Page 53 of Below the Barrel

His hands grip my hips, pulling me even closer to him, and I can barely keep up with the intensity of it. I hear his breath hitch, his pace faltering for just a moment, and I know he’s close. The weight of him on top of me, the sound of his rough groans filling the air, it’s all too much.

He leans down, burying his face in my neck as his movements become more erratic, his body trembling with the effort of holding on. “Mal…” he groans, his voice tight, like he’s trying to hold back but can’t. “Fuck…”

And then with one final thrust, I feel him break. His entire body shudders as he comes, releasing into me with a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through my skin. His grip on metightens, almost painfully, as if he’s afraid to let go, as if he needs this moment to last.

For a second, time stands still. The world narrows to just the two of us, tangled together, our breathing heavy and uneven.

As his breathing slows, he stays pressing against me, neither of us moving, the weight of what just happened hanging between us. His forehead rests against mine, our bodies still intertwined, but the fire from moments ago has cooled, leaving only the quiet aftermath.

I close my eyes, trying to steady my heart, unsure of what this means—what any of it means. There are no words left, just the sound of our breathing, and the steady rhythm of his heart against my chest.

For now, we’re just Koa and Maliah. Nothing more, nothing less.

But for how long?

NINETEEN

KOA | LA LIBERTAD, EL SALVADOR

The wavesat Punta Roca are something else—sharp, clean, and relentless. They peel perfectly, letting you catch multiple airs, carve tight turns, and then shoot into a barrel like the ocean’s pulling you in just to spit you out in triumph. It’s every surfer’s dream, the kind of conditions that make you feel alive, like you’re one with the water.

As soon as my feet hit the wax, I know this is going to be good. The board cuts through the wave, and I drop into the pocket, the lip curling over me. The feeling of being inside a barrel is indescribable, like time stops and all that exists is the roar of the water around you, the tunnel of blue pulling you deeper in. My heart thunders in my chest, but my mind is completely clear—no thoughts, no worries, just the thrill of riding it out.

I emerge from the barrel, catching air before landing the final turn, and the rush is pure adrenaline. The nearby crowd roars, but all I hear is the ocean in my ears. This is where I belong.

We come in first place, Maliah buzzing with excitement as we get out of the water. Other surfers high-five us and pat us on the back, adrenaline-fuelled smiles all around. Except for Charles. He stands farther down the beach, watching me with a glarethrough his two black eyes and busted lip. I smirk at him before looking down at Maliah next to me, her skin glistening with the ocean’s salt, and I can’t help but feel like I’m on top of the world. Not just because of the win, but because of her.

As we get pulled over for the post-heat interview, the interviewer grins and congratulates us. Then, out of nowhere, she asks, “Fans around the world are shipping you two pretty hard. The first six episodes of SurfFlix have aired, and people are dying to know—what’s the deal? What’s the status of Koa and Maliah?”

I open my mouth to say something, but before I can, Maliah jumps in, “We’re just Koa and Maliah.”

Her voice is steady, confident, and when she says it, my grin stretches wide. Because yeah—she gets it. We don’t need a label, and maybe that’s enough. For now, at least.

The interviewer raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but I just laugh as I throw my arm over Maliah’s shoulder, pulling her into my side as I give her a sideways glance. “Just Koa and Maliah,” I repeat, feeling the truth of it settle in.

And damn, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so good hearing my own name.

We head back to our tent and hop on a video call with Gabriel. The connection flickers for a second, but when his face finally appears on the screen, I’m hit with two things. One, he actually looks better. A lot better than the last time we saw him, when he was grumpy as hell. And two, Zalea is walking around in the background, but something’s off. She’s pale, her steps unsteady, and she looks like she might be coming down with something.

Before I can ever say anything, Maliah’s already leaning closer to the screen, her brow furrowed. But Gabriel notices us staring and snaps, “Mind your business.”

We both back off immediately, and he shifts his attention back to the competition. “Congrats on the win. Let’s go over the race before I send over my notes.” His voice softens a bit as he glances at Maliah. “And, uh, I’ve been meaning to say sorry about springing the shared bed situation on you guys in Fiji. Poor planning on my part. I’ve arranged a team building event for you guys to make up for it.”

Maliah gives him a teasing smile. “No worries, Coach. But seriously, another team building event? We just had one in Rio.” She nudges me playfully.

Gabriel’s face scrunches in confusion. “Another one? What are you talking about?”

Panic grips me as I realize Maliah’s hinting at the day out that I planned for us. “Oh, uh, Gabriel, the production crew is calling us over for more interviews.” I laugh awkwardly, feeling my face heat up. “Text me the details for the next event and any notes you had from today, yeah?”

Before he can ask more questions, I hang up. Too quick. Way too quick.

When I turn to Maliah, she’s doubled over, laughter spilling out of her. I rub the back of my neck feeling like an idiot. “What?”

“You should’ve seen your face!” she says between giggles. “You were so flustered. I’ve never seen you like that.”

“Yeah, well, you almost blew it,” I say, though I can’t help but laugh too. Even through the embarrassment, seeing her smile like this makes it all worth it.

The sun is startingto dip below the horizon when we pull up toParque el Espino, also known as Sunset Park, in La Libertad. The sky is painted in warm oranges and pinks, casting a soft glow over the ocean in the distance. The breeze carries the scent of saltwater mixed with grilled street food, and the air buzzes with laughter, chatter, and the sound of carnival games. It’s like something out of a movie—the kind of place where everything feels alive.

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