Page 63 of Ride the Wave

‘Yeah,’ I breathe, captivated by his gaze, ‘it is.’

We fall into silence as he gathers his thoughts, the rhythmic sound of the waves in the background rallying him to speak.

‘The thought of losing was one thing, but when it started happening…’ He grimaces as he trails off, working out the best way to put it. ‘Honestly? I was fucking confused. I was so arrogant, I thought it was a blip. So, I partied harder because I needed to numb the fears that were starting to come true. I wasterrified. If I’d bothered to take anything seriously, I might have noticed that there was someone else getting better and better. Someone who put the work in.’

I hazard a guess: ‘Ethan Anderson?’

A muscle in his jaw twitches. ‘I’d never considered Ethan as real competition,’ he admits in a low voice. ‘I underestimated him. He was better at handling the sport mentally and physically, and he was determined to beat me. We’d known each other since we were groms but… it got hectic between us. When he took the World Champion title the first time, it felt as though everything I was had been ripped from me. I wasnothingwithout it. But I couldn’t admit that to anyone; that would make it real.’ He pauses and turns to look at me. ‘Do you ever feel like that?’

The question takes me by surprise. ‘Huh?’

‘Like, if you say something out loud, if you confide in someone, then you might fall apart. But if you pretend everything is fine, you convince yourself the problem doesn’t exist,’ he explains, studying my expression. ‘You ever feel like that?’

‘I… I don’t know. Maybe. Sometimes.’

All the time.All the fucking time.

He nods slowly. ‘Instead of blaming myself for my failure, I blamed Ethan. I hated him, and that hatred drove me off a cliff. I partied more to show the world that I wasn’t bothered; I was still the big winner they knew me to be. I hung out with people who told me I was better than him as they poured me a larger drink and cut me a bigger line. My motivation to compete worsened with every loss. When Ethan won World Champion for a second time, I decided that was it for me. It was all or nothing – and I was nothing.’

He hesitates, shooting me a worried look.

‘What is it?’ I ask, frowning.

‘You must be cold,’ he says, glancing back at the beach. ‘Let’s go in; we can talk about this somewhere else.’

‘I’m fine,’ I tell him firmly, well aware that if someone is interrupted at a crucial moment in the story, sometimes it’s impossible to get them back to where they were. ‘Carry on if you’re happy to.’

‘I promise I’m almost done.’

‘Leo, I’mfine,’ I say, breaking into a reassuring smile. ‘Go on.’

He’s comforted by my expression, if a little unconvinced. But thankfully, he decides to listen to my instruction and after a heavy sigh, he speaks.

‘The day Ethan was announced as World Champion, I went to a party, got pissed and announced to whoever was listening that I was quitting surfing for good. I remember people cheered. They were all so fucked, they probably didn’t know why they were cheering.’ He closes his eyes for a moment. ‘And I remember when I got home, I decided not to go to bed. I should go for one last surf.’

I inhale sharply. ‘That night?’

‘Technically, by now it was early in the morning. But yeah. I grabbed my surfboard and I went to Bells Beach. The weather was bad, the waves weren’t right. I was drunk, I was angry and I was helpless. I went against every gut instinct I had as I paddled out – one of the worst mistakes you can make in surfing.’ He bites his lip, his eyes set on the rippling water ahead of his board. ‘The person who saved my life told doctors it was one of the worst wipeouts they’d ever seen. They thought I was dead but they still pulled me from the water anyway. I don’t… I don’t remember it. Any of it. Probably a good thing.’ He holds up his wrist, pointing to the scar there. ‘The small memento l was left with.’

‘Oh my God, Leo,’ I whisper, before I can stop myself.

He brings his eyes up to meet mine. ‘When I woke up in hospital, I was so frightened. And humiliated. And racked with guilt about… everything. Mum and Dad were both there – Mum from London, Dad from Portugal. The incident and my hospital stay were kept out of the press, but still, not one of my so-called friends messaged during that time to check if I was okay. They didn’t even notice I wasn’t around.’

‘What about the person who rescued you? Were they a friend?’

His frown deepens. ‘No. Anyway,’ he clears his throat and gestures to the beach behind us, keen to avoid the answer, ‘that’s how I came to be here. I needed a change, an escape, so I flew home with Dad. I could live here in Portugal with my dual-citizenship and Burgau saved me. The longer I stayed here, the more I realised this is where I belong. With some encouragement, Dad got me back on a surfboard. The ocean drew me back in.’

‘You’re connected.’

‘Surfing is a humbling sport,’ he tells me with a wry smile. ‘It can quickly remind you who’s in charge here. You don’t get to control the swells or tides, or what the weather is going to be like that day. You try to control what you can: your fitness, your mobility, your focus. That’s all you can do. The rest of it is whatever that moment brings.’

He gazes out to the ocean again, the weight of reliving his past lifting in an instant. With a light shrug, he’s back in the present and happy to be here.

I break into a smile. ‘You put that very nicely.’

‘Yeah? Poetic enough for you?’ he asks, raising an eyebrow.

‘Too poetic,’ I say, giving a dramatic sigh. ‘How am I meant to remember all these remarkable quotes? I’m going to need you to come over to mine so I can write this.’

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