He's a surfer. A loner. A man on a quest to rid himself of pesky feelings. After his grandfather passes away, Cal Prescott begins to see life differently. Money wants his attention, women beckon, and the pursuit of success becomes a cycle he can't seem to break. Follow Cal from age sixteen to forty-five, from 1985 to 2014, from the tangerine fields of Ojai to the neon streets of Miami Beach — from being ready to take on the world to hitting the bottom of the sea. Cal spends half his life waiting for the perfect wave to break over the horizon, looking for comfort, searching for peace — and he'll chase every last drop of water ... until he finds release. Author Note: Part of the two-book series: The Ocean Series. The Ocean in His Veins may be read as a companion to the main title Where the Ocean Meets the Sky or as a standalone. Please be advised that...

I chose Jessica. I married her. She saved me. Me — Jonathan Drazen. What would happen if the wind shifted direction? If I made new suggestions? I changed my line of sight. I started to focus on the unattainable because nothing was out of my reach. Nothing. Children. Happiness. Success. I had the universe by a string. A yo-yo. I could bring it up or down. I could fit it inside my pocket and carry it anywhere I pleased. Then why did I have an uneasy feeling? The kind of sensation an animal feels just before a storm or an earthquake? It was subtle enough to ignore, yet strong enough to prick me, reminding me that denial would result in severe repercussions to my psyche or my marriage. Suffer now or suffer later. I had a choice. Fly away from the clouds or dive head first into the nebula. **

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. How many days since my last confession? Forty-two… I dreamt about man number two … again. His hands. The sound of his voice. The opposite of penance. The epitome of sin. I’d become guilty of cheating — only in my imagination — on a man I hadn't even slept with … yet. And then, there was another man... The good man. Man number one. I couldn't get caught up in his smell, or his beard, his paints, his skin. I’d met him at the shelter. I didn't need to pay attention or speak to him…But I did. Man one had become my salvation. Man two was only temptation. A fig. A poisoned apple. I wouldn't lose God for a snake — a suit who represented the one thing in my life I loved to hate. I wouldn't give up my creed or sobriety for an orgasm. But maybe I could have a swallow … a taste. One drink. I made myself promises I could no longer keep. **