Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
KAIRI
The sun beats down against my skin, and I have no doubt in my mind I’m going to leave Bluewater Bluffs at least two shades darker, and probably a little burnt by the end of today’s surf competition.
It’s our first of the season, and to say everyone is on edge would be an understatement. I roll my shoulders back, trying to shake off the tension that’s been sitting heavy on my chest since I woke up.
I’ve been mentally preparing for the toll that today will take, the same as I do every competition, because events like these are usually where I feel the most out of place. Which is ironic, considering this is literally my job.
“Are you okay?”
I glance over at Colton as we follow Coach and the rest of the team toward our assigned canopy, the shoreline buzzing with the other competitor teams and reporters. He’s been glued to my side all morning, close enough that our arms brush every few steps.
“I’m fine,” I say, but it comes out less convincing than I mean it to. “Just a bit nervous.”
“Don’t be,” he says easily, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his side. “You’re going to get a perfect score today. I know it.”
“You have a lot of faith in the judges,” I mutter under my breath.
“Just wait and see.” He chuckles.
I don’t argue because I know it’s unlikely, though I appreciate his hopeful optimism.
“Alright, listen up,” Gabriel calls as we reach the canopy, his clipboard in hand. “Women’s heat starts in thirty minutes. Get your boards ready, stay hydrated, and stay focused.”
A chorus of “Yes, Coach” follows, and we all scatter.
I drop my board in an open spot beneath the canopy, grateful for the shade. The sand is cooler here, and the air doesn’t feel so suffocating either.
A few feet away, Summer, Lindsey, and Cass sit together out in the sun, laughing loudly, and tossing their hair as they make eyes at the guys from other teams. I look away, rolling my eyes with a small smile.
They remind me of Maliah, and Eliana. God, I wish they were here. But Eliana’s at the care home with Griffin visiting his parents, and Maliah…well, she still isn’t replying to my texts. The thought leaves a hollow ache in my chest.
I glance toward the guys instead, finding Zale standing off to the side, locked in on what looks like a tense phone conversation. Every few seconds, he looks at me and I can’t help but feel like he’s talking to Alessia and I’m the topic.
I continue scanning until I find Colton, but he’s not watching me anymore. Instead, he’s staring past the lineup of canopies, eyes fixed on a group further down the beach.
The Rip Raiders—his old team.
His expression grows tense for a second before he looks over—as if he feels me watching—and heads straight toward me.
“Need some company?” He asks, dropping his board behind me before settling into the sand at my side.
“Only if you’re offering sunscreen assistance,” I murmur, digging through my tote.
He huffs out a quiet laugh. “You’re that scared of burning, huh?”
“We’re all going to look like fifty shades of lobsters by the end of the day.”
I pull out the spray bottle and hold it out behind me. “Can you get my back? I missed a spot this morning.”
Colton hesitates for half a second before taking it. “Yeah,” he says, a little quieter now. “Of course.”
Cool mist hits my skin as he sprays it evenly across my back.
“Do you want me to…uh…rub it in?” he asks.
I nod. “Please.”
His hand settles against my back a second later, and begins moving slowly, spreading the sunscreen in smooth strokes. My eyes drift shut before I can stop myself, and within seconds I’m picturing myself back in his room, his hands all over my body, and his mouth—
I inhale sharply and pull away from his touch. “Okay,” I say quickly. “That’s good. Thanks.”
His hand drops immediately. “Yeah. No problem.”
There’s a brief pause between us before he clears his throat. “Want help waxing your board?”
I shake my head, reaching for my wax tin. “No, I’ve got it. Pre-competition ritual.”
“Right,” he says, a small smile tugging at his mouth as he tosses the sunscreen back into my tote for me.
He leans back on his hands, watching as I begin working the wax across the surface of my board in slow motions that I’ve practiced over a hundred times. By the time I finish, the call comes to line up.
All the women from competing teams gather near the shoreline, boards tucked tightly against our hips, and eyes locked on the horizon before us. My pulse pounds loudly in my ears as I take a deep, grounding breath, and when the horn blares I don’t hesitate to sprint.
Sand kicks up behind me as I hit the water, launching onto my board and paddling hard to cut through the surface and push past the others toward the lineup until I reach it first and claim my spot at the front of the line.
The ocean looks perfect today as I scan the horizon. These are the kinds of conditions I dream about. I settle into position on my board, my chest rising and falling heavily.
Last year was a write-off with all the team shifts of Koa and Maliah being on tour and Gabriel running off to Italy. There were so many missed opportunities. But this year? This is mine. I’m not just here to compete, like I have been. I’m here to win.
I spot a promising swell building in the distance and I pivot, paddling hard until the wave lifts beneath me, rising fast. I pop up clean and drop in, my weight centered as the board slices down the face.
My bottom turn is controlled, and when I drive straight up into a vertical snap, the lip explodes around me and spray fans into the air.
I land clean, the sound of cheers echoing from the shore where everyone watches, and reset as the section ahead of me starts to close.
Perfect.
I pump twice to build speed and then hit it with a tight re-entry, redirecting straight back into the pocket of the wave that keeps giving. I angle down the line and launch into a smooth cutback, carving clean through the face of the wave before snapping it back toward the power source.
It’s so peaceful here. No outside distractions, just me and the ocean in a constant flow.
This is why I love surfing, this little moment of peace, and connection.
There’s no overthinking, or noise in my head.
And there’s no pressure clawing at my chest either, just pure instinct.
I’m so in tune with the ride that I don’t even hear the announcer narrating my surf anymore.
I pump down the face one last time, then snap vertically off the lip before I bring it back down and ride the whitewash towards the shore. The horn sounds and I hop off into waist-deep water, breathless and grinning because that was the best wave of my life.
The crowd on the shore erupts again, and just for a second, I feel unstoppable. Like maybe today is finally different from what I’ve known. Like maybe this is the competition where the hours, bruises, comments, and even the pressure all amount to something even the judges can’t deny me—a win.
I look toward the scoreboard, hopeful. But when the announcer reads out my score, and I see it reflected on the board, my stomach drops so violently it feels like I’ve been punched.
I stop walking altogether, saltwater dripping from my wetsuit as I stare up at the numbers, certain I heard and read them wrong.
Four out of five judges gave me perfect scores, but the one that didn’t scored me so low that it doesn’t even make sense.
The sounds around me become dull, as if someone shoved my head underwater, and I slowly drag my gaze from the board to the judges’ table, my eyes locking on the only other pair of eyes staring back at me.
The same judge from every season prior, Stephen Kozak.
His silver hair is slicked back neatly, and his sunglasses are perched low on his nose despite the shade of the canopy.
His lips are faintly downturned, the skin tightening around his mouth, and his expression shouts what I’ve felt a million times before.
You do not belong here.
His disgust is palpable, despite being polished into something resembling professional. My chest tightens, and heat floods my face. For one stupid, fleeting moment, I actually let myself believe this time would be different.
The horn blows again, but I can’t move. I can barely breathe. And I can’t stop staring at the stupid 4.7 score he gave me out of ten, because I was right—perfect still isn’t enough for someone that looks like me.
I swallow hard and square my shoulder as I return to my team tent.
Gabriel stands near the front, deep in conversation with a man in a short sleeve button-up and mirrored sunglasses.
They’re both smiling, nodding, and shaking hands as if nothing just happened out there.
I bet he hasn’t even looked at the scoreboard yet.
I get under the tent cover, but the shade does little to cool the heat crawling under my skin. My eyes land on Colton a second later, who’s standing near the back watching me with his arms folded tightly over his chest.
His jaw is tight, brows pulled low as his eyes bounce between me and the scoreboard behind me. I drop my board to the side of the tent and busy myself with my leash, crouching down so I don’t have to look at him, but it doesn’t matter because he steps closer anyway.
“What the hell was that?” he asks.
I shrug, forcing my tone to stay light. “A shit score”
“Don’t do that,” he says immediately.
I look up. “Do what?”
“Don’t brush this off like it’s…nothing.” His voice is tight. “That wasn’t nothing, Kairi. That was—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair. “A 4.7? Are you kidding me? That deserved a perfect score all around.”
“It’s whatever, Colton,” I say, a little quicker this time because I really don’t want to talk about this right now. “I still placed high enough for the girls to be able to win this for us if they do well.”