Chapter 38
ILIAS
STAY – Kid LAROI, Justin Bieber
He didn’t win Margaret River.
Not all waves were the same, and this time, they hadn’t been on his side.
He ended up third overall, which wasn’t bad considering the swell during his heats had been practically nonexistent.
Somehow, the low swell had stretched across the entire competition, and they’d all had to make do with what little the ocean offered.
He’d still tried, pulling off solid maneuvers, but in the end, an Aussie wild card snatched the title.
And truth be told, he wasn’t mad about that.
What he was mad about was being at the airport, watching Sofia get ready to board her flight back to Portugal.
As they stood in line for check-in, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing his face into her neck.
“We’ll see each other in Brazil,” Sofia murmured with a smile, tilting her head toward his. “Don’t miss me too much.”
Ilias groaned against her skin. “I’m going to miss you so much it’s not even funny.”
“Who knew Ilias Ríos El Idrissi, Olympic gold medalist and two-time USL champ, was actually a teddy bear?” she teased, laughing softly.
“It’s your fault.” He brushed his lips against her neck again. “You make me a teddy bear.”
“Last night,” she smirked, “you were anything but a teddy bear.”
“We had to finish the Australian leg with fireworks,” he said, voice lower now, darker. And what fireworks. She’d taken him so well. Her soft, tanned skin under his mouth, the way she smelled, the way she moved, bit back. He hadn’t dreamed she’d be that wild, that generous with her body and trust.
“Are you upset about the result of Margaret River?” she asked gently.
“A bit. I thought I had it in me to win this one too. But it’s impossible to win every event. The ocean doesn’t play favorites.”
“Could you still make it into the Final Five for Cloudbreak?”
“If I keep placing in the top three, I think I’ve got a shot,” he said. Then he turned his attention to her again. “What are your plans in Ericeira?”
“Back to work. Tours to lead, spreadsheets to update.” She groaned. “New equipment to test. I’ve got some brand collabs to shoot, and Elvira says her house is basically buried under my packages. I need to go rescue her.”
He laughed. “Maybe when the tour’s over, I could come spend time with you in Ericeira. Help out with the tours.”
Sofia blinked. “Shouldn’t you be focusing more on Azul? Now that you think about turning it into a new business, it should require your full attention.”
He let out a long breath. “Yeah. It should, but truthfully, I think I will fund it and let Ghita deal with it. She seems super excited at the idea, and both Amira and I agreed on letting her take the reins of Azul. I’ve never wanted to be a business man.
I’m a great surf teacher, that’s what I did back in Imsouane in the two year break.
If it was for me, not for the limits my father put, I would have opened to foreigners way before or better, I would have probably closed.
But Ghita loves it, and it breaks my heart to take away from her something she has worked a lot. ”
“And your mother. She’s not interested?” Sofia asked, glancing up as she adjusted her suitcase in the slow-moving line.
“Not really. She never wanted anything to do with what my dad left behind. They didn’t end things well.
Never divorced or anything, but when my dad decided to move back to Morocco to open Azul, she took it badly.
She always thought he cared more about the school than us as a family.
And well, then we found out that he had a second family and everything made sense.
So, yeah, I have these mixed feelings towards Azul. ”
He paused before continuing, voice quieter.
“Amira and I were raised mostly in Málaga. We’d go to Imsuoane in the summer, but when we started going pro, it got more complicated.
My dad helped in the early years, but Mom was the one who found Coach and Gretchen.
When we got older, they just stepped back.
Neither of them liked the tour life, even though Papá had been the one teaching us how to surf at Azul. ”
Sofia frowned. “Do you think that shaped the relationship with your parents?”
“Back then I blamed them a bit. I was happy with my tour life, but I saw Alejandra and Carlos always with their parents, and I missed mine. Luckily I had Amira. But now I get it. Gretchen and Coach became our real parent figures when we needed them most. Dad loved Azul but used it as leverage. Mom, she just wanted peace, quiet, and she found it in Málaga.”
“Does she live there now?”
“Yes. Once she moved there, she fell in love with the culture and the possibilities and never wanted to go back. Which, as you may understand, caused friction with my father and his desire to stay close to Azul.”
“Why was your father so obsessed with Azul?”
Ilias shrugged. He had asked himself the same question for years.
“He always said that the first time that he set foot in Morocco, he felt at home. Like it’s where his soul belonged.
He had always been a free spirited hippie, one of the first Spanish surfers coming to Morocco to tame the Cathedral or the Bay.
Mom felt that the Spanish education system was better than the Moroccan one, and begged him to move to Málaga where he was from to give us a better education.
They basically fell in love with each other's country. Funnily enough. And they fell out of love between themselves.”
“Do you think your mom is proud of what you’ve accomplished?” Sofia asked as they inched forward.
“She is. She’s a very good mother, and maybe I’m not that good of a son. She texts whenever I win or place high. And calls more than I do.”
When they reached the desk, Sofia pulled out her Italian passport, and he narrowed his gaze, curious. He had noticed in their recent flights that she only used the Italian one, and since he was someone with double citizenship, it made him curious.
“Why not the Spanish one?” he asked curiously.
“I have it too here,” she replied with a shrug, “but I feel a bit more Italian than Spanish. I always spent more time in Genova than in Conil.” Then she grinned, mischievous. “Don’t tell my mom, she’ll cry.”
He chuckled. “Are you planning to let me meet your family one day?”
Sofia flushed. “Y-yeah. Why not?”
“I’m totally fine with it, habiba. I’ll just need to learn more Italian than buongiorno and grazie mille.”
“You’ve got time,” she smiled. “You’re already good with languages.”
As they approached security, he grabbed her hand, then spun her into one last embrace.
“I hate this part,” he groaned, burying his face into her hair. “Text me when you land in Sydney, then Abu Dhabi, then Lisbon, and then when you have your glorious ass seated on your couch. Got it?”
“I got it,” she whispered, squeezing him. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m going to miss you,” he said, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips.
“And I’ll miss you,” she whispered back. “Thank you for waiting for me… for not giving up.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “I told you, I would’ve waited forever.”
She kissed him once more, soft and deep, and reluctantly turned away. He watched her walk toward security, her gaze never leaving his until the very last second.
He stayed there, hand shoved in his pocket, heart aching in that sharp, stupid way it always did after goodbyes.
Brazil. Portugal. Spain. Italy. Morocco. Wherever the hell life took them next, he wanted her in his. Always.