Surfs Up For Love – by ey Kassian #4
By day five, Bree’s confidence increased with every wave she caught. As she paddled to shore after her best ride yet, she beamed at Jaxon. He waited for her, standing in the shallows with his arms crossed, grinning.
“Not bad, huh?” she teased, dropping the board beside him.
“Not bad at all,” he replied, studying her. “You’re improving.”
She touched his cheek. “I have a good instructor. Thank you, Jax.”
He pulled her to his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Although this began as a bet, I applaud your willpower. I’m proud of you.”
“We never agreed on a price. How can I compensate for the lessons?”
For a moment, he seemed hesitant, but then he looked at her. “I’d love to meet Sunny.”
“My grandmother?”
“Yeah.”
Bree smiled, warmth spreading in her chest. “How about this weekend?”
“Deal,” he said with a nod.
Later, as they sat in the Impala outside her apartment, Bree didn’t want to leave.
The radio hummed, filling the car with a tender melody.
They talked—his life, her life, the store, and her beach-inspired jewelry business, how she shaped seashells, sea glass, and smooth ocean stones into art pieces.
A comfortable silence settled between them before Jaxon focused on her, eyeing her thoroughly. “What happens after the lessons? Do you have plans this summer?”
“Why are you asking, surfer boy?” Bree teased, her heart thudding in her chest.
He hesitated for a beat, then met her gaze. “This might be presumptuous, and if it is, just tell me, but… are you seeing anyone? Because, you know, we could surf all day, every day, but is there a chance we could date?”
Her cheeks flushed. She looked at him with her heart in her throat, then touched his fingers in an intimate, enticing way, and said, “I’d like that. All day, every day, filling my calendar with your friendship all summer long.”
When he leaned toward her, Bree didn’t back away. She shifted toward his strength, their eyes probing, their lips merging in a passionate long-lasting kiss that tasted delicious and left her yearning for more.
On day six, Jaxon grabbed Bree’s surfboard and slid it onto the Impala’s rear seat, placing it beside his own. It was time. Time to reclaim what he’d lost, to replace trauma with the thrill of the waves. To stop watching from the shore and start living again.
“We’re going to the break today,” he announced as Bree hopped into the car.
“What’s the break?” she asked.
“You’ll see.” He cranked up the radio, letting music and the engine’s hum smother the noise in his mind.
They drove to a quieter stretch of beach where the waves were bigger, faster, more demanding. Jaxon hesitated, watching the surfers carve through the water like pros. The ocean was alive here, untamed.
“Sure about this?” Bree asked nervously.
He flashed her a grin. “Trust me.”
They paddled out, and as soon as the familiar pull of the water swelled beneath him, his experience emerged.
For the first time in months, he wasn’t stuck in the past—he was here, riding the present.
Bree caught her first wave with surprising grace, and Jaxon followed on the next swell, carving through the water with the skill he thought he’d lost.
Later, they tumbled onto the sand, breathless and laughing. Bree leaned against her board, watching him.
“Where did you learn to ride like that?” she asked, brushing her damp hair from her face. “The balance, the posture…”
Jaxon grinned. “In a word? Training.” He tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “You’re finding your rhythm.”
Bree tilted her head, thoughtfully. “A surfing competition is coming to Huntington Beach. Entering it, competing—even if I don’t win—would mean I’d win the bet.”
The words hit Jaxon like a rogue wave, knocking the air from his lungs.
“Not a good idea.” He tried to keep his tone even, but the idea of Bree surfing dangerous waves raised alarm bells. “Bree, riding shallow waves is one thing. You’re not ready to handle competition-level breaks.”
Her smile faltered. “But you said I’m incredible.”
He tapped her nose, trying to keep it light. “You are. But your skill isn’t where it needs to be. You could get hurt.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Are you speaking from experience?”
Jaxon exhaled. “Yes, I am.”
His fingers drifted over his board, slow and deliberate, his mind slipping into old memories. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want the past messing with him, but his gaze drifted to the ocean anyway.
A lone surfer floated near the break, waiting for the right wave. Nothing unusual. But the sight of it—of someone hovering at the edge, just before the drop—unsettled him. He wasn’t seeing the present. He was seeing what had been.
He faced Bree. “We need to have a serious one-on-one,” he said firmly. “About rules, strength, conditioning, and the ocean. Competing isn’t only about catching waves—it’s about control, endurance, and knowing when to back off. You’re learning. It’s too soon to enter the deep ocean.”
Bree held his gaze. “Sounds serious.”
“It is.” After a pause, he added, “If your brother wants the board, why not give it to him?”
She studied him for a moment, her brow furrowing at the suggestion. Then, as if deciding not to dwell on it, her signature smile returned—bright, confident, unshaken.
“I’ll consider it.” She smirked. “But don’t count on it.”
Jaxon laughed, though the knot in his chest tightened.
“How about breakfast? I’m starving,” Bree said, her eyes bright with the kind of light that made him forget, even for a moment, his concern for her.
“I am too,” he said, forcing a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. But he craved more than food—he wanted to ensure Bree’s safety. He couldn’t fathom her entering a competition, ill-prepared for rules or dangerous waves.
And yet, as Bree’s laughter trilled and her hand lightly brushed his arm, his resolve wavered. The ocean powered a powerful temptation. And she trusted him, believed in him—and damn it, he didn’t want to disappoint her.
Bree—she’d reawakened his urge to surf again, to float on the break, to ride the curl.
Yet emotional trauma emerged like a wedge, a painful undertow that sucked him into the past, reminding him of loss.
What could he lose? Worse, what if Bree got tangled in the undercurrent? She needed to understand the stakes.
Jaxon stole into his three-car garage, the stale air tinged with gasoline fumes that tickled his nose as he approached the corner where his past lay hidden. A blue tarp enfolded two pieces of fiberglass that had once been his favorite surfboard, now a broken relic.
I should have thrown it away.
The board had carried him to countless victories, glorious moments when the crowd roared their approval, convincing him of his invincibility. But now the halves echoed pain and failure, reminding him of the day his life fell apart.
He knelt down and unwrapped the tarp, the board’s jagged halves catching the light.
Cleanly snapped in two, these leftovers forced pictures to form in his mind, rolling like a horror movie, haunting him.
His hand trembled as he lifted one of the fractured pieces, running his fingers along the scarred fiberglass.
The memories surged, unbidden and vivid. The monstrous wave, cresting higher than he’d anticipated. The split-second misstep that sent his board nosediving into the watery curl. The deafening crack as the board gave way beneath him.
He plunged into the roller—a violent thrashing as the wave dragged him under, the ocean closing in like a predator. The leash had twisted around his ankle, a vise pulling him deeper and deeper into the chaos. He’d clawed at it, desperate, his lungs burning as the rip current tightened its grip.
He’d thought it was over, that the ocean had claimed him.
The rest of that day was a blur: the flashing lights of the rescue team, paramedics shouting, the oxygen mask pressed against his face. That scenario played out over and over again—the terrifying fight between life and death. When would the ocean give him peace?
Jaxon swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the broken board.
He touched the jagged edge where the board had split, the damage as raw and unforgiving as the fear that still lived in his chest. The waves had once been his greatest ally, a force he could read, conquer, and ride.
Now, they were treacherous companions—one fearful, the other unpredictable and dangerous. Could he accept the risk again?
Suddenly, Bree’s laughter echoed in his mind, pulling him back to the present. He could still see her, perched on the bright orange board with wobbly grace, her whole being alight with exhilaration as she managed to stay upright.
She reminded him of what he’d lost—not the physicality of surfing but the joy, the connection, the freedom he’d felt in the ocean.
The hazards tempered the bliss. Bree didn’t understand the risks, the dangers hidden beneath the surface.
What should I do?
Jaxon exhaled, then placed the broken board on the tarp as if it were fragile. He leaned against the garage wall, his heart heavy.
He needed to tell her the truth—not about who he was, not yet, but about the accident and why she couldn’t compete. She needed to understand, the ocean wasn’t a playground. It was powerful and unforgiving, and he wouldn’t let her face it unprepared.
And maybe, just maybe, if he could find the courage to tell her this, he could find the courage to face it again himself.
Maybe it was time to ride the waves.
Bree joined her mother and grandmother for the final packing. The emerald couch was gone. The family pictures stored in a cardboard box. The once-daunting relocation didn’t concern her as much. She’d accepted Granny’s decision. Maybe it was for the best.
Granny settled into a worn armchair, wiping her hands on her jeans. “I heard you found an instructor. Are the lessons going well?”