Chapter 5
If this is what I get for being a hero, I’m done with heroics.
Miles
I whistle as I open my surf shack. Early morning is my favorite time to surf. The water is glassy, creating clean peaks. And there aren’t many tourists around yet.
This morning is an exceptional morning to surf. The swells are at least ten seconds, creating powerful, less choppy waves. And the offshore wind is blowing from the beach toward the ocean, creating cleaner, more organized waves.
My body hums with excitement as I grasp a few surfboards. I have a group of five students this morning. It’s their fifth lesson. We’ve been out on the water before but only to ride small foam waves. I’m hoping today is the day they learn how to stand up on their own and catch some real waves.
There’s nothing more satisfying than watching a person who didn’t know how to paddle a few days ago pop up on their board and ride a wave. I scowl. Nothing more satisfying? I can think of a few hundred more satisfying things. They all begin and end with Hazel.
“Hey!” Natalie greets.
“Good morning.” I smile at her and her friends. “Are you ready to ride some waves?”
Barbara bites her bottom lip. “I don’t know. I’m struggling with popping up.”
“We can practice on the beach.”
Carly elbows her. “I’m done practicing on the beach. I’m ready to ride those waves.”
Jolie and Etta nod in agreement.
I rub my hands together. “Let’s review ocean safety and wave selection before we get into the water.”
Jolie groans. “We’ve heard you lecture about ocean safety and wave selection every morning. I think we get it.”
I rest my hands on my hips. “I guess you already checked the weather this morning, then.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Checked the weather? You check the weather for us.”
“I won’t always be here. Today is your fifth and last lesson.”
Etta bats her eyelashes at me. “But you’ll be around here to help us if we need it.”
I bite back a groan. These ladies have been flirting with me since the first minute of the first lesson. My refusal to engage hasn’t deterred them one bit.
“I’m not always here,” I lie. I try to surf every morning before going to work. “And when you return home, you’ll need to check the weather on your own.”
Jolie giggles. “We live in Omaha. There’s not a whole lot of surfing in Nebraska.”
“We’re going home in two days,” Natalie adds. “You should join us for drinks at the Bootlegger bar tonight.”
“I’ll think about it.”
I have no interest in having drinks with these women. Especially not at Bootlegger, which is full of tourists – mostly college students celebrating Spring Break – this time of year. But I know better than to say no. They’ll badger me until I change my mind. I’ve danced this dance before.
“In the meantime, it’s time to surf.”
I summarize our last lessons about reading the waves and maintaining balance, and how to pop up on the board before I hand out the surfboards before we make our way into the ocean.
“We want to paddle past the impact zone. Who remembers what the impact zone is?” I ask as we begin to paddle.
“The breaking waves,” Natalie answers.
“Correct.” I nod in her direction as I continue to paddle. “We want to reach the line-up where we’ll wait for the unbroken waves.”
“I don’t know why we had to take surfing lessons during Spring Break,” Barbara mutters. “Everyone else is still sleeping off their hangovers, and we’re out here working hard.”
“You need to work on your upper body strength,” Carly says. “You barely made it through two strength training classes before you quit.”
“The class was at six in the morning. I’m surprised I lasted two classes.”
Carly rolls her eyes. “You act as if six is the middle of the night.”
She paddles through the waves with ease. Her upper body is well-developed. She obviously didn’t skip any of those strength training classes.
My body has no interest in Carly and her muscular physique. It’s far more interested in curvy bodies. One curvy body in particular – Hazel’s.
I need to stop obsessing over a woman who has no interest in me. Who runs away from every encounter with me. Who hates me.
The smuggler knows I’ve tried. I went to Bootlegger twice this week but I couldn’t manage to drum up interest in any of the women who flirted with me. My cock has gone into hibernation and I have no idea when it’s going to wake up again.
I reach the line-up and wait for the five women to join me. Carly is first, while Barbara is last.
“All right, ladies. It’s time to show me what you’ve learned this week. I want you to choose a wave and try to ride it. Don’t be discouraged if you need a few tries before you manage it. Surfing is a brand-new skill, and like all skills, practice makes perfect.”
“I’m going first!” Carly shouts before paddling toward a wave. I watch as she pops up without any difficulties and rides the wave for a few seconds before crashing.
“One guess whose idea it was to do surfing lessons,” Barbara mutters. “I wanted to learn how to mix margaritas, but no, we’re in the ocean at the crack of dawn instead.”
“Stop complaining. I saw the teacher of the margarita class. He can’t hold a candle to Miles.” Natalie winks at me.
I motion toward the approaching wave. “Your turn.”
“I got this.”
Unfortunately, her confidence is stronger than her ability to pop up on the board. She falls to the side before diving into the water.
“Phew,” Jolie says. “I won’t look bad if I crash and burn.”
“This isn’t a test,” I tell her. “No one’s grading you today.”
“Good thing,” she mutters. “I don’t want to ruin my perfect grade point average.”
Off she goes. She manages to pop up but wobbles once she’s standing and barely manages a few feet before falling into the water.
“I’m next,” Etta declares before smoothly paddling toward the upcoming wave. She appears confident. Rightfully so. She pops up without any issues and rides the wave while shouting for joy.
“Etta has had surfing lessons before,” Barbara says. “But she doesn’t want Carly to know. No one beats Carly when it comes to sports.”
“You ready?” I motion to where a wave is forming.
“I guess so.”
I frown at her lack of confidence. Confidence is important when performing any sport but especially a sport that could literally drown you.
I keep a careful watch on Barbara as she tries to pop up. Even from this distance, I notice how her arms and legs shake. This is not a good sign.
I don’t have a good feeling about this. I begin to paddle in her direction.
She wobbles and starts to fall, but instead of diving into the water, she slips and her head slams into the board before she goes under.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I paddle as hard as I can. The waves crash over me, but I ignore them as I continue to push myself.
“Barbara!” I shout when I reach the board. She still hasn’t emerged from the water. Crap. Was she knocked unconscious?
“Barbara!” I shout again while untangling my surfboard leash from my leg and ankle. I find the Velcro strap on the leash cuff and loosen it before pulling it open and sliding the cuff off my ankle.
I grasp Barbara’s surfboard leash with my left hand and dive into the water. I follow the leash until I reach her body.
Crap. She’s unconscious, and her leash is tangled in seaweed. I yank on the cord but it’s good and stuck.
My lungs burn, but I don’t have time to surface for oxygen. Barbara’s been underwater too long.
I grasp the cord with both hands. This is going to hurt. The rotator cuff of my right shoulder still aches six years after the injury. I grit my teeth and pull with all of my might.
The cord gives way and Barbara’s body floats to the surface. I roll her onto her stomach, wrap an arm around her, and begin swimming to shore.
When I reach the shallow water, a lifeguard rushes toward me. “I’ve got her from here.”
I release Barbara and crawl to the beach, where I collapse on my back. My shoulder burns from the pain. I push it down.
Once I’ve caught my breath, I stand and stumble toward the lifeguard. He has Barbara on her side and she’s throwing up ocean water. Relief at her being alive nearly has me tumbling to my knees. I lock my legs to keep steady.
I hear sirens and turn to watch an ambulance stop at the edge of the beach. The paramedics jump out and rush toward us. A police car arrives seconds later.
Weston, Hazel’s brother-in-law, steps out of the vehicle before sauntering my way.
“What happened?”
“He saved her life!” Natalie shouts.
“Good job.” Weston slaps me on the shoulder and pain explodes. “You okay, Miles?”
“My rotator cuff,” I say through gritted teeth.
I don’t need to say more. Everyone on the island knows what happened to me in Hawaii at the pro surfing competition.
“Come on. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
I want to argue. To tell him I’ll be okay. But I’d be lying.
So much for a beautiful morning.