Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
TEACHING CELESTE TO SURF
Max
Behind Celeste, I steady her surfboard with my foot while pretending to steady her.
The neoprene of our wetsuits doesn't stop the heat that rises where her shoulder blades press against my chest. I've positioned myself so I can grasp both her hands in mine, fingers interlocked under the pretense of balance.
When she tosses her head, the scent of vanilla bean hits me like a wave.
I close my eyes, breathe her in. She could stand on this board without me—we both know it—but I'll keep up this charade as long as she lets me hold her like this.
I study Celeste's stance on the board. "Good balance," I tell her with a nod. "Now watch this." I drop to my chest on my own board, then spring to my feet in one fluid motion, knees bent, arms out. "Practice that move until it's second nature. The ocean won't wait for you to figure it out."
Celeste hesitates before finally laying flat on her board, attempting the pop-up I just demonstrated.
Most people struggle with this move at first—that moment when you have to spring from prone to standing in one fluid motion.
I've had twenty-five years of practice, hitting the waves every weekend without fail since my dad first pushed me into the whitewash on my fourth birthday.
At fifteen, I had sponsors eyeing me, but couldn't commit my entire existence to chasing perfect sets around the globe.
Still, I remember being exactly where Celeste is now, awkwardly positioning my feet, my muscles not yet understanding what my brain was asking them to do.
Celeste struggles to find her footing on the surfboard, her limbs working against her as she tries to push up from her chest. Sand clings to her wet skin with each tumble back to earth.
I demonstrate the motion again on my board, keeping my face neutral.
But again and again, she trips on her feet and falls on the sand.
After the tenth failed attempt, her shoulders slump. A tear slides down her cheek before she quickly raises her hands to shield her face—not just from embarrassment, but as if bracing for a blow. The gesture freezes me in place. Who taught her that failure deserves punishment?
"Celeste," I say, my voice barely carrying over the waves. "You're doing fine."
She shakes her head without lowering her guard. "Just get it over with. The yelling, the cursing. I know it's coming."
I nod. Her wounds run as deep as mine, just in different places.
"Celeste," I say, my voice softer than I thought possible.
"What makes you think I'd lash out at you?
" My hands find her shoulders, steadying her before I tilt her chin up with my fingertips.
"Please look at me," I murmur. When she finally raises her eyes, they're clouded with something that breaks my heart.
"Nobody gets this right the first time around.
Or the second. Or the tenth. This isn't something I'd ever hold against you—least of all something I'd punish you for. "
She blinks back tears and nods. I clench my jaw, watching her shrink into herself like she's bracing for a blow that isn't coming.
My fingers curl into fists at my sides. Who taught her to expect the worst?
I catch myself and exhale slowly. I've dated supermodels and top actresses, but this girl has me ready to slay dragons I can't even see.
“You’ll get impatient,” she says. “This isn’t for me.”
I smile. “Well, okay, we gave it our all. Let’s just go back to the house and grab a beer, alright?
” I’m teasing her, of course. I know that she’s not ready to give up.
She just thinks that I’ll somehow blow a fuse if she can’t get it right away, but I need to make her see that I’ll stand out here all day if that’s what it takes and will be happy to do it.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, not meeting my eyes.
A reluctant smile breaks across her face, followed by a soft laugh.
"Fine. I haven't exactly been giving it my all.
" She inhales deeply. "The thing is..." Her cheeks flush.
"My ex was obsessed with taking me ATVing on these insane trails.
I despised every second, but there I was, weekend after weekend, because he couldn't get enough.
I crashed without fail, constantly terrified I wouldn't make it back in one piece. "
I nod, genuinely trying to understand her perspective.
I search my memory for instances where I've endured something miserable just to please a woman, but nothing surfaces.
I've never felt strongly enough about anyone to put myself through that.
Still, I can imagine how soul-crushing it must be—forcing enthusiasm for something you loathe, white-knuckling through fear, wondering if each outing might the time you break your neck.
She gestures wildly, recounting the ATV incident.
“We rented the ATVs from some shop. Then one day I got stuck with a manual transmission one.
I thought, no problem—I've driven stick-shift cars forever.
But this thing..." She makes a throttling motion with her hands.
"Nothing like a car. I couldn't make it budge.
" Her voice drops. "That's when he snapped.
Right there in the parking lot, screaming so close I could feel his spit on my cheek.
All these strangers just...watching." She rubs her arm, eyes distant.
"At least I never had to face those people again.
God, the way they must have looked at me—just taking it, frozen there like some... punching bag."
I close my eyes, my pulse hammering in my throat like a war drum.
My fingers curl into fists so tight my knuckles crack.
This piece of shit who hurt Celeste—my Celeste—deserves to have his face rearranged, bone by broken bone.
The rage inside me is a living thing, clawing up my spine.
I could find him anywhere—Mongolia, Siberia, the depths of hell itself.
One call to my pilot, one flight, and I'd be there with my hands around his throat, watching his eyes bulge as he comes to understand what it means to hurt what's mine.
Celeste catches my expression and offers a half-hearted smile.
"I'm keeping his name to myself," she says.
"He turned out to be nothing special anyway.
I just wanted you to understand why I'm terrified you'll lose patience with me fumbling around trying to stand on this board while we're still on dry land.
" She gestures toward the waves breaking offshore.
"You could be out there carving through those perfect swells right now.
Instead you're babysitting me on the beach. "
I force the air in and out of my lungs, willing my clenched jaw to relax.
Some faceless guy in her past has turned what should be a fun morning into this minefield of anxiety, and part of me wants to hunt him down.
But that's not what today is for. Today is about Celeste on a surfboard, about her seeing that patience isn't something I reserve for other people.
I watch her fingers fidget with the leash, and remind myself: whoever made her expect anger at every mistake is long gone.
My job is to make sure his ghost is too.
I shake my head. "This isn't babysitting, Celeste.
" My voice stays soft, even as her shoulders tense beneath my hands.
"I'm here for as long as it takes. That look in your eyes?
That's determination. I recognize it." I give her shoulders a gentle squeeze, willing her to meet my gaze.
"You're afraid I'll walk away if you don't get it right away.
I won't." I pause, letting that sink in.
"But if you want to stop, we stop. Just don't quit because you're worried about my patience.
I've got plenty where you're concerned."
She gives a nod. "Okay," she whispers, then flattens herself against the board once more.
Twenty-four clumsy attempts later, on try twenty-five, she nails it—chest to feet in one fluid motion.
Her eyes widen, her smile breaking across her face like sunrise over the ocean. She bounces on her toes, sand flying.
"I did it! I did it! I did it!!!!! Did you see that?" Her hands clap together in rapid succession.
The childlike joy on her face fills my chest with something warm and expansive.
When she flings her arms around me, we're both jumping, celebrating her victory, and then somehow my lips find hers.
The surf lesson evaporates from my mind, replaced by heat coursing through me.
I want nothing more than to peel away the neoprene between us and lay her down on the warm sand, to hear my name from her lips until she has no voice left.
She kisses back with matching hunger, fingers tangling in my hair, breath coming in short gasps against my mouth. I couldn't stop if I tried.
The two of us crash onto the sand, me pinning her beneath me, my entire body burning with need.
Her black neoprene wetsuit clings to every curve I've been fantasizing about for months—the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.
Grains of wet sand stick to her flushed cheek as she looks up at me, pupils dilated.
I'm seconds away from ripping the zipper down with my teeth, exposing inch after inch of her salt-kissed skin.
My blood roars in my ears like the ocean behind us as her breath catches—I could devour her right here, right now, consequences be damned.