Sea of Seduction: A Single Dad Sports Romance

by Jennifer Evans

  I needed to come to terms with the disappointment of losing Coco and losing the drink contest. “You know that Mystic Seaweed contest you were looking at when I walked in?”

  “What about it?”

  I swallowed over a lump the size of a golf ball. “Remember the judge I punched?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was Harold O’Connor. The winner of the drink contest.”

  Father Timothy’s smile was slow. He patted my knee. “This is wonderful my friend. You’ve been given two opportunities for forgiveness.” I didn’t respond. “We’ve been around the ocean all our lives, right? We’ve seen the tide come in and move out. Think about the beauty and perfection of that. There will be other goals, other waves to ride.”

  Anger burned inside me. I didn’t want to hear his poetic assessment of my life. “That was my chance!” I slammed my fist down on the table, and Father Timothy flinched. “I could’ve won and made a name for myself again.” My breathing sped up, and I forced myself to slow down before I grabbed Father Timothy’s precious rosary beads and yanked the cord just so I could watch every single prayer bead fall to the ground. “What do you know about my life? Here I thought everything was better. I had a girlfriend—she even helped me create the drink. How estupido am I? I was even thinking about proposing to her. I thought we were good together. Now what’ve I got? All the women in town laughing at me and no life on the tour.”

  His voice was quiet. “Do you really want to go back on the tour?”

  I slumped back in my chair. “No.”

  He leaned forward. “You’ve got to accept the life your Father in heaven has planned. The sooner you let go of thinking you can control your fate, the happier and more at peace you’ll be. Here’s what I want you to do. You need to make amends to Harold, even if you only start with praying for his soul. And you need to forgive your girlfriend.”

  As I listened to the Father, an unbidden image flashed through my mind. I’d been on a surf trip, and a few surfers had thrown fishing rods over the boat at the end of the day and caught a mackerel. After it died, I had watched the color slowly drain from the beautiful fish. I’d felt a sorrow that I only just now felt the impact of.

  I still didn’t know if I could forgive Coco. “Do you think I should call Harold?” I would light a few ridiculous ceremonial candles for Coco if that’s what it took to sleep at night, but I wasn’t ready to forget the way she’d used me. Harold was another story. I hadn’t shared love and opened my heart to him the way I’d done with Coco. He was a surfing friend who I’d landed in the hospital because of my quick temper.

  “That would be wonderful. Now close your eyes and let’s pray.” I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths. Father Timothy and I recited the Lord’s Prayer. “When you leave here I want you to walk down to the beach, put your feet in the sand and contemplate forgiveness. That’s one of our most important tasks here in the physical world. A soul that forgives is a forgiven soul.” He winked. “And catch a couple good waves for me.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Dominick

  I stood on the beach in my bare feet staring out at the horizon. The crisp ocean air smelled of salt as I wiggled my toes in the sand allowing cool ocean water to kiss my feet. I paced back and forth fingering my phone trying to work up the courage to call Harold. We’d been great friends at one time, and Harold was one of the best surfers I’d ever met. I had convinced myself that he had it out for me out of jealousy. Heat prickled my skin and begged for release as my fists clenched. Was it my fault that I was one of the best surfers on the tour? I remembered what Father Timothy had said. A soul that forgives is a forgiven soul.

  Every single day for the past year I’d woken up thinking about the day my surfing career had ended. Yes, I had Lola and a successful business, but living with this sword held over my head was no way to exist. It was time to call Harold. I stared at my phone and pulled up his number.

  “Hello?”

  I let out a deep sigh. “Hey, Harold. It’s Dominick.”

  He gasped audibly. “Dominick? What the hell do you want?”

  The line hissed, and I thought we’d disconnected. “Wait! Don’t hang up.”

  He was silent a beat. “What’s wrong man? You calling because they gave you one phone call in jail? Who’d you slug this time? Nice talking to you.”

  “No! Don’t go.” My voice became urgent. “I just called to congratulate you.”

  “For what? Giving my plastic surgeon a job?” He let out a huff. “My face looks better than ever no thanks to you.”

  I rolled my eyes. Harold always was the drama queen on tour. He made it sound like he’d undergone major reconstructive surgery instead of a few stitches. I wanted to tell him to man up. But I didn’t. “I mean about the drink contest. Congrats, amigo.”

  He let out a guffaw. “Yeah, right. Like you’d be calling to congratulate me.”

  I was trying my best, but Harold made me want to reach through the phone and strangle him. A soul that forgives is a forgiven soul. I was doing this for me, for Lola. I couldn’t deal with waking up every morning reliving my past. I needed to move forward. “I really am sorry for what I did, Harold.”

  “Yeah, right. You Brazilians can’t handle your tempers. If it were up to me, you’d have been gone a long time ago. Nice hearing your voice, Dominick. See ya.”

  “Wait!” I let out a breath. “I get it that you’re mad. Just let me say my piece.” My jaw clenched. “I was wrong to hit you. You’re a great surfer and a good judge.” Harold had no idea who I was inside. He didn’t know anything about the promise I’d made to my father. He lived in a bubble made of self-righteousness. Even though I still didn’t believe this, I said, “You judged me fairly that day.” My voice was a stammer. “You were right and I was wrong.” He was quiet for so long that I thought we’d been cut off. “You still there?”

  “Yeah. I’m still here.” More silent seconds ticked past. “What’s this about? You got some crazy idea about coming back on tour? Because you, amigo, are done.”

  I glanced out to sea. A head high wave broke over an inexperienced surfer sending him tumbling over the falls. “No. Not coming back.”

  “Well, then what?”

  “Is it so hard to believe I’m sorry?”

  “Sorry you punched me, or sorry you’re history on the tour?”

  I thought of my new life. Lola. Cortes Bank. My business. “I’m not interested in the tour.” It took every ounce of courage to say this. My voice fell. “I’m sorry I hit you. You’re right. I lost my temper that day, and I didn’t think.” I let out a quiet laugh. “When I entered the drink contest it was like competing all over again. I thought I had a chance, but I guess the best man won.”

  “Damn straight I did.”

  I kicked the sand gently with my bare foot. “So, congratulations.” I suppose life had a way of evening out. I’d punched Harold in the jaw, he answered by winning the drink contest. I knew we’d never be buddies again, but I refused to be haunted by the man who’d ended my career.

  And yes, that man was me.

  I looked down at my bare feet. “You might not think of me as a friend, but next time you’re in California, maybe we can paddle out.”

  “Yeah, whatever dude.” The waves rolled toward me, and all I wanted to do was lose myself in an epic surf session. “You may not be my favorite guy, Dominick, but hey, thanks for calling.”

  He hung up, and I stared at the phone as the ocean boomed in the background. I wasn’t a teenager anymore. If I hadn’t decked Harold I’d still be on the tour. A few sandpipers raced toward the receding tide, then scampered back as the sea rolled in. I smiled. The ocean would always be my home. My life on the tour was over, but I was happy. Maybe I wouldn’t always control my temper, but I could try to be a better man, a better father, maybe even a loving partner to a woman.

  A weight lifted. My father never got to meet Lola. I would be a mentor to Lola the way my papai had been to me. H
appiness started at the sand, shot through my feet and worked its way up through my body. I felt energized and ready to face the future.

  Father Timothy was right. Even though Harold hadn’t forgiven me, I could forgive myself.

  But I wasn’t ready to forgive Coco. Not yet.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Dominick

  As I waxed my board for my morning surf session the next day, my phone jolted me out of my reverie. It was Goff.

  “Dude. Buoy reading is 25 feet at 17 seconds.”

  A jolt of adrenaline shot through my system and the world came into sharp focus. I stood up and walked to the open garage door staring out as the El Niño rain fell.

  We had been watching the storm develop for a few days. Swell prediction is such a science we could get the projections for about a week out. All the big wave surfers had been camped on their computers, studying swell models on all the various websites.

  This storm gave every indication of delivering massive surf, and all the figures pointed to one of the biggest swells in decades. I swallowed over a lump in my throat. “When do we leave?”

  “The swell’s supposed to hit land tomorrow. I’m reading the weather charts for like the hundredth time.” I could picture Goff in his kitchen, pacing back and forth like a madman, his hair on fire, his eyes never far from the charts. “If all goes as planned, and pray to the surf gods they do, the wind should lie down at Cortes Bank for about three hours tomorrow afternoon. Keep an eye on the charts and I’ll call you back.”

  We hung up, and I slammed through the kitchen door, sat at my desk and popped open my laptop. My mother looked up in shock. “Jesus Cristo! You scared me. I thought you were going surfing.” She gazed over my shoulder. “Are you crazy?” She pointed to the wavy lines and charts showing the swell conditions. “I can’t even read that mess of lines and numbers but have you looked out the window? I thought you told me it never rained in California. You and your loco ideas about surfing. Surf, surf, surf. That’s all you ever do. I suppose you’re going out to that wave out in the middle of the ocean? That’s all you ever talk about.” I did my best to shut out my mother’s voice, but it became so shrill that I finally stood up so fast the chair toppled over. Mom held her hands in front of her when I advanced on her.

  I grasped her by both elbows and looked into her eyes. “You know why I’m doing this.” The intensity of my emotion surprised me, and I dropped my hands to my sides. “I’m sorry, Mamae.” I covered my face with my hands. What had gotten into me? I was completely on edge. I took a deep breath, and when I spoke, my voice shook. “First Coco ragged on me about going to the Banks, now you.”

  “But that’s dangerous out there! You’re my child. What am I going to do if my only son dies?” Her breathing became labored. “Your father is dead. He wanted good things for you, but he didn’t want you to kill yourself. Have you thought of Lola? I suppose you expect me to raise her when you’re gone?” She stamped through the kitchen and began hurling dirty dishes into the sink so hard that one finally broke. Her hands flew to her face. “Look what you made me do.”

  Why did my mother have to mention Lola? I had a hard enough time convincing myself that I would come home to my daughter. I would be okay out there. I had to be. I took a deep breath and pulled myself up to my full height. “Mom! You sound just like Coco. I know what I’m doing.” I gritted my teeth. “I promised Papai.”

  She picked up a spatula, turned and pointed it at me. “You didn’t promise him this.”

  We stared at each other, neither one of us willing to back down.

  Finally, I said, “You know this is important to me.”

  She stared at me, an emotionally charged silence filling the air. Her hand softly touched my shoulder. “I miss your father too, amor.” When I turned around, she wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. “Promise me you’ll be careful, okay?” She took a deep breath and let it out. Her eyes were laser beams. “Is this why you broke up with Coco?”

  I averted my gaze. “Part of the reason.”

  She thrust her chest out and placed a fist on her hip. “I knew it. So, when do you leave?”

  “We’re hoping the conditions will be right tomorrow.”

  She performed the sign of the cross. “You better be careful.”

  I did my best to control my excitement that day. I paddled out to the stormy lineup and surfed even though all I could think about were the monster waves I’d hopefully ride the following day. I forced my way through my appointments with more lonely women who eyed me with desperation. Word must’ve gotten out by now that I was single again. Every time I thought of how I’d allowed Coco to use me, a chill swept over me.

  Did I really think I could fall in love? Did any of these lonely women who sought my services seriously believe in happily ever after? I cheerfully took their money as I thought, Keep dreaming, amor. I’ll be at the bank while you watch another romantic comedy.

  I knew it wasn’t fair of me to think that way. My parents had been in love. It just didn’t seem to be in the cards for me.

  So why couldn’t I stop thinking about her?

  I had fallen in love with Coco.

  Every night I dreamed about her; dreams where we held hands and ran into the ocean. In these dreams we surfed together, her lithe body perfectly balanced on the surfboard, her long, dark luxurious hair flying in the breeze. We laughed as the sun set over the majestic California horizon and fell into the salty water, our mouths frantically kissing.

  I’d wake with a smile on my face and then the cold reality would sweep over me.

  Coco was gone.

  In between appointments, I raced back to my laptop to frantically check the swell conditions and have more excited conversations with Goff. “Could be firing by tomorrow.” We kept in touch all day, my nerves a jumble of anticipation.

  Lola and Justice burst into the front door after school. “It could be totally going off at the Banks tomorrow,” Justice said.

  Lola jumped on top of me and tackled me to the sofa. “My daddy’s going to kill it out there!”

  My mother, Lola, Justice and I ate a dinner of American hot dogs (Lola and Justice had begged until my mom relented) with one of my mother’s famous soups brimming with spinach and sausages.

  The conversation at the table was animated. Discussions about school, life in Brazil, the many great wins I’d had on the tour. But the whole time, my leg shook under the table, my toes tapping the wooden floor as I excused myself repeatedly to check the swell conditions.

  Around midnight we started seeing the buoys light up in northern California, the biggest buoy readings we’d ever seen. Goff and I may as well have implanted our cell phones to our ears as much as we spoke that day. “We’ll leave before first light.” I threw my gear into the back of my truck and slept fitfully as the rain hammered down on the roof, mighty gusts of wind tearing through the window and penetrating my comforter.

  Early the next morning, my mother, Lola and I stood on the front porch, the air crisp and cool, the rain falling steadily as we peered into the inky sky.

  I gazed into Lola’s trusting eyes. I could never tell her how apprehensive I felt, because she was my biggest champion. I would be careful out there. I had trained, and I felt confident that I’d come home to her sweet face. Next to Lola, Papai had been my biggest supporter. He would’ve stood right here and told Lola I’d be okay. She hopped up and down, her face filled with enthusiasm. With a lump in my throat, I kissed and hugged my daughter goodbye. “Have fun, Daddy!”

  My mother stared at me with tight lips. “You know I don’t like this.”

  “Mom. Do we have to—”

  She held up a hand. “Please, amor, let’s not talk anymore.” She reached into her pocket and extracted her rosaries. She lifted the crucifix to her lips, kissed it and then mumbled the Lord’s Prayer. When she was done, she performed the sign of the cross.

  I exhaled heavily and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “I’ll be home l
ate, so see you in the morning.”

  When I opened the door to the truck, Lola waved wildly. “Bye, Daddy!” My mother turned on her heel, walked into the house and slammed the screen door.

  I hopped into my truck to meet Goff and the rest of the big wave surfers at the Point Rios Harbor.

  Goff greeted me as I swung the door of my truck open in the early morning light. He clapped me on the back. “It’s gonna be insane.” He scraped a hand through his hair and looked at me without blinking. “You ready for one heck of a gnarly ride?”

  I held up my hand, and we bumped fists. “Ready.”

  Six other big wave surfers milled around, sipping coffee, performing last minute checks on their laptops, and calling out cheery good mornings.

  “Okay, let’s do this!” Goff said.

  Goff’s boat was just insane. He had it custom designed for Cortes runs, but the problem was we couldn’t get all the gear onto just one boat. “We’re going to have to drive one of the skis, and tag team it out to the Banks,” he said.

  I immediately raised my hand. “I’ll do it.” I looked at these guys who had taken me in as one of them, not sure why I was here among all these superstars. I was an imposter, but they treated me like one of the gang. Yes, I was one of the best on the pro tour, but this was an entirely different sport. Big wave surfing was their job. They trained for it; they traveled for it, they lived for it.