Chapter 3 — Echoes of the Ocean

Kennedy

The Clifftop Overlook wasn’t on the map Michelle had handed me during lunch, which was probably why I ended up there. My feet followed a narrow trail winding through the dry, salt-touched grass, the path almost invisible unless you knew where to look. The air shifted as I climbed higher, the faint tang of eucalyptus mingling with the briny sharpness of the ocean. Each step felt like peeling back a layer of the town, as if I was walking into a space untouched by time, where no one would think to find me.

When I reached the top, the world opened up. The Pacific stretched out before me, vast and untamed, a patchwork of shifting blues trimmed with frothy whitecaps. Waves hurled themselves against the jagged rocks below, defiant and unstoppable, sending up sprays of foam that caught the sunlight like scattered diamonds. The cliffs seemed to hum with the wind’s energy, seagulls circling in lazy arcs above. It was beautiful—so painfully, unapologetically beautiful that it stopped me cold.

My chest tightened. The ocean didn’t care about my grief. It didn’t care about Eve. It just existed, and somehow that made it feel relentless, cruel.

I dropped my bag onto the ground and sank to my knees, the wild grasses whispering against my legs. A gust of wind tugged at my hair, pulling loose strands free from my low bun. The shark tooth necklace swung forward, catching the light as it pressed against my chest. My fingers closed around it instinctively, the tooth’s edges biting into my palm. It grounded me, holding me in place as the memories started to slip through the cracks in my defenses.

Eve’s laugh was the first thing I remembered. It always was. That sharp, unfiltered laugh of hers, like she was daring the world to try and dull her light.

We’d been out in the water, the sun beating down on our backs, the waves rolling in smooth and alive. She was perched on her board, teasing me about something—probably my tendency to overthink—and I was throwing saltwater at her, laughing so hard my ribs ached.

“Come on, Kennedy,” she called, paddling out further, her grin wide enough to swallow the horizon. “These waves are perfect. You’re gonna regret it if you sit this one out.”

I’d rolled my eyes but followed her anyway. I always did. Eve had that way about her—pulling people into her orbit, making everything seem brighter, easier. The wave rose beneath us, and we caught it together, our boards slicing through the water as if we were part of it. For a moment, we were weightless, invincible.

And then the memory shifted, as it always did. The light dimmed into dusk, headlights cutting through the dark. Her hand on my arm. The blaring horn. The way everything felt weightless again, but this time all wrong.

My chest heaved as I snapped back to the present, gasping like I’d been pulled underwater. The shark tooth dug into my palm, its sharp edges anchoring me firmly in the here and now. My gaze darted to the ocean below, where the waves crashed relentlessly against the rocks. Too loud. Too close.

I didn’t deserve to sit here and look at this view and feel anything but the crushing weight of guilt. How could I, when Eve never would again?

“You’re gonna regret it if you sit this one out.” Her voice echoed in my head, sharp and unrelenting. I’d been sitting everything out since the accident—surfing, connecting, living. But what else could I do? The idea of stepping back into the water felt impossible, like asking the ocean to forgive me when I couldn’t even forgive myself.

I shifted, my elbows resting on my knees, and stared at the horizon. The sky blazed with streaks of orange and violet as the sun sank lower. Despite myself, I couldn’t deny its beauty. Even now, even with the weight I carried, the ocean still had the power to mesmerize me. That thought twisted cruelly in my chest, leaving me hollow.

The jagged rocks below caught my eye. They took every wave head-on, steadfast and immovable despite the endless barrage. I envied them. I used to feel solid like that, sure of who I was and where I belonged. Now, I felt more like the tide—always shifting, always retreating, never whole.

A distant sound startled me, pulling me from my thoughts. Footsteps. I turned quickly, my heart pounding, and saw a jogger on a parallel trail farther down the cliff. A man in a blue hoodie, his pace even and steady, barely glanced my way. Still, the brief connection hit me like a ripple of tension, my body stiffening as if bracing for something more. When he disappeared down the path, I exhaled slowly, the unease lingering. The last thing I needed was someone asking questions I couldn’t answer.

The chill of the evening began to creep in as the breeze picked up, threading through my hair and raising goosebumps along my arms. I should’ve left, but the thought felt too much like giving up. Not yet.

The shark tooth swayed lightly as I shifted and stood, its weight both comforting and suffocating. My gaze lingered on the waves below, their endless rhythm softening as dusk settled in. The ocean was still beautiful, still untamed, and I hated it just a little bit less.

As I bent to pick up my bag, my fingers brushed against a weathered wooden post tucked into the grass. A faint path, nearly swallowed by the overgrowth, dipped down the cliffside. It was narrow and uneven, the kind of trail that dared you to follow it. My hand tightened briefly on my bag strap, curiosity prickling faintly at the edges of my mind. The trail looked unused, forgotten, like a secret the overlook had been keeping.

For a moment, I considered stepping forward, testing the uneven ground beneath my feet. But I didn’t. Not yet.

The cliffs would still be here tomorrow. The ocean’s pull would still be there, waiting for me to stop running. For now, I’d survived another day.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.