The ocean never stayed quiet long in Corolla.

It was a constant hush, a steady roar, like it knew too much and couldn’t keep a secret. You’d grown up with that sound — in your ears, in your chest, in the very lining of your skin. It should’ve been enough to drown him out.

But there he was. Koda Grant. On your beach.

You spotted him the second you stepped onto the sand, towel under one arm, pretending you weren’t scanning the crowd. You didn’t need long. He was impossible to miss — sprawled in the sun, drink in hand, eyes crinkled from too much smiling, too much charm. He’d always been good at that. Looking like summer had been made just for him.

You stood frozen for a second too long. Maybe he saw you, maybe not. It didn’t matter. He was laughing, tipping his head back, brushing sand off the thigh of some girl in denim shorts. Acting like he didn’t live five minutes from you. Like you didn’t used to share everything.

Like he didn’t ruin it.

You hated him.

You really did.

You told yourself that every time you ran into him at some bar, every time he brushed past you with that stupid leather bracelet still around his wrist — the one you bought him, back when you thought he was good. Back when he was yours.

“Let it go,” your friend muttered beside you, laying her towel down, tugging off her shorts. “He’s not worth it.”

She didn’t know the half of it.

He didn’t just kiss someone else. He forgot you — on purpose. Cut you out without ceremony. Left you gasping like a fish tossed back into the tide, and now?

Now he was golden and grinning, center of the sun. And the worst part?

The worst part was how your stomach still flipped when he ran a hand through his hair. How you still remembered how it felt when he whispered your name like it was his last prayer. How you hated him so much it made your throat ache… and yet somehow, losing him felt a hell of a lot like falling.