Page 40 of Reckless Hearts

We begin with a slow jog, both of us taking it easy, and after a few minutes, I up the pace, aiming for at least an eight-minute mile. Ideally, I’d like my speed to increase along with my endurance, and by pushing myself a little more, I should achieve that.

We come to the waterfall for a second time and stop. Sitting down on the rocks, I take a long drink from my water bottle and Flynn does the same.

Looking around, it’s not hard to see why this is a place that tourists frequent, with its lush tropical flora and rainforest feel. A gentle breeze blows and the mist from the waterfall blankets where we’re sitting. The birds are just beginning to wake up, letting out soft squawks, and I smile at the fact that Flynn and I get to experience this without the crowds.

“How’d you get into surfing?” I ask him, turning to take in his beautiful face, all chiseled jawline and features that look like they belong on the cover of a magazine.

“I grew up on the coast of Australia,” he says playfully. “It’s like a rite of passage. My grandfather surfed, and he taught my dad, and my dad taught me.”

It’s sweet, and definitely not similar to my life, but I like that. I like that he had someone teaching him, someone who took an active interest in his talent.

“My mum surfed too, not much anymore, but when I was a kid, she did. She’d take my brother and me out during school holidays while our dad was at work,” he adds wistfully, and I find myself smiling at his story, loving the simplicity of it.

“And you just happened to be good, huh?”

“Yeah, just a bit of natural talent, I guess. My dad saw that and pushed for me to train, hiring a coach, and I landed my first comp as an amateur when I was thirteen. It all kinda took off from there,” Flynn says casually, and he makes it sound so simple, and for him, it probably was.

He had support, and obviously, his family had the money to foster his talent and encourage him, but not just that, they had the money to hire a coach, and for him to train with the best. He wouldn’t have ended up a world champion if he hadn’t.

There was a time in my life when I was jealous of people like Flynn, feeling like they had everything handed to them, and I was out there struggling just to afford a board. I knew I was good, but no one cared to notice, no one wanted to help the girl who could surf as good as the guys but had no one supporting her. I hated it, but then I realized the only person holding me back was me. I needed to get my name out there, I needed to fight for myself, because no one believed in me the way I did.

“How about you?” he asks, his fingers reaching up to tuck a few strands of loose hair behind my ear. Again, with the simple gesture, but it feels like more. He’s so damn good at it, setting my heart on fire by just being here.

“It’s definitely not a story like yours,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t even remember learning to surf. I taught myself. I mean, I guess the guys I’d be out on the water with taught me, but it was never anything formal and really no one until Mitch took an interest in what I could do.”

I run my tongue along my back teeth, a weird nervousness taking over. I don’t talk about my life before I met Mitch and Nate. It’s nothing to brag about, that’s for sure.

“How old were you?” he now asks, and I don’t know if he’s asking how old I was when I started surfing or how old I was when I met Mitch.

“I guess I was probably around eight. I’d borrow a board from the public storage because I didn’t have my own. Sometimes it would take me a good solid twenty minutes to find a board that wasn’t locked up. Sometimes the boards would be so big that I’d have to drag it through the sand. I’m sure I pissed a lot of people off.” I let out a laugh, thinking back on it.

“You stole people’s boards?” Flynn asks, sounding far more shocked than I expect.

“Hell no. I would borrow them,” I clarify, narrowing my eyes at him, and he chuckles. “I would return them after I was done. I never stole anyone’s boards. I knew better.”

“Your parents wouldn’t buy you one?” Flynn now asks, and I shake my head.

“Parent,” I reply. “My mom was young when she had me. She was nineteen, got pregnant at eighteen. She didn’t really know what she was doing.”

“And your dad?”

He’s getting really personal here. I swallow, wondering if I should tell him to drop it, not really comfortable, but I share anyway.

“He was in the military. That’s really all I know. He knew my mom was pregnant but didn’t really care. It was just my mom,and she…” I trail off, hating my memories of her, wondering what Flynn’s mom is like. Not like mine, that I know for sure.

“You don’t have to talk about it, Alana,” he now says, his hand resting on my thigh, a comforting weight to it.

“She moved to the mainland when I was eighteen, but by then, I was working at The Pipe Dream, and Mitch had let me crash on the couch in the cottage with Nate until I found a place to live.”

“How’d you meet Mitch?” he now asks, realizing he’s an easier topic of conversation despite his death.

“I was one of the kids at the surf school. It’s how I met Nate too. It’s really how all of this got started. Without it, I have no idea where I’d be.”

“I think you’d still be surfing,” Flynn replies with honesty lacing his words. “You have some serious talent, Alana, and I’m glad you met Mitch, so you had someone who saw that.”

I lean my head against his shoulder, closing my eyes. I let the tropical breeze blow over my sweaty skin, cooling me.

“Where’s your mom now?” Flynn asks quietly, a hesitation there.

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