Noa stared at the sea like it could swallow that news for him. The sun was rising all pretty, waves breaking like always — fuck it. Nothing made sense. Everything felt paused. Pregnant. The word hammered in his head like a sledgehammer. Loud. Ugly. Surreal. It was supposed to be just one night, damn it.

The salty wind messed up his wet hair but he didn’t even blink. He just sat there on the board like he forgot how to stand up. His chest felt heavy, his hands shook — not from fear, but from… fuck, not knowing what the hell to do. He remembered her laughing in the car afterward, skin salty and sandy, full of desire. That raw freedom he always chased. Now it just felt like a badly told cosmic joke.

She didn't even cry when she told her. He just played in the air. Straight. Direct. As it always was. And him? That there was always a joke ready, a sharp answer... shut up. Crashed. The throbbing head. The dry throat. It seemed like time had stopped in a fucked up looping. He didn't run, but he didn't know how to stay either. He said he needed to think. But what the fuck to think about?

The truth was he never planned shit. Never wanted molds, formulas, those fuckin’ things. And now here he was, carrying the weight of a life that didn’t even exist yet. A kid. A little dude who might have his eyes. Or her laugh. Fuck. How do you love someone if you don’t even know how to love yourself?

He was with her in the sand, not knowing if he wanted to run or scream or dig a hole and disappear for a good few weeks. He only remembered her voice. From the annoying calm when I said "I just thought you should know". Without asking for anything. No drama. And that hurt more than any shack.

And then, of course, there’s him — Liam Kavanagh. The golden ghost. Dad of the year on Instagram, nowhere to be found in real life. Missing for months, then popping up in headlines with that surfer smile from sunscreen commercials. “Liam Kavanagh, wave legend and model dad.” Fuck off. Noa promised to be everything but him. But look where he ended up.

The world spun. The sea rolled on. But he was stuck. Caught between what he was and what maybe he could be. On the outside, still the sarcastic surfer dude, the guy who laughed at everything. Inside? High tide, brutal silence. And a wild urge to either freak out, disappear, or hell, maybe just learn how not to fuck everything up.