doing here?” she asks as I get close enough to hear her over the surf.

I stop in front of her and grin despite myself. “Saw your post, thought you could use some company.”

“How did you know how to find me from one pic of the ocean?” she cocks a brow, “Or is there some super stealthy tracker somewhere on me that I don’t know about?”

I smirk, Nah, no tracker, sorry to disappoint,” nodding toward the log half buried in the sand, “That log, gave you away. I’ve been here enough times over the years to know it,”

Her eyes land curiously on the log “Well shit,”