Jax

I was minding my own business, trying to get from one job to the next when my pathetically boring life flashed before my eyes on the most beautiful highway in the country. A car with a death wish veered right in front of me.

"Shit!" I braked hard, narrowly missing the bumper of the old VW Bug driven by a maniac. The car swerved across my lane and into the far left turn lane and braked hard. My coffee spilled onto my board shorts, but I didn't bother looking down to assess the damage just yet. I glared at the driver, ready to say something through the open windows as I passed, when I laid eyes on the maniac.

Her blonde head was tossed back in a laugh, her smile broad and carefree. The wind was whipping her two braids, the ends of which lay right above two rock hard nipples poking through a flimsy tank top. Her raised hand brought my attention back up to big sunglasses covering her eyes. I bit back my scathing comment, distracted by the split-second vision of hippie perfection. I flicked my eyes back to the road and then couldn't help but look back at her in the rearview mirror.

Who the hell was that?

I'd lived in HB my whole life and I'd never seen a more attractive female. As a lifeguard, I saw hoards of scantily clad females who visited the beaches and thought it would be fun to flirt with a lifeguard for the day. They were usually fun, cute, and a nice distraction while working, which was all it ever was.

But a non-bra-wearing hippie in a vintage Bug she couldn't drive for shit got my attention. Coffee stains long forgotten, I wondered who she was and how I could find her again. The nipples might have gotten my attention since I was, in fact, a warm-blooded male, but it was the whole package that pole-axed me. The braids, the restored old car, the oversized white-rimmed sunglasses, the carefree laugh, the gesture of apology.

Then I shook my head and laughed at myself. I seriously needed to get laid if I was obsessing over a half second exchange with a girl I'd never met before and would likely never see again. That I understood. I hadn't dated anyone in forever, so it made sense I was acting like a total love-sick sap.

After my last girlfriend, I had no interest in getting serious with anyone for a long while. Besides, between my lifeguarding job and trying to keep The Shack afloat, I was tapped out. Any bed time was strictly for sleeping. Any leftover energy was used up doing repairs on The Shack that I didn't have the money to hire out for.

My father had owned and operated The Surf Shack for as long as I can remember. I used to work alongside him, probably getting in his way more than helping, when I was a little boy. I'd learned all about the ocean, how to have fun in the water safely, and the value of hard work by the time I hit high school. When I graduated, I took up lifeguarding full-time and filling in at The Shack instead of college. The Shack was in the black, but there wasn't much left over for things like an expensive college education.

When my father passed away unexpectedly two years ago, he'd left the business to me and I bore the responsibility in many ways. I wanted to succeed to keep my father's legacy going, but The Shack had also become an HB institution along the way. If tourists asked around for the most 'original' Surf City USA shop to rent boards from, everyone always said The Shack. It had been around for over forty years and if it went under now, I'd have to live with that failure for the rest of my life.

The problem was, HB was booming and new rental shops were opening all over the place, taking a bunch of our business. Tourists were all about convenience and they weren't about to go further out of their way or search for precious parking further down the road to get the same boards. The boats I had in inventory were expensive to keep running smoothly, nor did I want to buy fancy new ones that might sit empty in the harbor.

The Shack was paid off and I owned the land, but between operating expenses and property taxes, I still wasn't making any profit. In fact, without my lifeguarding job, I wouldn't be able to keep it afloat. I'd only hired one employee to open the shop every day during the week when I was lifeguarding. I was on my way now to relieve him from his shift and close out the day's rentals. I'd be there in time for everyone to return their day rentals, then I had to clean all the equipment and get them ready for the next day. Before bed I'd go through invoices and make sure all the rentals were paid for and logged in my software.

Then I'd get up and do the same sixteen-hour day all over again. See why I didn't have the time nor the energy for dating?

Once I reached The Shack I went through the motions and handled all the tasks necessary to close for the day. If a certain blonde entered my head, I pushed her out and refocused on the task at hand. I trudged upstairs to my tiny apartment above the shop and threw a frozen meal in the microwave. After shoveling it down I lay on my bed, phone in hand.

A glutton for punishment, I opened up social media to scroll through my newsfeed, getting caught up on all the exciting adventures my friends were having. One buddy from high school just got back from a vacation in Hawaii. My lifeguarding buddy, Ivan, was posting pics of he and his fianceé. They were getting married in just a few months and the guy couldn't seem to wipe the smile off his face.

I couldn't help the familiar burn of jealousy that coursed through my body seeing all the accomplishments of my peers. I'd always wanted to travel the world with my backpack and immerse myself in all the cultures of the world. Finances didn't allow and now responsibility took priority. I wanted a partner in life, but again, lack of money and time due to responsibilities was making that impossible.

My eyes were glazing over as my thumb continued to scroll. Then I saw a picture that stopped my scroll. And my heart.

Jackknifing up in bed, I clicked on the picture and enlarged it. Like a train wreck, I couldn't look away from the mess in front of me. Two smiling faces lit up the screen, but my eyes zeroed in on the hand that the woman laid on the man's chest. It had a huge diamond engagement ring on it. And the hand belonged to my high school girlfriend. The love of my life. The one that left me a few years ago, after dating for eight long years, all because I didn't have enough money and never would.

I threw my phone down on the bed and hopped up. I paced my small flat like a caged animal. God, that fucking hurt. We'd broken up a long time ago, but the sting of her rejection was still fresh. Seeing her moved on, happy, and now engaged to a man wealthy enough to put that rock on her finger was like a kick to the gut.

She'd moved on, but I hadn't. I was still living in the same place, doing the same jobs. Alone. Going nowhere.

I raced down the stairs and flew out the back door. On a mission, I paced down the wood dock and hopped into a small dinghy we normally rented out a couple times a year. I laid back in the bottom of the boat and stared up at the sky, letting the star formations and the gentle rocking of the water soothe me.

As the world reformed around me, a world in which she was with another man and never again with me, I accepted the ache in my chest and welcomed it to its permanent residence. It wasn't like I wanted to be back together with her, or had spent the last five years pining for her. She'd left me over money, which was a really shitty way to treat someone you claimed to love. I just missed having someone in my life. I missed having a life, period. One that was larger than my job and this chain around my ankle, otherwise known as The Shack.

And she'd been right. I'd never be wealthy enough to give her what she wanted. To give any woman what she wanted. I had to somehow be okay with that. This was simply my fate in life and the sooner I accepted it, the better off I'd be.

I didn't have riches, but I had a family legacy, a city that supported me, and a job that got me out in the ocean, which I thrived on. My life didn't look like what I'd pictured when I was a young teen, but I was an adult now and this must be what the phrase 'man up' meant. Suck it up, buttercup.

My pathetic version of positive thinking didn't make the ache leave my chest, but it was all I could muster up at the moment. Exhaustion did funny things to emotions. It amplified the bad ones and made you feel like you couldn't escape them. Lately, that's all I ever was: exhausted.

When the houses nearby all began to turn off their lights for the night, I made my way back inside and stumbled to bed, worn out physically and emotionally.

Right before I drifted off to sleep, an image of the hippie girl in her VW, carefree and happy, flashed through my mind again. I desperately wanted just a moment of that lightheartedness. Just a moment to feel free, like I could do anything I wanted. Not a care in the world. Was that too much to ask?