Rosalyn
“Smile!” I blinked rapidly when a flash blinded my vision.
A month had passed since Jax had ridden the biggest wave of his life at Mavericks. Jax, Eugene and I made the trip to southern California and stood in the reception area of the Anaheim convention center, the venue for the Billabong XXL Big Wave Awards. A reporter from Surfer magazine thrust a microphone into Jax’s face while her video camera operator stood to the side.
“Jax! Who’s your companion?” Jax clutched my hand and squeezed tight. She motioned toward Eugene. “And who’s this handsome young man?” Eugene’s face lit up with enthusiasm. Our son enjoyed every second of the stardom that came with this crowd of professional big wave surfers. “The guys are total rock stars,” he had told me.
Jax smiled. “This is Rosalyn, the love of my life. And this is my son, Eugene.”
The reporter, a dark-haired beauty who looked like she spent most of her time working out, leaned into Jax, her skin inches from his. “What was it like riding that monster at Mavericks?”
“Damn, it was crazy. You want the truth?” The reporter smiled and nodded. “At first, when I saw that wave, I didn’t know if I could ride it. I’d already paddled toward it, but had second thoughts. Seeing that baby jump and surge, I thought I was a goner. Nobody makes that. But then I whipped my board around and there wasn’t time to think about it.” Jax’s gaze strayed heavenward. “I went from a situation where I thought I was going to eat it, to riding that beauty, and thought, ‘I just caught the wave of my life!’” His eyes met mine. “Knowing that Rosalyn and Eugene were watching made it all worthwhile.”
“What do you think your chances are of winning Ride of the Year?”
“I think I’ve got a decent shot. But there’s some pretty gnarly surfers competing.”
She smiled brightly. “Well, good luck!” she chimed before scanning the crowd for other competitors to interview.
My heart swelled as I watched Eugene place a hand on his father’s arm. He looked up at Jax, his eyes filled with wonder. “Are we gonna be on TV?”
Jax smiled. “Maybe. Come on, let’s get something to drink.” We made our way to the bar where Butch stood chatting it up with the bartender.
Butch clapped Jax on the back. “Are you nervous?”
“Nah.” Jax caught the bartender’s attention and ordered champagne for me and a soda for Eugene. He asked the bartender, “Has my friend been entertaining you with his jokes?”
Butch said, “Don’t be making fun of my jokes. I haven’t even gotten started.” His smile stretched across his face. “Tonight’s all about fun. We’re here to celebrate.” He bent over, pulled up his pant leg and began the process of removing his fake leg. Eugene watched, his eyes wide. “This is a special night. I brought my extra fancy leg out for the occasion.” He placed the leg on the bar. “Fill ’er up with whatever you got on tap.”
I tried not to stare at Butch’s leg. He was great at balancing on only one.
The bartender glanced left then right. “Are you sure?”
Butch reached into his pocket and extracted a crisp fifty dollar bill, laying it on the bar. “I’m sure.”
The bartender filled up the leg and Butch held it aloft. “A toast. To Ride of the Year.” He took a long swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the leg to Jax.
“I never could resist your charm, buddy. Bottoms up.” Jax took an extra long swallow and passed the leg to me.
I stared at the leg. Eugene said, “Come on, Mom. It’s good luck.” I accepted the leg and took a tiny sip.
Butch said, “Come on Rosalyn, it’s vegan.” He scratched his head. “I know you don’t eat meat, but I’ve got a cannibal joke.” He gripped the side of the bar, balancing himself on one leg. “Two cannibals were eating a clown. One said to the other, does this taste funny?”
Jax groaned. “Rosalyn, take a sip of that thing and pass it back to me quick. I need to numb myself before Butch tells another joke.”
Several surfers crowded in as we passed the leg around; everyone joked and drank until the leg was empty. The prosthesis was passed back to Butch, who hoisted his hollow leg into the air. “May the best man win!”
We found seats in the auditorium and the lights dimmed.
The master of ceremonies, a man who looked more like a young Brad Pitt than a big wave surfer, took the stage. “Welcome everyone.” His eyes scanned the audience. “Boy, are you all looking young. It must be all that time you spend in the ocean.” His eyes twinkled into the bright lights. “Tonight, we’re here to honor these awesome athletes who spend their days riding big waves. I always say, ‘Give a man a surfboard, and you’ve distracted him for the day. Teach a man to surf, and you can’t get him to work.’” A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd. “Tonight we’ll see footage of this year’s best rides in the sport of big wave surfing. And if you think these guys don’t work for a living, think again when you see the prize money. Somebody’s going to walk away with fifty grand for Ride of the Year.”
A humongous movie screen scrolled down from the ceiling. Techno music blared through the auditorium as highlights from the best rides of the year flashed on the display. I squeezed Jax’s hand tightly. Entries for Paddle-In Award, Tube Award, and Performance Award exploded in living color. Then, the Wipeout of the Year entries flashed across the screen. My chest constricted as I watched surfers on fifty-foot waves wipe out, their tiny rag doll bodies head over heels as they shot over the falls. The mother in me screamed, Hold your breath! Eugene’s eyes widened, a grin on his face.
And then, there was Jax, his red surfboard shooting over the lip of that gargantuan wave at Mavericks. Eugene tugged on my sleeve. “There he is.”
Jax caught me staring at him and snaked an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t look so worried.” I rubbed sweaty palms against my dress, wishing I could toke up right there.
When the movie finished, the Master of Ceremonies announced the winners for various categories. As he announced each winner, surf music blasted and the audience broke into frenzied applause.
When it was finally time to announce the winner for Ride of the Year I could barely breathe. I knew how much this award meant to Jax.
The Brad Pitt look-alike gripped his microphone. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Every year, these professionals put their lives on the line in the name of the biggest achievement in the sport of big wave surfing, Ride of the Year. All year long, they leave their families behind when big waves call. These brave souls paddle out into monster swells in hopes of riding the biggest and the best, and doing it with style. I couldn’t be more proud to introduce you to our contestants. The nominees for Ride of the Year are …”
The movie screen came to life again with the entries. We watched footage of the surfers hanging on for dear life as this fearsome force of nature nearly wiped the poor souls off the face of the earth. I covered my face with one hand and gripped Jax’s hand with the other. “… Mark Roth at Punta de Lobos, Grant “Slim” Wright at Pe’ahi and Jax Priest at Mavericks.”
I peeked at Butch and Jax. They stared at the screen as though hypnotized.
The movie screen faded to black and the room became silent. Just like at the Academy Awards, a flashy blond wearing a full-length sparkly silver dress handed an envelope to the presenter.
“And the winner is …” He extracted a card from the envelope. He studied the card and smiled. His voice boomed. “Grant Wright at Pe’ahi!”
My breath hitched and I swallowed hard. My voice was soft. “No.” Poor Jax. I knew how much this meant to him.
Jax and Butch leapt to their feet, their applause loud, then Jax placed both fingers in his mouth and let out a wolf whistle that nearly broke my eardrum. I stood up on shaky legs, and Eugene clambered onto his chair, clapping wildly. “Way to go Grant!” Jax shouted. He turned to me and embraced me so hard I thought I’d break. Then he slapped Eugene five. “Grant’s the b
est!”
Butch caught my eye and gave me a thumbs up.
I looked at Jax, this man I loved, and threw my arms around his neck. I whispered in his ear. “Oh honey, I knew how much you wanted to win.”
He kissed my cheek, and then gazed at me with those hypnotic blue eyes. “Rosalyn, you and Eugene are the best prize I could ever hope for.”
“Better than Ride of the Year?”
“A zillion times better.”
Jax, Eugene, and I held hands as Grant took the stage. The flashy blond placed a purple lei around his neck, the photographers went wild, and the presenter shook his hand. The lovely blond assistant handed the surfer a king-sized likeness of a check for fifty-grand. The emcee shoved a microphone into his face. “Any words of wisdom for us mere mortals?”
Grant Wright was a thirty-something athlete whose wild dreadlocks cascaded over his shoulders and down his back. “Thank you. Hey everybody. I just want to thank all the little people …” He smiled broadly. “Seriously guys, this has got to be the best night of my life. Me and all my big wave surfing buddies put our lives on the line for this sport we love and we’d do it even without the prize money.” He addressed a woman who sat in the front row. “Mom, thanks for being here tonight. You usually sit these things out. I guess ever since I was a kid and you caught me walking that fifth story ledge of the hotel when we were on vacation in Panama, well, I suppose that’s when you knew your son was trouble.” He scanned the audience. “I’d like to commend my fellow competitors for Ride of the Year, Mark Roth and Jax Priest.” He shaded his eyes with one hand, peering into the bright lights. “Stand up guys. Mark, I really thought you had this one, buddy. You want to know how many times I watched your video entry?” Jax let loose with another wolf whistle. “And Jax, when I saw you ride that macker at Mavericks, I thought, no way could anybody make that wave. But you rode it with style and I’m proud to say I get to paddle out with you. Just don’t expect to slaughter me at the dart board like last time.” He winked. “I’ve been practicing.”
Jax didn’t win the money. But I won. Being reunited with Jax truly was the best prize. I planned on enjoying every second we had together.
Jax
Five months after the XXL Big Wave Awards, I accompanied Rosalyn to the follow up appointment with her oncologist.
Rosalyn’s hand was ice-cold and sweaty as we held hands and sat in plush leather chairs facing the desk of Dr. Tracey Emerson. I glanced at Rosalyn whose hair had grown to its former length, the wild curls cascading over her shoulders and back. She tapped her foot, eying the exit, her body rigid as though she were ready to bolt.
My heart skipped beats as I leaned in to kiss her cheek. “It’s okay, honey. I’m here.” She smiled nervously as Dr. Emerson entered the room.
“Good morning!” It was never good when a doctor acted overly cheery. “What can I get you to drink? We have bottled water and even some of that fresh juice which I know you like, Rosalyn.”
“Nothing, thanks,” Rosalyn said, looking at the floor.
“Well,” Dr. Emerson said brightly, “Who’s your friend?”
Rosalyn’s voice shook. “Oh, sorry, where are my manners? Dr. Emerson, this is Jax Priest.”
I stood up and leaned over the desk to shake hands with the good doctor. “Pleasure.”
“Pleasure’s all mine,” she said.
Rosalyn and I sat in the over air conditioned office, which may as well have been a prison warden’s chambers, staring at the doctor. I was having trouble swallowing.
Dr. Emerson sat up straight at her cherry-wood desk, the wall behind her plastered with diplomas. She opened the top drawer of her desk and extracted a folder. Toying with her stethoscope, she cleared her throat. One well-manicured nail slid down the lab form with scads of numbers that would’ve been gibberish if she’d showed them to me.
“I don’t know about this,” she said. “Very odd.”
Rosalyn’s hand was a vise grip, her nails digging into me as tears formed in her eyes. She crossed and uncrossed her legs.
Dr. Emerson closed the folder, took a deep breath then a sip of her bottled water, and said, “Sometimes medicine is not a science. That’s why we call it the art of medicine. Rosalyn, I know you’ve been pursuing alternative treatments, which I’m still not sure about. The AMA hasn’t approved those therapies, which is why they’re not allowed in the United States.”
Rosalyn gently removed her hand from mine, and hands in her lap, gazed at the floor. I detected a nervous twitch of one eye.
“But maybe I need to take a closer look at what they’re doing at Trinity because Rosalyn, you are in remission.”
“What?” Rosalyn’s hands flew up to her mouth, and a sob escaped her throat. Then she turned to me and clutched both my hands like I was her lifeline. “Oh, my God.”
“I have to warn you though, don’t get too confident because with cancer, we’re still learning. I’m going to have you tested every three months until I tell you otherwise.”
Rosalyn said, “Are you sure I’m okay?”
“Rosalyn,” Dr. Emerson said, “You’re in complete remission.” She scooted closer to the desk, her elbows resting on the surface. “What that means is that our tests and scans show that all signs of your cancer are absent. There’s no way for us to know that all of the cancer cells in your body are gone, which is why we never use the word cured. But for now …” She smiled broadly. “You’re in complete remission.”
All the tension drained from my body, and I moved my chair closer to Rosalyn’s putting my arms around her shoulders. I barely trusted myself to speak because my throat was dry, my chest that had been tight, just starting to relax. “Oh, baby, it’s okay. You’re in remission. You, me, and Eugene …”
Dr. Emerson said, “That’s right. You and your family can relax. For now. But like I said, you need to be retested every three months. You understand?”
Rosalyn nodded, her face had transformed from a scrunched up mess of worry to one of relief. She sank back into her chair, and tears streamed down her face. “Thank you. Thank you, Doctor. I don’t know what to say.”
Dr. Emerson smiled. “Don’t say anything. I think you and your friend are due a celebration.”
When we walked out of the doctor’s office into the warm California sunshine, I picked Rosalyn up and spun her around. “You did it babe! You … me … we beat this thing.”
Tears streamed down Rosalyn’s face, and her body shook. I leaned in for a passionate kiss, my hands pulling her head in to mine. She smelled heavenly, like sandalwood and the ocean, her mouth warm. We pulled away. “Let me look at you.” Her skin was flushed, and her large brown eyes contained a sparkle I hadn’t seen since before she left Point Loma. A giddiness spread through me. Being with Rosalyn was better than dropping in on the biggest, best, most perfectly shaped wave on a glassy day at Mavericks. “God, you’re beautiful.” Tears threatened to spill over. “Honey, we’re together. And you’re in remission!”
She smiled her spectacular smile that I’d fallen in love with. “What are we waiting for?” she said. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” We ran hand in hand to my truck.
“I have an idea,” I told Rosalyn with a grin as I put the truck in gear. “Let’s head down to the beach.”
We drove to one of the secluded spots that I loved in Santa Cruz, a bluff overlooking the ocean.
We jumped out of the truck and stood on the sheer cliff, the raging sea pounding the shore below. I turned to Rosalyn and held her in my arms.
“I feel so safe with you,” she said, looking up at me, her eyes shining. “And you know what else I feel?”
I stroked her cheek. “What, baby?”
“I feel like making out with a hunky surfer. You know any?” She grinned.
“I think I might.” I smiled and held her hand, leading her to the truck.
We slid inside, my body on high alert at the prospect of making out with Rosalyn as if we were a couple of teenagers.
> She placed one warm hand on my crotch and said, “How high do you think we are?”
“I don’t know, maybe—”
“A mile? Want to join the mile high club?” I didn’t know if we were even close to that height, and I didn’t care. Without warning, she removed her panties, unzipped my jeans, lifted her skirt, and straddled me right there with the steering wheel pressing into her back.
I gazed at this woman I loved so much, unable to believe my luck. Her eyes glazed over with desire, her body so hot, it felt feverish. I had never felt so complete. I lifted up her blouse and kissed her breasts then kissed her neck and lost myself in the most exquisite kiss while I slid into her, and we made glorious love on that perfect Santa Cruz day, our moans of ecstasy drowning out the roar of the massive waves below.
Eugene
It had been over six months since I found out Jax was my dad. When he moved in for good, he brought a Siamese fighting fish named Blue-ee, Tyler’s Fender Stratocaster, and Tyler’s old longboard. The guitar and surfboard he gave to me; the fish, he took care of and tried to keep Leo from eating.
It was okay having a dad. Jax was chill. He treated me like a real person, and he was in love with my mom. But it still embarrassed me to watch them kiss and hold hands.
We were on the beach, and Jax yelled, “Guys! Stop throwing sand at each other.” Jax had been giving Nelson and me surfing lessons for a few months, and we were getting good. There’s nothing like dropping into a gnarly wave, making the bottom turn, and then carving those sweet S turns up and down the face. Freakin’ awesome! My mom had warned me not to get any bright ideas about surfing big waves. But Nelson didn’t have to make those promises, and in between practicing with our band, Nelson begged Jax to take him out in bigger waves.
“Help me finish this,” Jax said. “Your mom’s going to be here any second.”
“You are such a pansy,” Nelson said, throwing sand at Jax.
“Don’t make me run after you and pound sand into your mouth,” Jax warned Nelson while tearing off after my best friend who flew down the beach. He tackled Nelson and put him in a headlock then dragged him back to where we’d been working on our project.
Waves of Desire: Pleasure Point Series Book Three Page 22