Page 76 of Beyond The Break

“I have a picture of the two of them smiling together. I was planning on posting that today to squash the story.”

“Alright, post that and caption it as a way to announce Colton’s return to the team,” my head snaps up to look at Colton and Griffin, all of us grinning, “as a substitute member.” Gabriel adds.

The grin fades from Colton’s face as well as Griffin’s.

“Gabriel, come on?—"

“No, Fin, he needs to prove to all of us that he’s serious about coming back. Being on our team is more than just being able to compete, it's also about committing to the family we've built together.”

Colton stares down at the sand, frowning, before he sighs and gives a small nod. “Okay, Coach, I’m okay with that and I understand.”

“Good,” Gabriel says. “Move back in today. I’m not taking any chances with you staying around the Rip Raiders.”

“But we don’t have a room for him.” Griffin says.

“You two can share a room like the good old days.” Gabriel hangs up before anyone can protest, leaving the three of us to stare at my black phone screen.

TWENTY-TWO

GRIFFIN

After six monthsin and out of the hospital, you would think I’d be used to medical buildings by now, but here I am in the waiting room of the team’s physiotherapist. I shift uncomfortably in the plush chair, my eyes darting to the exit door every few seconds as my leg bounces up and down. The nerves and anticipation building second by second.

I look around at the sterile whiteness of the walls, feeling like they’re closing in on me. I shift in my seat again, in the opposite direction this time and close my eyes as I focus on my breathing.

I promised Eliana that I would book this appointment and check on the state of my leg but I’m starting to regret it. I should just leave, I can get answers another time, I don’t need to know today.

I stand up, ready to make a run for it, but the door to the physiotherapist’s office swings open and a short blonde woman, probably in her forties, walks out. Her hair is a striking bleach blonde and I can’t look away from her unnaturally plump lips as she beckons me inside.

“Griffin Jones,” she says in a thick Russian accent as sheholds her hand out to me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you; I’m Doctor Ivanova.”

I shake her hand, caught off guard by her strong grip before she releases my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“Are you here because of your knee?” She flips through a folder with my name written on it. “I see that your last doctor at the main hospital recommended that you not return to surfing for now. Yet here you are.”

She looks up at me, an eyebrow arched, before she briskly closes the folder and grabs a hospital gown, handing it to me.

“Change into this, we’re going to run some tests on your leg and see how it’s doing compared to your last exam.” She walks out of the room, the door clicking closed behind her.

I quickly shuffle out of my top and pants, keeping my boxers on, as I change into the gown. Not even a minute later there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I call out.

Dr. Ivanova walks back in and starts to pull machinery towards me, instructing me to lay on her exam table. She does an X-ray, an ultrasound, and ends with leg manipulations that make my knee throb with pain. Her scowl deepens after each test causing my anxiety to mount as I begin to think of worst-case scenarios.

She’s going to tell me I can’t ever surf again, or worse, she’s going to tell me I need to cut my leg off. I feel the blood drain from my face as I convince myself I’ll be leaving this room with one less limb.

She lets out a long and deep sigh as she flips through the test results and silently writes her notes. When she finishes, she closes the booklet again and looks up, her eyes boring into mine.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush because that’s not the type of doctor I am,” she says, tossing the booklet onto her desk and crossing her arms.

“Just tell me.” I feel like I might puke all over her shiny marble floors if she doesn’t hurry up.

“Your injury hasn’t improved, Griffin,” she says, her words carrying the weight of a sledgehammer, “in fact, it looks like it’s gotten worse since your last exam results. If you continue to push yourself, instead of focusing on recovering, you are going to jeopardize your professional surfing career.”

The air gets sucked out of my lungs as I stare at her, my ears ringing. She’s confirmed my biggest fear but hearing it out loud makes it a million times worse. A swell of emotions courses through me – frustration, disappointment, and a gnawing fear of what’s to come.

“So, you think I should stop surfing for the season?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

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