Page 5 of Catch a Wave

“What …? How …? When …?”

Apparently, I’ve decided to recite all the question words in our language.

But seriously, my brother has been living with my ex. And I’m just now finding out about it the day I come tomove in? In what universe are Bodhi and I going to live under the same roof?

Bodhi looks suddenly nervous, moving to shove his hands into his pockets, only he doesn’t have pockets because he’s wearing board shorts and the flimsiest T-shirt, his pecs begging to pop free of the fabric. He catches me staring and I blush.

“I uh … I started to text you a bunch of times.” His voice quavers in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “It’s good to see you … up and about.”

Bodhi is the quintessential surfer boy, raised in Ventura on the coast of California. He’s got enough of the slang, and the swagger, and the sun-bleached looks to give him a free lifetime pass to any woman he sets his sights on. At one point in time, that woman was me.

“I’m supposed to …” I attempt to ignore the way my body is firing to life at the sight of my ex-boyfriend. Bodies are like mischievous adolescents, sneaking out to do whatever they please. My urges are officially grounded. I’m taking away all their privileges. Someone has to play the adult here.

I wave my extended hand toward the room behind Bodhi, indicating I’m supposed to move in there—into the house where he apparently lives. What is my life?

“Yeah. Right. What did you mean when you said you were moving in?” Bodhi bends to pick up my bag and the scent of him rushes over me. He’s waves and salt, coconut and sand, ocean and a cozy beach bonfire—everything that draws me in even while it screamsdanger.

Bodhi backs up, making room for me and my crutch to awkwardly amble past him. I don’t dare look in his direction. I hobble into the living room. Yes. I had another crutch. I ditched it, insisting I only needed one. I’m not usually this headstrong, but losing everything that mattered most to me—nearly losing my life—apparently brought out my ornery streak.

I look around the cottage-style home. A familiar photo of me and Kai sits on the mantle. We’re at Pipeline. He had just won first place. I didn’t win anything that day, but I didn’t care. I was so proud of my big brother. My lying big brother who couldn’t bother to tell me he’s shacking up with my ex. I wonder how much damage I can do to him in my current condition.

I finally turn to Bodhi.

“Have a seat,” he says. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I’m good.”

I’m not. Not at all.

Better just unload everything and get this over with. Not that anything I say will do me any good. Bodhi lives here. It’s not like he’s about to move out.

I sit on the couch. It’s cream with beachy throw pillows in varying shades of blue. Prints of beach scenes line the wall along with a few photos of my brother on waves. None of Bodhi. Interesting.

I lean back, wishing I had asked for water. I’m thirsty from traveling, and I’d like something to do with my hands.

“Dad wants me home. He and Mom would coddle me. The accident scared them, and their reaction is to grip tighter, to hold me near. Of course they feel that way.” I pause, swallowinghard. I don’t mind crying, but I don’t want to lose it in front of Bodhi. “Dad said he never should have let me compete—like ever.”

“As if he could have stopped you? You were born for this. Kai might be named after the ocean, but you were born to ride the waves. Born to dominate your sport. You’re never more alive than when you’re on the water. It’s like it’s your natural habitat. Maybe you were a mermaid in your past life.” He chuckles at his own joke.

His quiet confidence in me draws out a reluctant smile while his words remind me how all-too-familiar he is with me. What kind of warped fate is it that I would wind up here, talking to him, and he’d be the first person since my accident to tell me I belong in the ocean?

Even Dan is second guessing everything, and Dan has always believed in me. He had always gone beyond merely acknowledging how natural of a surfer I was, and pushed me as every good coach should. Until now. Now Dan is hesitant, reworking everything in his head over and over as if he caused me to go over the falls. This isn’t about Dan. But I know my accident threw him into nearly as bad of a spiral as it has thrown me.

I don’t know where I stand with the ocean now. I’m wary. For the first time in my life I feel afraid of the place that was my second home. I don’t know if I can get back out there and do what I’ve always done. And if I don’t surf, what will I do with my life? I’ve never wanted anything else. I can’t share these thoughts with anyone. My competitors are my friends. They have the same hunger I did. I’m a reminder of how quickly the ocean can turn on a person, a living talisman of the fact that they are risking their lives for a sport we all love fiercely. My family wants to keep me landlocked. My coach is caught up in his head.

Everyone around me wants to put me on tenterhooks. Not Bodhi. He never questioned my love for the ocean or my need to keep testing my limits. He believes in me. He always did. I shake away the consolation of his words. He’s not mine. He left me. He broke me in ways I never knew I could be broken. The jagged edges of our breakup threaten to sever my tenuous grasp on my dignity and self-control right now. It would be so easy to collapse into Bodhi’s arms, to feel the familiar warmth of his comforting embrace, to let him kiss my forehead, to allow his lips to travel lower …

The look in his eyes makes me feel like he’s reading my mind.

“Yeah. Anyway, I didn’t want to go back to Oahu. I need space. Time. Just somewhere that isn’t under my parents’ watchful eyes. I’ve got a lot to figure out. And my friends are all traveling to the other contests. It’s peak season. You know?”

Of course he knows. This was his life too.

Bodhi’s quiet, studying me. Giving me the space I just said I needed.

Oh, he’s good at giving space alright. Too good.

“I don’t want to go back to Santa Teresa quite yet,” I add.

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