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Eric sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll give you two weeks to come to terms with letting him go, Cathy. If you don’t give your permission in two weeks, we’ll take legal action. I can’t allow you to keep my son trapped here in this bed when I know he wants to go.”

Hot waves of anger and fear hit Cathy in the face. She whirled around, bent down and kissed Brad’s cheek. The aftershave mixed with his scent filled her nostrils. She stopped for a moment before Eric. “Please, hear me. I do not give my permission to stop his life support. Do you understand?” She turned to Dr. Gentzelman. “You are not allowed to stop those machines.”

Cathy waited for Dr. Gentzelman’s small nod then stormed out of the hospital room.

She made her way out of the building on autopilot, Eric’s words thundering in her ears, until she came to a stop at her yellow Volkswagen New Beetle in the parking lot. Getting inside made her feel like a giant trying to fit into a porcelain cup. She would so much rather drive a Range Rover, which would fit her height and size much better. But Brad was right. Small cars saved the environment and made parking easier, and the color radiated the sun.

Radiated California.

So unlike her.

But as long as their surfboards fit, that was all they needed.

Cathy had already strapped her board to the roof rack as she’d planned on catching some waves after teaching her yoga class. But after the conversation she’d just had, yoga was the last thing on her mind. She called in sick with the studio then maneuvered out of the hospital parking lot into the surprisingly warm winter’s day.

Anger and desperation whirled inside her, boiling, bashing.

She needed to be at the beach. Where everything had started. Where she’d first met Brad five years ago. Where they had planned to open a surf and yoga school. Where they were supposed to get married.

And where the people who were supposed to be his friends had driven Brad away—to his death.

Not death! He was not dead yet.

The drive to Sonada Beach crawled, and Cathy watched the familiar scene flash by—the houses, palm trees and hills she had seen countless times on the same ride with Brad. Finally, Cathy parked up the hill and quickly changed into her wetsuit. It was hot pink—Brad had chosen the color as a joke.

“This will scream ‘California girl,’” he’d said through his laughter when she’d opened the gift and her jaw had hit the floor.

The truth was, Cathy couldn’t feel any less like a California girl in it. Despite being vegan for eight years, despite hours of daily yoga, her body just wanted to stay curvy. Underneath the fat were muscles, but in the wetsuit Cathy felt like a giant hot-pink ball of human flesh.

She missed him physically, as though she were a bird and her wings no longer worked without him. Maybe being in the ocean would help her connect with him. Find his spirit, ask it to go back to him. Maybe he was just lost somewhere out there, in the waves, and if she found him, she could help him return to his body.

Or maybe that was just a bunch of New Age crap.

Cathy gathered her hair into a messy bun, took her surfboard and walked down a rocky path towards the white beach hidden between the hills.

She spotted them from above. Cathy was willing to sell her soul to the Devil for a chance that they wouldn’t notice her. But even the Devil couldn’t hide her glowing hot-pink wetsuit. The five of them stopped before Cathy, four middle-aged men and Miranda. The guys were not in the best form, a couple of them with beer bellies. Jason was the most chiseled. Miranda was petite but had the physique of a bodybuilder and the tan of someone who spent hours in the sun. They scowled at her.

“What are you doing here?” Miranda said. “You’re not allowed on the beach.”

Cathy curled into a ball internally. Most surfers weren’t like these guys. Most were like Brad, laid-back, traveling the world and enjoying the ocean. Miranda and the gang never left California. They’d grown up with one of the most magnificent beaches in the world right in their backyard, and they refused to share it. Unfortunately, surf localists weren’t just a problem here. And the police couldn’t do anything about them, nor could public protests.

But she wouldn’t let them get to her this time. “Are you continuing your bullying, even after what happened to Brad? Seriously, you guys are like teenagers on a schoolyard. Grow up.”

“Maybe so,” Jason said. “But someone needs to protect our beach. Look at this.” He swept a hand towards the beach. There were just three people in the water and no one except Cathy and the group on the beach. The bay was spectacular. Smooth sand, tall cliffs, and waves breaking against a point. “Why do you think Sonada isn’t crowded like Malibu or El Porto? Because we protect it. Brad grew up here, too. He became a world champion being trained on these waves, in this freedom. If we allow every tourist here, you wouldn’t be able to spit without hitting someone.”

“Especially if you guys had opened your damn yoga and surfing school,” Miranda said.

Yes, that was the reason they had driven him away from the beach, making him choose, Cathy or the group. Cathy or the beach.

He’d chosen Cathy.

Fight for yourself, Cathy. Stand up to them like he did.

“You guys aren’t even sorry,” she said. “Don’t you see that he almost died because of you?”

Miranda shook her head. Jason looked down, his nostrils flaring.

“If you want to blame anyone for what happened to him,” Miranda said. “Blame yourself. He was one of us. Our world champion. He’d never have left the beach if it wasn’t for you. You planted the idea of opening that school in his head.”