Chapter 4
ILIAS
La Recette - Jeck, Carla
Amira walked out of the water, smiling brightly after winning her heat. Ilias pulled her into a hug, not minding the icy water soaking through his clothes, and ran a hand over her curly brown hair, now streaked with blonde from too much sun and salt.
“A step closer to the final.” He smiled down at her.
Sharing his passion with his little sister was something he’d never expected to bring him this much joy.
When they were kids, she’d trailed after him everywhere—paddling out on waves too big for her, stealing his friends’ attention, insisting on being part of every moment he’d wanted to keep for himself.
Back then, surfing had felt like the one thing that was his.
Now, watching how far she’d come over the past two years filled him with pride.
She was five years younger than him, still proving herself, still fighting for her place.
He, on the other hand, already had an Olympic gold medal and two USL championships under his belt.
But something inside him had dragged him back.
A hunger to win again, to feel alive, to prove he wasn’t done yet.
And maybe, yeah, they needed the money too. Azul, the surf school his father left to Amira and him after his death, wasn’t going to fund itself. But, truthfully, he wasn’t mad about the comeback. He was only thirty-three. There were surfers still winning in their forties.
“Is your heat next?” Amira asked.
“After the last women’s heat. Ale’s up now.”
Amira nodded, dropped her board, and started peeling off her wetsuit.
They announced over the speakers that Alejandra was making her way to the water.
Her entire family had come to watch—her father José, her mother Marina, and her brother Carlos.
Sofia lingered nearby with Alejandra’s brother and another girl Ilias recognized from the clean-up, probably part of Salacia.
He had to admit he’d done a little stalking after the event and followed her on Instagram, not that she’d followed him back. Unfortunately.
But watching her now, from a distance, he found himself agreeing with Jamie all over again: she was even more beautiful in person.
He’s gotten lost in her videos diving with the whales or dolphins or whatever fish she came close to.
The videos where she spoke were his favorites.
She was smart, she knew her stuff. She wasn’t some kind of scientist, she was a marine biologist who really knew her stuff and cared about the ocean.
To him, that was already extremely attractive.
“Still pining over Ale’s friend?” Amira asked, raising an eyebrow in a way that made her look just like their father.
“I mean… I feel like I’ve only just started,” Ilias said, eyes still on Sofia.
“You don’t usually pine.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s something about her.”
Amira rolled her eyes. “Please don’t tell me this is just an ego thing. Do you need her to fall for you so you can feel good about yourself?”
“Why does everyone think I’m some monster?” he frowned.
“You’re in your thirties and have never had a real relationship. You’ve never introduced anyone to me that wasn’t the occasional hook up. You used to only date top models who don’t even speak your language, figuratively and literally. Forgive me if my hopes for your love life are… close to zero.”
“Ouch. Harsh.”
“Just being real.”
Then Amira looked back at Sofia, who was now talking to Carlos, wearing a smile that practically short-circuited his brain.
The facial expressions she’d gifted him were nothing close to that.
She had frowned, and looked annoyed most of the time.
But smiling, he hadn’t made her smile a single second and he prided himself on being a very funny guy.
“She looks like someone you build a life with. If you’re serious, I’ll be the first to support you. But stop acting like a teenager. Women aren’t trophies.”
“I’ve never thought of them like that. You know I’m not Steven.”
Amira shrugged, but leaned into him with a slight pout on her face. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to shield her from the heartbreak she’d had to endure when he wasn’t there.
Steven. That fucking idiot wasn’t even in his heat, but Ilias was going to destroy him anyway. That prick deserved every ounce of humiliation he could hand him for how he’d treated Amira, how he’d made her feel less than, when she was anything but.
“Good to know. So, if you’re really into her, why not just talk to her?” Amira asked.
“After the heat. I need to focus,” he said. “She’s dangerous, for my concentration, at least.”
Amira laughed. “God, I already like her.”
Ilias shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. He’d missed that exchange between heats with his sister. Their family had been a shitshow, but somehow, their bond had never wavered, not even when Ilias was at his worst.
The crowd roared as Alejandra rode a wave clean through a barrel and came out grinning. He could see it even from that distance. Both he and Amira cheered for her.
How could he not?
Alejandra had been there for him as a friend, and a colleague. For Amira too. She’d taken his sister under her wing when he’d disappeared. He’d be forever grateful for that. Always.
After waving Amira off, Ilias started getting ready for his heat. He put his headphones in and let the world fade. Reggaeton and Moroccan rap filled his ears. It got his blood moving, and set his heart in rhythm with the tide.
His eyes stayed on the water. Reading the waves.
He’d been watching them all morning, studying the swells, the way the light bounced off the surface, the subtle curl of foam at the break.
Surfing had never been about proving anything to anyone; it had always been about trust. Trust in himself, in his instincts, and most importantly, in the ocean.
The sea was alive, capricious, dangerous, but honest. It rewarded respect and punished arrogance without warning.
He had learned to read the water the way you read a person: subtle shifts, tells, intentions hidden in plain sight.
The ocean here was different, but the rules were the same.
One wrong move, one misread wave, and you could end up flat on the water, beaten and bruised.
That was the thrill and the lesson. Surfing wasn’t just a sport; it was a way of seeing the world.
You learned to move with chaos, to anticipate it, to bend without breaking.
His therapist had once told him to live life like he rode waves, and maybe now, finally, he understood what that meant.
Coach had given him some tips a few minutes ago, pointing out the lineup, the strongest currents, where to catch the best ride.
Ilias warmed up meticulously. Rolling his shoulders, stretching, flexing, loosening every muscle he would rely on to dance with the sea.
Slipping on his wetsuit, he felt the familiar snug weight, like armor and skin at once.
Then he looked up. Searching for Sofia. She was like a magnet, calling for his attention.
She was sitting with the others in the family section, but her eyes… her eyes were on him.
Ilias grinned and waved. She didn’t wave back—of course not—but her mouth moved just enough for him to catch it.
“Suerte.”
That was it. That was everything. She had just wished him good luck. He didn’t dream about it, right?
He was going to win this damn heat. And maybe, Sofia Moretti Gómez would become his lucky charm. There was no way in hell he was letting this chance slip by.