Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Jade
It turns out there’s only so much ice cream I can eat. And only so long before I can no longer ignore Zach’s messages. They are a mix of heartbreak and frustration.
Please, Jade. Don’t do this. We’re good together.
How can you love me and walk away?
You’ll miss this, I know you will.
The last one is accompanied by a nude shot of him, erect cock in hand, ocean-blue eyes reddened as though he’s been crying. I snort, my finger poised to reply. Then another message pops up.
This could be you. I wish it was.
And another nude. But this time he’s not alone.
“Oh!” I throw my phone across the table, fury burning my chest. I shove another spoonful of ice cream in my mouth, as though it might cool my anger.
I wonder how long he waited after I told him it was over, to fuck someone else.
Or whether he even waited at all. Maybe he was already with her when my message came through.
It’s confirmation, I guess, that I did the right thing, no matter how it hurts.
Now that I’m away from it, I wonder how I put up with it for so long.
I suppose it’s like the frog in boiling water, where it starts off cold then heats up gradually, so by the time he realises he’s dinner, it’s too late.
Things with Zach started so beautifully.
I was new to the circuit, an up-and-coming Sand Star, thrilled to have my first sponsorship from Ocean’s Curl.
He was the golden surf god, the young gun knocking older, more experienced surfers out of their heats, taking home one prize after another.
I couldn’t believe it when he pursued me, sending me flowers and messages all around the world, showing up at my competitions.
I wasn’t sure what to do, though, and kept my distance as best I could.
I found it difficult to trust people for a number of reasons, and wasn’t sure whether I was ready for someone like Zach.
Then Ocean’s Curl booked us to do a shoot together.
Him in board shorts, me in matching shorts and a bikini top.
As soon as his arms came around me, as I felt the heat of his skin against mine and looked into those blue eyes, I knew I was in trouble.
We ended up in bed together less than a day later.
At first, he made me feel safe. Which was exactly what I wanted.
But I realise now, looking back on it, that it was safety linked to who he was, rather than what our relationship was actually like.
When I was with Zach I was protected from the outside world, always in the VIP section, always flying first class, always staying in the best places.
I mistook security for safety, because there was so much about Zach that was unsafe.
I think we’d been together six months when he asked if we could bring another girl into our bed.
I was madly in love with him by then, so I agreed.
I can see now how he worked up to it with me.
How he slowly heated the water. Showing me porn of threesomes, telling me how beautiful I looked when I was having sex, how much he wished he could be on the outside, watching.
And god, I was up for it. He unleashed something in me that I wanted to explore, so I went along with it.
Maybe that was my first mistake. The second was not speaking up when I realised it wasn’t something I wanted after all, that it was hurting me rather than making me feel good.
Instead, I chose to drown those feelings in drinking and drugs just to get through, because I wanted to make him happy.
Feeling sick, I push the ice cream away, my emotions a tangled knot of pain inside me.
I don’t believe my time with Zach was a mistake.
I also don’t think he’s a bad person. He’s just …
Zach. Because I said yes to him the first time, he never asked me again if I was okay with it, because he thought I was.
I know if I’d told him to stop bringing other girls into our bed, he would have done.
But he would never have stopped cheating on me.
He carries his own damage; it was one of the things that held us together, a shared difficult past. I wasn’t lying when I said I’ll always love him, because it’s true.
He was my first big relationship, and the first to break my heart, which he then did over and over and over until I wasn’t sure I had any feeling left in it at all.
I believe him, too, when he says he loves me.
For him, what we had was love, even when it was breaking me.
I get up from the table and wander outside, sitting on the small veranda.
The beach is deserted, the sun setting in a haze of purple and gold, palm leaves rustling in the breeze coming off the ocean.
It looks like a music video, as though someone is going to wander into frame dressed in flowing linen, singing a soulful song. But I’m completely alone.
Which kind of freaks me out. No one knows where I am, apart from Anna.
I could die here and no one would know. In fact, if things had gone badly today when that surfer dropped in on me, I could have.
Going into the ocean holds risks; it’s something we accept as surfers, knowing we’re just guests in another realm.
But there was no call for me to be attacked like that.
I wonder what the hell her problem was. I’m also slightly surprised by how quickly news seems to travel here.
When I returned to my cabin after seeing the doctor, there were medical supplies on the table, left, I suppose, by my mysterious host. How the hell did he know I was injured?
I’m not sure I like the idea of him just wandering into my cabin whenever he feels like it.
I hug my knees, staring out at the darkening sea. Despite the day I’ve had, this place still seems to speak to me. It’s quiet, in the way I need it to be. And private. Not to mention utterly beautiful. It’s exactly what I wanted. A break, from everyone and everything, so I can sort my life out.
The only thing is, I’m not sure what to do next.
I sit there a while longer, until the sky is dark and full of stars, trying to figure it out.
Eventually I get cold, my leg starting to hurt.
I get up to head inside and, as I do, I hear the sound of a scooter.
I pause, and see a faint golden light come on in the long low house along the beach.
The mysterious Axel. I really should go over and introduce myself, I guess.
But not right now. I can do it tomorrow.
I sleep well despite my aching leg, but as soon as I wake it all comes crashing in on me.
Oh god. Maybe I’ve made a huge mistake, breaking up with Zach.
I sit up, grabbing my phone. Sol’s team is rolling out a whole bunch of sponsored stuff, scheduled ages ago, to keep my social media accounts going.
The Wi-Fi is actually working so I open up Instagram.
Everything seems to be all right; I’m still getting the same amount of likes as usual, the same comments about how awesome my life must be.
Then I see the first one.
@surfergirl23399 Hey, did I hear you and Zach broke up?
Shit. I keep scrolling. There are more comments, and someone saying they saw Zach at a club, drunk off his head, hitting on every girl in sight.
My stomach drops. This is going to get messy, fast. God.
What if someone saw me on the flight into Bali?
Or recognised me at the dock? I’m sure someone had their phone out.
What if it means people are going to come here, looking for me? I’m breathing hard, my heart pounding.
There are also several messages from Sol. Double shit. I should have told him about Zach. Cold trickles down my spine at the thought I might have jeopardised everything I’ve worked so hard for, just because I decided to take a break. To do what I wanted, for a change.
I call his office, hoping I haven’t got the time zones messed up and it’s not the middle of the night there. Jared, Sol’s assistant, answers. I try to hold back my sigh of relief.
“Jared, it’s Jade.”
“Jade? Sorry, the line isn’t good.” Jared’s breezy West Coast accent is crackly.
“Listen, I might not have much time before this cuts out,” I say. “I just wanted to call—”
“Jade? What the hell is going on?” Sol’s deep voice cuts into the conversation. “What’s this I hear about you and Zach breaking up? You said you needed a break but I didn’t think you meant from him.”
“It’s true,” I say. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s only just happened. It’s why I needed to get away.” My tone sours. “Though it doesn’t seem to have slowed him down at all.”
“The boy is a mess,” Sol says. “And we have a couple of your sponsors asking questions.”
“I just… I can’t do this, Sol. I can’t be with him anymore. I’ll talk to the sponsors, if you want.”
“No. No. That’s what you pay me for.” There’s a pause, and I can almost hear him thinking.
“Okay, so here’s what we do. We don’t confirm anything for now.
Let people think what they want, because it keeps your name out there.
Meanwhile, behind the scenes, we’ll put together a plan to capitalise on this.
A new Jade, single and glorious, all that shit.
Taking back your power. I can already think of a few brands who’ll be interested.
Then, once you’re back from wherever the hell you are, we relaunch you. ”
“Relaunch me?” I feel sick.
“Yes, we’ll just”—the phone line crackles, and I can’t hear what Sol is saying—“so how does that sound?”
“Sol, you’re breaking up. I have to go.” Because if I don’t, I’m going to throw up. Or scream. Or something.
“You okay with all this? I’ll get Jared to email the details.”
“Yes, fine. Do it.” I don’t have it in me to fight this. Let someone else handle things. There’s another screech of static, and when it clears, I realise the line is dead. Sol, and whatever he has planned for me, is gone.
I have to take a moment to calm my breathing, to bring myself back to my surroundings, to the muslin curtains swaying lazily in the breeze, the crash of surf, the chirp of birds.
I don’t want this. I don’t want to be gossiped about online or relaunched or any of it.
Not anymore. I wish I could go back to that girl who loved to surf, who found joy in the waves and a second-hand board.
But I have responsibilities and, no matter how much I might not want it, I have to keep going.
There’s someone else I need to tell, I realise. I try another number, but the phone reception has dropped out. So I type an email instead, hoping the Wi-Fi will hold up long enough for it to go through.
Hey Zara,
I’m in Indonesia, taking a break from things. I realise I should have let you and Myles know that Zach and I are done. I’m so sorry. I hope we can still work together.
Jade
I’m too much of a chickenshit to email Myles directly, and I feel like a dick friend when I press send.
But I know Myles adores Zara, and won’t mind her telling him the bad news.
That’s if it even is bad news. Maybe I’m making too much of this.
The Jade who is a commodity, who makes a lot of brands a lot of money, is who I came here to get away from.
And I know Myles and Zara. They’re friends, as well as being my biggest sponsors.
I’m sure they won’t break ties with me over this.
If anything, they’ll just want to know I’m all right.
I keep telling myself that everything is going to be okay as I wash myself in the small bathroom, careful not to get water on my stitches. I make a fruit smoothie for breakfast, taking it outside to watch the waves.
But when I get outside, I see my board. Dora’s board.
It’s where I left it, propped up against the veranda railing, looking forlorn.
My heart sinks as I survey the damage again.
It feels symbolic in a way. Dora’s board is who I was; it’s where I started.
And now it’s broken. Just like I am. I should go and find this mysterious Axel, and thank him for letting me stay here, if nothing else.
If he can fix my board, all the better. A shame I can’t be repaired so easily.
Still feeling down, I head into town. My leg is sore despite the painkillers, the stitches pulling slightly with each step I take.
Which doesn’t improve my mood, nor does the fact I can’t seem to find any sort of surfboard repair place.
I wander up and down the main street, carrying my board and feeling like an idiot.
I’m about to give up when I spot a little surfboard-shaped sign on a building down a side street.
I head for it, pushing the door open. A small bell jangles.
Inside is a small space with a counter made of dark timber.
The walls are terracotta stucco, the ceiling ribbed with dark wooden beams. I spot a dusty workshop through a wooden beaded curtain hanging from a doorway.
I seem to be in the right place, but I wonder where Axel is.
Then my gaze goes to the smooth lines of a surfboard leaning against one wall, like a pale curve of shining bone. My jaw drops.
It can’t be.
Axel
I straighten up from my workbench as the bell over the door jangles. I wipe my hands, getting the worst of the dust off them, and head to the front of the workshop.
A woman stands there, silhouetted against the light from the front door, one delicate hand resting on the surfboard propped against the wall.
I swallow, hard. She’s fucking gorgeous.
A long fall of blonde hair tumbling down her back, and legs that seem to go on for days, tanned golden, slender and muscular.
The loose dress she’s wearing hides the rest of her figure, but my imagination fills it in.
I sternly tell it to stop. She turns to me, all wide green eyes.
“Is this a Black Axe?” Her voice is husky, slightly incredulous. Another surfboard, the tip missing, is on the floor next to her. And as I clock the bandage on her leg, I realise who she is. It’s the surfer from the beach this morning. The mysterious Jade.
But she’s not so mysterious after all. Shit. I realise why she looks so familiar. I have a poster of her hanging in my workshop, for starters. She’s Jade O’Connell, one of the top female surfers in the world. And the fact she’s standing in my surfboard-shaping workshop is very bad news.