Chasing Swells

by Nikki Godwin

  “You don’t have to do this,” he says. “I’ll walk you back down if you want. But then I’m going to come back up here and jump because I thrive on this whole ‘reckless abandon’ thing.”

  I look down to avoid his eyes. It’s now that I notice his swim trunks. They have palm trees on them, and I’m almost certain it’s a generic brand. I just imagined him in name brands, like Rip Curl or Hurley. It’s almost funny to me. It would be a hell of a lot funnier on land.

  “I don’t want to be a coward,” I finally say.

  “Jumping off of a waterfall doesn’t mean you have courage,” he says. “My friend Theo…Well, he used to be my friend before the…Anyway. A friend of ours actually did drown, and Theo was the lifeguard on duty when it happened. It was too late by the time he got there, but Theo blames himself. Everyone in Horn Island and Crescent Cove thinks he’s this low-down drunken loser who’ll never amount to anything.”

  I stop him there. “Why are you telling me this? Telling me about your dead friend who drowned is not encouraging.”

  “I’m getting there,” he says. “Theo fell apart, and as far as I know, he’s still broken as fuck, but he gets up every day. He puts one foot in front of the other. He still tries to make something of himself, even with the world against him and, well, being against himself. That is courage.”

  I realize what he’s getting at – that courage can be simple and I don’t have to jump – but how in the hell does he expect me to walk back to dry land after hearing about his ex-friend having enough courage to still get up every morning? If I don’t take a flying leap off of this waterfall, I might as well grow a tail and scamper off to Oz because this little lioness will be the ultimate coward.

  “I want to jump,” I say, trying to sound convincing.

  “Kaia, you don’t have–”

  “No,” I cut him off. “I need to.”

  “Okay then,” he says, motioning me back out of the cave toward Kiagwa. He takes a deep breath. “Hey, if you’re scared, I’ll hold your hand.”

  I can’t believe he just used my own line against me.

  Even worse, I can’t believe it works.

  I lock my fingers with his, and on three, I find my courage.

  Chapter Eight – Dominic

  I wait in the resort lobby for Kaia to change clothes. The bungalow is literally just down the pier, but she said if she goes back there to change, the day is officially over, and she’s not ready to end it just yet. I guess seeing your parent does kind of put the adventure on pause. So I wait.

  Sloane and Will already left to attend a dinner party with their parents. Will seemed annoyed by it, but Sloane said he always overreacts and the parties are never as horrible as he imagines they’ll be. Will said he has to wear a tie, and that alone is horrible. I’ve been dragged to plenty of events and parties to stand next to my dad and smile. I have to take Will’s side on this one.

  Kaia walks over to me from the restroom, back in her tank top and cut off shorts.

  “Where to?” I ask, hoping she has a plan. She’s seen more of the island than I have.

  But she shrugs. “I figured we could just walk down the beach,” she says. “I haven’t been much further than around the resort, except when I go somewhere with Sloane.”

  We exit the lobby, and I’m instantly more relaxed the minute my feet touch the sand. There are moments when fancy hotel lobbies feel normal because of my dad and the lifestyle we’ve had with him, but being on the beach is where I feel at home. There’s nothing better than sand, salt water, and a sunset.

  Kaia doesn’t say much as we stroll past tourists with giant umbrellas and people playing volleyball. A hot dog truck is parked near the sand’s edge with a lengthy line that wraps into the parking lot. If I bought food from a food truck, it’d definitely have to be something better than hot dogs.

  “You like frozen yogurt?” Kaia asks, drawing my attention back to her. She points ahead. “I think I’m going to get some.”

  We walk over to the small building. It looks like a surf shack, minus the surfboards and wetsuits. Clear Christmas lights hang from the roof, and the menu is listed on a chalkboard outside in girly handwriting.

  The girl behind the counter leads forward. “Hey, what can I get for you guys?” she asks.

  I motion for Kaia to order first. She debates the cup or cone for a moment before deciding on the cup. She immediately chooses cotton candy flavor. It’s a bright pink and blue swirl with a touch of purple, which feels pretty appropriate. I order a cup of toasted marshmallow, which Kaia curls her nose upon hearing.

  “I’ve got it,” I say, handing over the credit card Dad sent with me.

  I actually wish I had cash on me right now because the credit card looks haughty. Then again, if I walked around flashing hundred dollar bills on the regular, that would look pretty pretentious too. I don’t know if I’ll ever shake that image. The world may view me as a snobbish jerk for the rest of my life just because I was brought up in a well-off family. It used to work in my favor, but it’s apparently changing with the tides.

  She thanks me before we find a quiet spot in the sand away from the crowd of tourists and squealing kids. The water sloshes back and forth against the shoreline, gently swaying against the columns that hold up the pier and bungalows. I spread my extra towel out on the sand for us to sit on.

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” she says, handing my cup of toasted marshmallow frozen yogurt back to me. “Both of them really.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “But Theo’s not my friend anymore. None of my old friends are part of my life now.”

  It stings to say those words out loud. I think of the Hooligans often, how they were my crew in and out of the water, but it’s a lot easier to think of them as a whole rather than the individual parts. When I refer to them by their names, by their stories, it digs the knife so much deeper.

  Kaia scoops up a spoonful from the pink side of her cup. “What happened?”

  “I fucked up,” I say. There’s no other way around it. “I acted like I was better than them. I was entitled. I know you have this idea of who I am, the spoiled rich kid who always gets his way and only has to make a phone call to his dad to make something happen. A lot of people see me that way, and I get why they do. That’s who I was. But then I was knocked off my high horse...a few times actually...and it was a rude awakening.”

  She pokes her spoon into the creamy blue in her cup. “What’s the real story?” she asks.

  The coldness in my mouth leaves me longing for a bonfire with real s’mores and toasted marshmallows. The last time I was at a bonfire on the beach, I was pretty drunk, and A.J. Gonzalez threatened to bust a beer bottle over my head again. That was last summer, but it feels like years ago. A lifetime ago.

  “What do you mean?” I ask. There’s no telling which story she’s referring to.

  “The last year of your life,” she says before angling her body to face me. “You had a falling out with your friends. Dropped out of school. And now you’re here. Fill in the gaps for me. All I have to go on is tabloid fodder.”

  “Fodder,” I repeat.

  “Hey, I know a few words,” she counters. “I may not have your fancy rich boy education, but when it comes to tabloids, I’ve got you beat any day.”

  I scoop up a spoonful and savor the taste before the garbage story of my past comes out of my mouth. I know that deep down, she already thinks the worst of me, even if she’s trying to give me the benefit of doubt right now.

  “I used to live in this place called Horn Island,” I begin. “It’s pretty ghetto. Dirty beaches. Not somewhere you want to raise a family. When my parents divorced, my dad remarried pretty quickly, and he fought for my sister and me to live with him because Crescent Cove was safer, had a better school system, and so on. He eventually won.”

  I decide it’s probably better to leave out the part where my dad married someone fifteen years younger than him and purchased the biggest house Crescent Cove ha
d to offer at the time.

  “My childhood friends were some of the guys I ended up surfing with. They were pretty territorial about their waves, so we started our own surf gang,” I say. “The West Coast Hooligans. We were like eleven, but that didn’t stop us from trying to take people down.”

  She laughs, and I wish I could too, but the empty piece of me that’s shaped like Horn Island won’t let me laugh. I know where this story goes. I tell her about Shark McAllister and how he had this lifelong dream to open his own surf shop. He eventually did – Drenaline Surf. We all saw it as our opportunity to take surfing to the next level, to be superstars of the sport, and we’d have someone behind us to support us.

  “When he died, his best friend inherited the store. Vin Brooks is the last person you would ever imagine in the surf business. Dude wears tennis shoes on the beach. He’s not into it at all,” I explain. “But he’s one hell of a businessman. Drenaline Surf is doing better than ever before, and I credit Vin for it. He may not like the ocean, but he knows the surf world and how to work it.”

  I hesitate before continuing because I don’t like going back to that day. I don’t like going back to that competition. I don’t like going back to Miles Garrett.

  “Of all the guys, Miles was my polar opposite,” I say. “He lived in a trailer park. His mom didn’t do right by him or his little brother. His dad wasn’t around. He was rough around every edge. Quickest to throw a punch but also the quickest to doubt himself. Survival is all he ever knew, and that’s what he did. Success was nothing because he just wanted to make it through the day. I, on the other hand, wanted to be ten steps ahead of everyone else at the end of the day.”

  Putting those words into the island air feels like I’m spraying the land with horrific graffiti and slurs. Miles deserved better than how I acted. He fought like hell in that event. He surfed like a freak in that final. He won that event fair and square, and I never even told him congratulations. If I thought he’d actually talk to me, I’d text him right now and apologize for everything that happened that day and since then. But my number is probably blocked.

  “We were both competing for a sponsorship, and Miles had a history of choking under pressure,” I say. “He never wanted to make the world tour or travel the world. He just wanted to be a local legend and get paid to surf. It seemed unfair to me. I wanted the big leagues, but surf dreams are surf dreams, big or small. I couldn’t grasp that back then.”

  “Back then? It wasn’t that long ago,” Kaia reminds me.

  “Feels like it,” I say, stretching my legs out over the sand. “He won that day, and he deserved it. But I was entitled. I ran my mouth a lot, saying how he always chokes and how he only won because his best friend is Vin’s brother. I said it was rigged. I called him white trash. Believe me, if it could be said, I said it. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I never lost. I got everything I wanted. Then all of a sudden, I didn’t.”

  Of all the things I regret in my life, what happened with Miles is at the top of the list. He’s the one person I owe an apology to more than anyone else. If I died tomorrow in a free surf, I’d be left to roam the earth seeking a medium who could visit Miles and relay my unfinished business.

  “Would it really be that hard to text him and tell him you’re sorry?” Kaia asks. “Obviously you’re not going to let go of this. It was what, a year ago? Maybe you just need to swallow your pride and text him. DM him on Instagram. Mail a letter to his house. Even if he never responds, at least you’ll know you said what you needed to say.”

  I wish it was that easy. I could type the words and hit ‘send’ any time, but I always told Cassie it was too impersonal, that I needed to say it to his face so he’d know I really meant it. Honestly, though, the reason I haven’t apologized is because I’m afraid he wouldn’t accept it.

  “That’s the thing,” I say. “I could apologize, but…” I hesitate to say the words. “I’m still that entitled jackass who wants something out of it. I want redemption. I want him to forgive me. I want my friends back. It’s selfish, yeah, but I just want to go back home.”

  Kaia scrapes the bottom of her cup, trying to salvage the last bit of frozen yogurt. Mine has mostly melted in the cup while I told her about Miles and the Hooligans and how I’m pretty sure I’ve messed things up forever.

  “You are entitled,” she confirms. “And you’re a spoiled rich kid. But you’re not as awful as I thought you’d be.”

  I tilt my head back to drink my melted toasted marshmallow. “Wow. Thanks,” I mumble when I pull the cup away from my mouth.

  “I wasn’t finished, jerk,” she snaps. “I was going to say, before you so rudely interrupted me, that I think you can find redemption. I think you can still go back home, back to your crew and your dirty beaches and even to this Drenaline Surf place that you’re stuck on.”

  “And how am I going to accomplish this?” I ask.

  She looks me directly in the eye, and my heart falters. Her face is softer than usual, void of that harsh glare she gives me across the dinner table. For once, she looks as though she cares, as if she’s finally cracked that wall she’s been hiding behind and is thinking about stepping outside to let the daylight shine on her. The sunset casts a golden hue across her summer tan, making her glow better than any bronzer she could buy in a store.

  Then she smiles. “With my help,” she says.

  I lean closer to her, close enough to smell the little bit of coconut shampoo that Kiagwa didn’t wash away. “And how exactly do you plan on helping me?”

  “Like this,” she whispers.

  Her hand reaches for my cheek and her thumb drags along my jaw line. The streak of golden sun between us closes into darkness as she leans toward me, pressing her soft lips against mine. I close my eyes and sink into her, tangling my hand in her still-damp hair, pulling me closer to me.

  And just as quickly as the moment happened, she pulls away. Her face is consumed with instant regret. I’d know that look anywhere, even though I don’t want to admit that’s what I’m seeing.

  “Kaia, wait. What’s wrong?” I reach for her hand, but she stands, grabbing her bag and distancing herself from me.

  “My dad’s your coach,” she says. “This was a mistake. I’m so stupid.”

  I scramble to my feet, but she hurries away, leaving me with two empty cups, two plastic spoons, and a beach towel in the sand.

  Chapter Nine – Kaia

  The last week has fallen into a pretty steady routine, and it’s allowed me to hide out for the most part. Dominic’s boards arrived the day after the kiss heard around St. Catalina Island. Dad went into super coach mode afterward. They’ve been up with the dawn, heading out to the lineup before the sun has officially risen in the morning sky.

  I’ve been sleeping in each day and heading to the resort to meet up with Sloane once I’m up. I’m sure her parents are tired of her dragging the random vacationer back to their house, but her dad is always at work, and her mom is either at garden parties, high society events, or ladies only cruises.

  Will doesn’t seem to mind that I lounge in their pool and watch chick flicks with his sister all day every day. Island life isn’t so bad, but I do feel a little stir crazy knowing we’re surrounded by water and can’t just take off on the interstate on a road trip.

  “You really haven’t talked to him about the kiss?” Sloane asks, slicing a butcher knife into a fresh watermelon. “I mean, you guys are staying in the same house, and you just ignore each other?”

  “Pretty much,” I say. I hop onto a barstool but don’t offer to help. I’m too preoccupied. “I knew better. It was just…one of those ‘in the moment’ things. We’d jumped off the waterfall earlier, and he was telling me all these things about his life back home. I blame you. You’re the one putting all this rom-com movie junk in my head.”

  “Hey! I resent that,” she counters. “I can’t help it if I’m hopelessly optimistic about romance and love. I had no part in you pressing your lips aga
inst his.”

  She’s right about that. I have no one to blame but myself. I don’t know if it was the island, Kiagwa, or the West Coast Hooligans, but something got to me in that moment. Maybe it was the frozen yogurt.

  It doesn’t matter, though. He has employed my dad to make him a star in the surf world, and dating the coach’s daughter is a huge liability. If things didn’t work out, it’d leave my dad without a job or it’d be awkward as hell since my dad would be traveling with my ex-boyfriend.

  This is why we can’t happen. He can’t be my boyfriend because he may turn into an ex-boyfriend, and I really don’t know if I can handle seeing another girl posting shirtless pictures of him on Instagram while she snuggles up next to him and rests her hand against the sexy vein that pops in his arm.

  This would be a lot easier to let go of if he wasn’t so incredibly beautiful. And educated. And freakishly talented. And a good kisser.

  “You know what?” Sloane says, pushing a plate of sliced watermelon toward me. “There’s a party at Will’s friend’s house tomorrow night. You should come. It’ll be a fun night away from Dominic. You can spend the night with me after.”

  “Will there be drinks?” I ask.

  She laughs. “Yes, there are always drinks.”

  Dad makes a joke about how I have been living out of my beach bag lately, but it’s not that funny because it’s the truth. He probably knows better than the lie I fed him about spending the night at Sloane’s to binge watch The Rainwater Trilogy on DVD. I’ve never been one for paranormal romance, but I figured he’d believe the werewolf movies over Sloane’s collection of Kate Hudson films.

  “Just be careful. Have fun. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t want a future employer to know about,” he says before hugging me and retreating to his room for the night.