Page 92 of Catch a Wave

The ring.

I have to survive this.

She’s my everything.

I’m pulled up and down as if drawn by a giant underwater bungee. Water presses in on me and then tugs away. My eyeballs feel like they could pop. Everything is being stretched and jolted.

Mavs. I love you, Mavs.

I hear her sweet voice saying the last word she spoke to me, Always.

I pull my inflation vest and start to surface, but everything’s still upside down and sideways. I’m surrounded and overtaken by a whirling, sloshing, bubbly, surge of white chaos.

I just need a breath. One breath.

And then someone’s grabbing for me. A hand comes down into the water at me like an angel reaching through the clouds. I grab for it, my arms barely able to lift. I’m hoisted out and I suck in air, sputter coughing, a burning in my chest. I don’t even have the ability to register the face of the jet ski driver who pulled me up. My head throbs. My eyes ache. My knee screams in pain.

I lay across the seat of the Sea-Doo like a wet doll, gasping for huge gulps of air. Only two thoughts circle on repeat through my mind.

Mavs.

It’s over. I’ll never surf again.

When I open my eyes, Mavs is here, sitting in a chair next to me. I’m lying in a bed. A rhythmic beeping catches my attention. I turn to see the monitor displaying my heartbeat.

“I’m in the hospital?”

“Yeah. You had a pretty big fall.” Mavs’ eyebrows draw up into the center of her forehead and her eyes soften. “How do you feel?”

“Like crap.” I close my eyes to avoid the look on Mavs’ face.

I did this to her. She’s been crying. And her eyes have dark circles underneath them. She’s suffering because of me.

Memories flash like a slideshow: driving out to Jaws, getting in the water, the paddle up, the tube. Then things get fuzzy. My body hurts, but not like it did … was that when I came up from the water? My head feels … off, kind of woozy and cottony, andthat spot behind my knee feels like someone took a machete to my leg.

Most of all, a dark, invisible cloud hangs over me, coating my perception. Nothing is right. Nothing will ever be right again. The word hopeless gets bantered around too lightly. I’ve never known the depth of that word until today. If I look forward, into what’s next, a bleak emptiness stretches out as far as I can see. I won’t surf again. The soul-deep truth of what I lost rings through me with the dull clang of a death knell.

I’ve always been an upbeat, easy-going guy. I know, somewhere deep inside me, I am not that guy anymore. He was washed away at Jaws, submerged and drowned on the rocky shores of Pe’ahi. What remains is only a shadow of the man I was before.

“Bo?” The plea in Mavs’ voice tugs me out of my mental spiral.

“Yeah?”

“Look at me.”

I do, instantly wishing I hadn’t.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Mavs’ words are soft. She touches my arm when she says them. She believes what she’s saying.

She reaches out and brushes a piece of hair away from my forehead. Then she clasps my hand in hers.

“The doctors say you sustained a mild concussion. You tore your ACL too. But that will all be temporary. You’ll need surgery and physical therapy, but as far as they know, you’ll heal and be back to your old life in six months—a year tops.”

I muster a smile. “Sounds good.”

“What do you need?”

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