Reaching down, I grab for the door handle, and in a flash, I am awake. A cruel fate—this had all been a dream.
My phone is vibrating beside me. It’s Delia. I reach to answer, but then think better of it. I’m tired of her, tired of the drama, tired of the fighting—just tired. Never mind the fact that she just set my house on fire. Delia is a chapter of my life that I am glad to put behind me.
Taking stock of what survived the flames, I realize I lost several treasured items to my ex’s wrath. Some old letters from girlfriends and family keepsakes, but thankfully, my father still has my board. Life was so simple when I rode that board. It was the first board I rode, and I rode it until I was sixteen. I guess I was just a child then and didn’t really understand how complicated life could be. In retrospect, it sure felt like I knew a lot more back then than I do now. I guess life was just simpler then, easier and carefree. I long for those days once again.
Looking over to the clock, I see it’s only six a.m. I remind myself it’s also competition day. Thankfully, I don’t have to go to the prelims if I don’t want to, but I do want to get some time in. I’ll show up there around ten or so.
My thoughts are still of Sam. That dream last night has my mind reeling. I’m not even sure, at this point, if she wants to see me. There are other things that require my focus today.
My phone rings again. This time, it’s Jaime.
“Hi, Jaime.”
“Mick, what the fuck, man? I have been knocking on your door for an hour. We have to get down to the beach. What the fuck happened to your house?”
“Jaime, go home. I am not going to the beach now. This is competition day. We agreed that you would leave me alone on competition day.”
“I know, but we have an interview with USA Today. This is big man, really big.”
“Jaime, leave me alone. We had an agreement. I am not doing that interview.”
“What’s with you these days, man? You’ve changed. I think I need to find new talent.”
“That’s fine, man, go ahead. Maybe this whole surfing thing isn’t for me, after all.”
“Fuck, Mick, come on! Do me this one favor.”
“Forget it, Jaime. I am hanging up now.”
The phone goes dead. This isn’t the first time he had threatened to get rid of me. I know he must have promised someone an interview and is now in hot water. I’m just relieved he’s gone.
I have a ritual before every competition: I go into my surfboard room and select the best board for the conditions. I usually bring a few, in case the weather changes or something breaks. I have never broken a board, but I have seen it happen. Well let’s just say someone in my life has broken boards before. What an idiot she is.
As I am getting dressed and ready, something feels different. I don’t really want to compete today. In fact, for the first time ever, I feel a little scared. Being nervous is one thing—that’s always a rush. But I don’t feel nervous. I feel terrified. I feel as if going out there is just too… dangerous.
I shake the feelings from my mind. I am a professional, after all, and I have a job to do. I select my boards, then prep and load them into the car. I get into the old beater and turn it on. One more try, Sam, one more try. I send her a text.
“Competition day today. I have made arrangements for a special seat for you. I hope you will come.”
I don’t really expect a response, but I make sure before turning my cell off and stuffing it into my glovebox for the day. It’s time to get in the game. Let’s go get what’s ours, Mick! You’re the best in the world!
As I drive to the beach, its impossible for me to get Sam off my mind. Thoughts I have never had before also ring around my head. Visions of getting hurt out there in the water, being washed up—none of them will leave me alone. I pull into the restricted parking lot, get my gear, and angrily walk my way to the beach.
The loudspeaker blares: “Please welcome your 2014 World Champion, Mick Anderson! Let’s give him a hand.” The announcer expects me to say a few words now. I better say the right thing here. All of these people are expecting the mighty Mick Anderson to respond.
“Hi, everyone. It’s a great day to surf, and I am looking forward to a weekend of amazing competition. We have the best surfers in the world here, in the best city in the world, and it’s going to be great.” I can hear myself speaking the words, but can’t make them sound interesting. There is more on my mind today.
The announcer gives me a pitying look. “A hand for Mick Anderson.”
With that, I prepare myself put all of my boards in the designated area and get dressed. I’m as ready now as I am ever going to be.
I run out into the ocean. The cool sting of water shudders through my body. Thankfully, the wetsuit has kept out most of the cold. Flopping onto my board, it’s time to paddle out. There are a few of my surfing buddies here, but they’re all in competition mode, too. We politely nod to each other, understanding just how much is riding on today’s competition. The waves are really nice today, so I should be able to get a few good rides in.
I find a spot in line just as I pick out my first wave. Usually I wait, but this one is too good to miss. I paddle in and I’m not disappointed.
I tuck down as the wave envelops me—to my shock, I’m in a barrel at the Pier. I have been surfing here for over twenty years and never made, nor had I ever seen anyone make, a barrel. I can hear the announcer going crazy. Other than that, all that can be heard is water. Water rushing over my head. A hollow echo in my ears. There is a great deal of peace in it, which is making the moment seem to last longer than it really is.
Taking a quick look back, I see the wave is closing fast. Time to get out. Putting my weight forward, I emerge with a victorious fist in the air. The crowd is screaming and cheering. Seems as though they liked it as much as I did. That may have been a lifetime best wave for me at the Pier. Maybe I was wrong about my feeling this morning. Maybe this is the best time to be in the water.
I paddle back out to my spot with a big smile on my face. The other surfers are clapping for me. If that ride had not been extraordinary, they would never have clapped. There’s true admiration from them, which fills me with a sense of pride.
The surf dies after that. There is no wave I want to enter into. Knowing this is a timed event, I will have to take a wave, but I just can’t find one. I watch the other surfers catching small waves, making the best out of them. They won’t score higher than I did on that barrel. I know the competition is close, but not close enough for them. There is it—I see another wave like the one before. Positioning myself I begin to paddle in, but something bumps me. I’m knocked from my board. What a strange feeling. Was it a rock? Or a turtle?
I cling to my board, scanning the water. Only hoping it isn’t what I think it is. Though, I see nothing. Alarms and horns begin blaring. People on the beach and pier began to scream. “Shark! Shark!” That’s the last thing anyone wants to hear. Paddling frantically, I make a break for the shore.
If I didn’t look back, I would have never seen the fin coming at me with speed. I never would have noticed the teeth bearing down on me. This isn’t just a shark—this is a monster. Its mouth is as tall as my board is long, and as he clamps down on my leg, white flashes of pain take my breath away. Instinctively I turn around as best I can and punch the shark in the nose and eyes. I don’t stop punching until he lets me go. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears, and I swallow hard as the shark spits me out and quickly swims away. I am in trouble, though. A trail of blood leaks out behind me from the gaping wound in my calf. It’s a gruesome sight. The announcer is screaming for a medic and the sounds of approaching jet skis buzzed like hornets in the distance as I slipped off the board and into blackness.
Chapter 16 Samantha – The Surfer’s Girl
I go to sleep that night with a heavy mind. After finishing my paperwork and making my way back home, I really don’t have a lot of energy to do anything else but sleep. Yet when I go to
bed, my mind is still racing from the craziness of the day. Everything has become so completely confusing. I don’t know who or what to trust. In fact, I’m not even sure if I can trust myself.
Eventually I drift off to sleep. Restless nights full of disturbing dreams are becoming an annoying regularity. I remember seeing three a.m. before I close my eyes.
My phone begins to buzz. I’m not sure if I’m happy or upset to get the text from Mick, but there it is. He has invited me to watch him surf. I hate the commercial surfing world, and there is nothing I want more than to be away from that scene. But I need to see Mick and talk to him about… us.
I am trying hard to understand who Mick is. Maybe he’s a man caught in a bad situation. Maybe his feelings for me are really what he says they are. Maybe giving him the benefit of the doubt is what he deserves. I don’t know. I do know he has changed a great deal since we were younger. I also know that what I need is some lucidity and some answers. It’s decided, then. I’m going!
After a couple of hours of sleep, I ride my bike down to the pier, knowing that it will be impossible for me to get a parking spot anywhere, never mind a place to stand. I lock up my bike and try to make my way through the throngs of people. It takes me a full fifteen minutes just to get to the entrance. Not taking Mick up on his “special seat” is one way I am going to prevent the unforeseen drama surrounding us. My hope is to be at an observable distance. I want him to finish his competition without adding more pressure to him and after we will sit down and talk. Soon the rail of the pier is in sight, and I can see the surfers in the water.
There he is. His wetsuit is black, like everyone else’s, but his blond hair is hard to miss. Even in his wetsuit and from this distance, the musculature of his body is easy to spot. He is ripped. A tremor of excitement shoots through me and I felt like a teenage girl seeing her favorite pop star in real life. It amazes me the amount of people who are here to watch him surf. He is unquestionably the best. He looks so tiny down there in the water, almost like little figurine. A smile creeps over my face, which feels a lot like I have a secret that no one else in the crowd has. I am smitten with Mick.
Mick catches the next wave in. Watching him from this angle, I can see just how incredible of a surfer he is. He is just the right mixture of power and grace. He carves the waves with the precision of a surgeon. It is pure magic to watch. There is something different about the way he surfs, something that makes me think he knows more than anyone else. When I watch him, it’s as if he’s having a love affair with his board and the waves. That may sound foolish, but it’s true—he is truly different. It gives me a feeling of pride to see him down there today. I know that guy, and he wants me.
I begin to get lost in the competition. The cheering of the crowd, the many leering eyes. I feel like I am on Mick’s team and I am very nervous. I want Mick to catch every wave, hit every trick. I am now utterly immersed in his success. Never in my life had I ever thought I would be so into competitive surfing. Surfing, to me, has always been about so much more than competition—it’s a place to go to find peace. It’s a quieting of the mind, a place for self-reflection and growth. This is entirely the opposite, the ultimate in consumerism aggression and tension. But I love it. I am thoroughly enjoying the moment… until the sirens ring out.
People begin to scream, others begin to run. I am frozen, stunned. I have no idea why there is a siren blaring. There is mass chaos in the crowd as people jostle and push each other. Then I hear the word I will never forget.
“Shark!”
Fear and adrenaline jolt through my body like a fuse on stick of dynamite. Sharks are a totally unexpected side-effect of surfing. I try to look over the rail to see if Mick is in trouble, but the crowd is pushing so violently, jostling me in every which direction, all I can do is try to maintain my balance. We are packed so tightly together that even though everyone is moving, now one is moving in any specific direction.
The horns blaring and the sound of Jet Ski engines firing up mean that rescue is going to get the surfers out of the water. Words cannot express the fear I feel, and somehow, I know Mick is in trouble. I push to get closer to the rail as others push to get away. I see the Jet Ski speeding out to the surfers. I scan the water for Mick and my heart drops when I see blond hair and blood in a gruesome trail in the water.
Tears stream down my face as I scream to him. He cannot hear me over the horns, the crowd, and the Jet Skiis. I am not even sure if he is alive. I fight my way back off the pier. The crowd is thick and immobile, and my efforts to get close are futile. After a some long moments, I am able to push my way through and at least see what is happening. A big crowd has formed around Mick and he’s lying on a spine board. A towel drenched with red is wrapped around his leg. The paramedics are making their way up the beach with some difficulty. The crowd has fallen eerily silent as he is taken to a waiting ambulance.
The towel wrapped around Mick’s leg was a stark reminder of what had happened. It is heavily stained with blood. Sobbing, I cannot help but yell his name, the word piercing through the silence around us.
“Mick!”
There is no response. He is unconscious, at the very least. At the very worst, he is dead. As I hitch and cry, a woman standing beside me grabs a hold of me and pulls me in close. I don’t know who she is, but I am quite glad someone was there to hold me. The crowd clears a path so I can get through, there is a realization among them that I am more than just a spectator to Mick. I run as fast as I can and get to his side just as the paramedics are finished loading him into the ambulance.
“Ma’am, please step back. We have to take him to the hospital.”
“I am coming with you.”
“Please, ma’am, we don’t have time.”
The ambulance driver turns to the man I’m speaking to and says, “Put her in. She’s the woman from the picture.”
The medic looks me over from head to toe. Never has such an inappropriate look been given at a worse time. I push the offending paramedic out of the way and jump in the back of the ambulance.
“Ma’am, he is not conscious right now. He has lost a lot of blood, but for now, he is stable.”
“Mick!” I call to him anyway. “Mick!”
Mick’s eyes are opening and closing, but the expression on his face is lifeless. His pale skin makes the fear in me even greater; he looks like death. I reach out and grab his hand, and he squeezes it back, lifting his head.
“Sam, is that you?”
“Yes, Mick, I am here. You are going to be okay.”
Mick’s grip goes limp in mine. The noise from the heart monitor starts a scary, singular tone as he lies there, expressionless.
“Ma’am, move back. He’s going into shock!”
“Oh, my God. Do something!”
“Ma’am, get out of the way.”
Holding my hands over my mouth, I get out of the way as best I can in such a confined space. The noise of the heart monitor is deafening. As the medic continues to work, all of my regrets begin punishing my mind. I wonder if I am about to see Mick die. Seconds feel like minutes.
“Ma’am, get in we are going to need to move fast.”
I jump into the ambulance and do my best to be out of the way. The Ambulance speeds through the streets with the siren on.
“Keep your hands clear. I am going to have to shock him.”
ZAP! Mick’s body convulses. Nothing—nothing happened. ZAP! Nothing again. I cannot help but cry.
We arrive at the hospital, the paramedic continues to work on Mick’s lifeless body. He performs chest compressions as Mick is rushed out of the ambulance. There is a renewed sense of urgency in their eyes. I watch in horror as the man who may be the love of my life disappears around a corner, realizing he may never get to know what he means to me.
Chapter 17 Samantha – Hospital anxiety
All I can do is hold my hands over my face as I watch them wheel Mick away from me. I have never been this close to someone and had to watch t
hem die. Tears stream down my cheeks as the thought of Mick dying before I even have a chance to show him how I feel weighs heavy on my mind. I really did want to give him my love. So many regrets now. So many regrets.
”I am sorry ma’am, but we need to leave now.”
In my vain attempt to exit the ambulance, I trip and fall, causing the paramedic to have to catch me.
“Easy there, ma’am. Is there someone you want me to call to come and get you?”
“No.” Really, who would I call at this point? I need to be with Mick.
“Uh… okay, well, go inside and they will tell you where to wait.”
I look up at him. “Is Mick okay? Is he?!” The paramedic takes a painfully long time to answer.
Surge : A Stepbrother Romance Page 8