Page 43 of Beyond The Break

“Practice is canceled tonight,” Gabriel says, scowling as we pull into the driveway of The Shredder House, “I’ll see you all tomorrow morning.”

He gets out of the car without another word, slamming the door behind him, and walks to his black Mercedes G-wagon, disappearing inside before he speeds off. We all sit in the car silently watching until his car is out of view.

“Well,” Zale says, opening the van door, “tomorrow is going to be interesting.”

“Very,” Mal sighs, nodding her head in agreement as she jumps out and walks to the trunk with the others to retrieve their boards and bags.

Griffin stays seated beside me; his eyes glued to the spot where Gabriel’s car was parked. I'm not sure what's going through his head, but his eyes are filled with disappointment and anger. As much as I want to ask him if he's okay, flashbacks to his reaction from that question earlier today stop me.

I quietly climb out of the van, leaving him behind, and head into the house, taking the stairs two at a time before closing myroom door behind me. My phone is blowing up with notifications from our social media pages as supporters share kind words for Griffin on the new posts. I'm blown away by the support for Griffin in the comments and I can't help but feel sad that he doesn't know about it. I make a mental note to tell him to check the comments whenever he has time, hoping that it helps to lift his spirits.

I begin taking screenshots of each comment, an idea for the campaign brewing in my mind. I throw my headphones on and take a seat at my desk, turning my laptop on. For the next hour I brain dump ideas and settle on a behind the scenes documentary mini-series on each team member, starting with Griffin for my first campaign.

It’ll cover his journey to recovery, including the rigorous training sessions that led up to his first competition today. I have great footage from his return to the team, but I wonder if I can dig up any pictures or video clips from the day of his accident and recovery at the hospital. I jot down a reminder to speak with Gabriel and see if he has any saved footage from that day.

As I finish up the brain dump, I title it “Strength in Setbacks” and click save just as a knock sounds at my door.

“Come in,” I call out, turning in my chair with a satisfied smile, watching the door open as Griffin steps inside. He’s changed into dark blue swimming trunks and a T-shirt.

“What's with the creepy smile?” he asks.

I stop smiling and glare at him instead. “What do you want?”

“Get changed and grab your board, I’ll meet you in the water.”

“We’re doing a lesson right now?” I close my laptop and stand, rapidly searching for swimwear.

“Unless you change your mind about learning?”

“No.”

He shoots me a bored look before he turns and makes his way downstairs.

After five minutes of searching fruitlessly for my bikinis, I realize they must be in my laundry basket. With no other options, I’m left wearing my half-body wetsuit without anything else underneath. I quickly change and run down the stairs and out the backdoor, grabbing my surfboard off the racks along the way.

Griffin is already in the water with his back facing the shore. Tossing my board in, I hop on and position myself the way he taught me before I paddle out in his direction. With my adjusted form, paddling doesn't feel as strenuous as it did before, but I'm nowhere near physically fit enough to paddle with ease for as long as it takes to get to him.

By the time I reach him, I’m breathless and my arms are burning from the strain. He reaches out and grabs onto the nose of my board, pulling me closer to him, giving my aching arms a break.

“Thanks,” I say, catching my breath as I sit up on my board, matching his position.

The sun is starting to set, and the sky is turning a beautiful golden color with fluffy white clouds floating above us and seagulls circling high above.

“I won’t ask how you’re feeling again,” I say, although the question is at the tip of my tongue because of how defeated he looks.

His hair is a tousled mess, and his lips are turned downwards. He looks as disappointed as he must feel.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, gray eyes finding mine, “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did at the competition, and I shouldn’t have said the things I did. It wasn’t fair to you or nice.”

“IstheGriffin Jones apologizing to me right now?” I ask, teasingly.

It’s enough for a small smile to form on his lips and I grin up at him with smug satisfaction.

“Don’t get used to it,” he teases back, splashing me with water.

“I won’t,” I laugh, splashing him back, “we can call a truce for the rest of today.”

He nods his head in agreement before a comfortable silence settles over us and we continue watching the sun make its slow journey down. Sitting in silence with him doesn't feel awkward, instead I feel that familiar sense of calm being around him.

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