by Jordan Ford
Over the Falls
Ryder Bay #1
Jordan Ford
Contents
Author’s Note
1. The End
2. Born to Ride the Waves
3. Riding the Express to Hoser-Town
4. An Elite on Foreign Sand
5. Rainbow Spikes for the Stick Boy
6. The Great Divide
7. A Slow Trip to Loser-ville
8. Best Friends and Question Marks
9. Busy Getting Basic
10. Where’s a Good Salesman When You Need One?
11. Harley Question Mark
12. A Longboard Lesson from the Past
13. Surfing in the Sand
14. Sniffing the Greenbacks
15. Queen Cool’s Party Invite
16. A Place to Call Home
17. Questions That Don’t Want to be Answered
18. Corn chips, Guacamole & Real Talk
19. Whiplash
20. It’s All About Self-Defense
21. Salty Words
22. Don’t Mess with the Acronym Thing
23. Indecision on the White Tile
24. A Drug-Free Sleeping Pill
25. A Slice of the Blues
26. Screw Danger & Live a Little
27. The Peaceful Blue
28. Pocket Knife Painting
29. Biting Words & Screeching Tires
30. Over the Falls
31. A Brain-Hurting Tennis Match
32. A Flashing Yellow Arrow
33. Disco Parties & Olive Branches
34. A White Mansion with an Ocean View
35. Liberation
36. Illumination
37. Blood in the Water
38. Don’t Let Go
39. A Savvy Without A Sky
40. Mission Accomplished
41. Slipped into the Night
42. Cracks in the Concrete
43. Life Can Be Blurry Sometimes
44. A Place to Hide
45. The Only Girl
46. Preservation
47. Bad News from Mr. Dreadlocks
48. A Really Bad Idea
49. Drunken Disorder at the Cove
50. Tasting Death
51. Worlds Change
52. BMF Restoration
53. My Surfer Girl from the South End
54. The Beginning
Dear reader…
BONUS FEATURES
© Copyright 2019 Jordan Ford
www.jordanfordbooks.com
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
Cover art (copyright) by Emily Wittig Designs & Photography
https://www.facebook.com/emilywittigdesignsandphotography/
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
ISBN: 978-0-473-46487-5
For Lenore…
The reader every author needs.
You really are the best.
Author’s Note
This book (this series) started with a vision that I had on a beach in Australia. I saw Harley in my mind, cruising down the road on her skateboard, her blonde hair flying out behind her, and a surfboard tucked under her arm. She was strong, independent, fearless. And I immediately loved her.
That one image created an entire world, and I’m so excited to invite you into it. I hope you fall in love with Ryder Bay and the characters who live there. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go to a beach again without them wandering through my mind.
My prayer is that this book will help you escape to the beach for a while. That you can laugh a little, have your heartstrings pulled and ultimately fall in love. Enjoy the journey.
I’d like to thank some key people for helping me put this novel together:
Lenore, Beth, Rachael, Kristin & my proofreading team. I love working with you all so much. You challenge me to be better, and I’m so grateful for that.
My readers who have turned my daydreams into a career. Thank you for your help. I wouldn’t even be doing this job if it wasn’t for you.
My family for their constant love and encouragement.
And to Jesus. You are my lifeline, my rescuer and the love of my life. Thank you for holding me up when I’m sinking and filling me with a constant hope that surpasses my understanding.
Welcome to Ryder Bay.
Happy reading!
xx
Jordan
1
The End
AIDAN
One dive. Two fifty-meter lengths.
Less than two minutes of my life. That’s it.
Then it’s over.
But a lot can happen in two minutes.
Your world can be made…or broken.
“Swimmers, take your mark!”
“I’m sorry.”
As I step onto the block, Savannah’s is the only voice I can hear. She’s in the crowd somewhere, watching me. Well, not me. She’ll be here supporting the entire Walton Warriors swim team. It’s not just about me anymore.
Yet she still consumes me.
The cheering crowd, the officials standing poolside to make sure no one cheats. It’s all white noise and blur.
“Set!”
I crouch into my dive position.
“I know we’ve been together for nearly a year, but…”
And the buzzer sounds.
My legs push off the block, propelling me into the water, because that’s what they’ve been trained to do. I slice through the surface and pump my hips and legs, gaining as much momentum as I can before rising back to the top. My arms swing in an automatic crawl. It’s almost robotic now, I’ve been doing it for so long.
All those early mornings, the hours in the pool—length after length, drill after drill.
It’s for moments like this.
And all I can hear is…
“But…”
I slice my arms through the water, five strokes, breathe. Push hard. Kick. Head down, stay streamline.
I can’t focus on the swimmers either side of me. This is my race. My strongest stroke. The one Coach thinks I can place in. The one my parents are expecting me to win.
I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out the noise.
It’s dumb.
Blindness doesn’t make me deaf.
Savannah’s sweet voice still echoes in my brain like a fog horn.
“But…”
I open my eyes.
The tumble turn is approaching.
I reach the wall and curve my body just before I hit. Spinning around, I push hard off the tiles and propel my body forward.
I’m not in the lead.
I need to swim faster.
To win.
But my muscles are already sluggish. I still have another fifty meters to go. Such a short distance, yet it seems so far today.
Maybe even too far.
“But…”
That was the first word to ruin my life. The ones that followed were spiky nails driven into my heart. Sting
ing bullets that disabled me.
“I’m just not feeling it anymore.”
Her words hurt then. And now, even though a few weeks have passed, they’re acting like anchors. Weights attached to my chest, hindering my shoulders, sinkers dragging my ankles to the bottom of the pool.
“I don’t mean to hurt you, Aidan, but there’s no point staying together when this isn’t going anywhere.”
I squeeze my eyes against the words, wishing I could cover my ears and block them out. Wishing I could shove my fingers into my brain and scratch the words clear.
But I can’t do that.
They stay.
They cling.
They slow me down.
“I’m sorry.”
“But…”
The end is near, I can see it approaching. I have to push hard. I have to win. To prove I’m worthy. To prove she’s made a huge mistake.
She’ll be watching.
I kick harder, stretch farther than I’ve ever stretched before.
My lungs are burning.
My legs are cooked spaghetti.
I hit the wall.
I’m finished.
I’m done.
Whipping off my goggles, I stare up at the board, scanning for my placing.
My chest deflates, like someone’s stuck a syringe into me and is sucking out what’s left of my oxygen.
“It’s over.”
Those were her final words before she spun and left me standing by my car—shocked, bereft, alone.
It took her less than two minutes to destroy my world.
“It’s over.”
And I lost.
2
Born to Ride the Waves
HARLEY
And it’s a win for me today!
Three-foot swells at eighteen-second intervals with a light offshore breeze—near perfect surfing conditions. And those beautiful waves are hitting the Ryder Bay shoreline just when I want to be here.
Ryder Bay used to be the undiscovered jewel of the California coastline. With a point break coming off the old pier, it’s the perfect surfing spot for the locals. Apparently, my grandfather was one of those guys who used to surf around here. I wouldn’t really know. I never met the guy. In fact, I didn’t even set foot in Ryder Bay until after he passed away and left his house to my mom.
She took the chance and moved us here when I was fourteen.
I wish I could have met him.
I wish he’d been the one to teach me how to surf. When I found that box of old photos and saw the one of him on his board, and that smile on his face, I’m pretty sure we would have been kindred spirits.
But no, I learned to surf from a guy I thought I loved. The guy who broke my freshman heart but left me with a passion for the waves. In retrospect, I got the better end of the deal…as long as I never think about how it all ended.
I push the ugly thoughts aside and can’t help but smile as I sit on the water, my legs dangling over the sides of my board. A new set is rolling in. I watch it closely as I wait in the midday sunshine, dragging my hands through the salty ocean.
I glance to my left. The old pier in the distance is like a crooked finger, marking the south end of the beach. The end where my people come from—the originals who loved this little town just the way it was, before the money and the condos started coming in. I know I arrived after that development began, but I moved into the south. I am a legacy of my grandpa, and that makes me an original. No one is ever going to convince me otherwise.
I turn my gaze to the right and frown at the north end. It’s changed so much, even in the three years I’ve lived here. It sometimes worries me how much more it will progress and develop.
Will we be overrun by buttheads who don’t really understand the rustic beauty of this place?
The sound of the waves building in the distance drags my eyes back to the horizon. I can feel them coming, the energy flowing through the water. There’s something almost spiritual about being out here like this.
Time seems to disappear. I have no idea how long I’ve been surfing today. I’ve already caught a ton of decent-sized waves. Sure, I’ve had to share a few. With surf reports like this, I was expecting that. Axel and his crew are out in force. The three of them—actually, four. There’s been a new guy hanging around lately. Crew cut, olive skin, a big tattoo on one of his muscly arms. He’s Shane’s brother or cousin. Ripper, I think?
I don’t know what kind of name that is. His real name is probably Stanley or Arthur or something, so he chose Ripper as a cool nickname.
I snort.
Although I want to mock it, I totally understand.
I’ve been branded with the kind of name you avoid telling people as well. Not my first. That’s okay, but telling people my last name is just plain humiliating.
I glance at the crew—all guys in their early to mid-twenties. Axel seems to be their leader. He’s tall, muscular, and can be damn intimidating when he wants to be. His skin is black, his eyes are so dark brown they look black as well, and when he’s pissed, you don’t want to look into them. He keeps his head completely shaved. There’s not even fuzz up there. It’s like an eight ball.
I don’t know where he’s from originally. He has a slight accent, which tells me he was born somewhere in Africa, but I don’t know which country. My conversations with him are only ever short, shallow, and based around surfing.
He’s passionate about the sport. They all are. They follow the waves. Live for them. They don’t worry about pesky jobs and stupid high school. Basically, their only concern when they wake each morning is deciding which beach to hit for the best set of waves.
They have to be careful about invading other surfers’ turf. From what I know, they stick to a few main spots unless the surf is dead; then they venture out looking for sweet rides farther down the coast.
On a day like today, they’ll get pissy with newbies. Thankfully they leave me alone because I know the rules and I stay out of their way. I think they kind of like me, maybe think of me as their little blonde mascot or something. I hang around on the edges—not close enough to be in, far enough away to not be annoying.
There’s a certain safety in my solitude.
The energy in the water shifts gears. I feel it between my fingers and squint against the sunlight. The waves are gaining serious momentum and turning into something I can surf.
I lie down on my board and start to paddle, keeping an eye on the surfers around me.
Axel’s bald head flashes in my periphery.
Will we be racing for this one, or will he let me have it?
I glance his way and notice him back off. His white teeth flash for the briefest second, and I silently thank him before duck-diving underneath the first wave.
I want to get myself into a better position.
My arms start to ache as I force them to paddle harder. My body is telling me that my surfing session should wrap up soon, but to hell with that. I might take a break after this ride, but I’ll be back in the water after a drink. Maybe I’ll finish that banana I started eating on my skate over here. Work doesn’t start for another couple of hours, and I’m not wasting a second of my time doing anything other than surfing.
Spinning my board around, I watch the wave as it rises behind me, feeling its power surging beneath me. That excited thrill I live for spirals through my body as I paddle, paddle, paddle.
My board catches the wave and I rise to my feet, laughing as I do an easy bottom turn to travel along the wave, then quickly snap my board up. Water sprays over the top of the board and I dip back down, smiling at the rush.
This is the best frickin’ feeling in the world.
Flicking my board up, I go for a roundhouse cutback, then skim along the wave before building for an off-the-lip to finish. As the wave dies, I jump from my board and splash into the water.
The cold, salty ocean envelopes me and I surge to the top, capturing my board as I break the surface.
Freaking aweso
me!
I whoop to the sky and rest my head back on the water. My hair floats behind me, my body weightless as I soak in the moment.
There is nothing more peaceful and exhilarating than being out in the ocean.
It’s where I’m meant to be.
3
Riding the Express to Hoser-Town
AIDAN
First the worst, second the best… the childhood rhyme sings in my head and I finish it off with my own lyrics…fourth—not even on the damn podium.
I stare up at Simon’s gold medal and momentarily hate him. It’s just a flash, and I instantly shove the emotion aside. I don’t hate my friend. I’m proud of him. He deserves the win. As does Craig with his silver and Jonah with his bronze. Walton Academy cleaned up at this year’s meet. We are the crowning jewels of high school SoCal swimming.
