Page 62 of Below the Barrel

When her turn comes, she paddles towards the wave, but as she stands, I can see the uncertainty in her stance. The wave crashes down, and she falls, taking us out of the point standings. I grit my teeth, frustration boiling inside me. I know we can’t afford to lose points now, not when we’ve worked so hard to get back to first place.

“Fuck!” I mutter under my breath, knowing I have to step up and make this right.

Instead of following her lead, I turn and paddle toward the southern peak. It’s riskier, this part of the reef is known for its dry, sharp edges, but I need to make a statement. I can’t let Maliah’s mistake cost us, she’ll never forgive herself for it. I see the wave rising in the distance, a monstrous wall of water ready to break. My heart races as I push myself forwards, feeling the rush of adrenaline.

I catch the wave, and it’s everything I expected. I carve through it, feeling the familiar thrill as I angle into the barrel. I feel the rush of water around me, the world narrowing to just me and the wave, a dance that only the ocean and I know. Time slows, and I find my rhythm, riding it to perfection.

But as I finally eject from the board, the realization hits me like a punch to the gut; the reef isn’t forgiving. I land hard on the dry surface, the sharp coral ripping into my skin. Pain shoots upmy leg, a million tiny cuts slicing through my adrenaline fuelled high. I grit my teeth, trying to swallow the agony that flares as I scramble back onto my board.

Blood mixes with seawater, but I can’t let it show. Not now. I paddle back to the lineup, heart pounding with the thrill of victory and the sting of pain. As I near Maliah, I can see the look of concern in her eyes, but I put on a brave face.

The moment I stand and stumble onto the sand, the pain flares. I try to shake it off, but I feel the searing sting of my leg with every step.

“Koa!” Maliah’s voice breaks through my haze, and I glance back up to see her rushing towards me, concern etched on her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I reply, but the lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I can see her gaze drop to my leg, and her eyes widen.

“Koa…” She steps closer, and I watch as her expression shifts from worry to horror. “What happened?”

I glance down and see the tear in my wetsuit, the crimson streaks seeping through the fabric. “It’s nothing,” I insist, but that only pisses her off.

“Nothing? That’s not nothing!” She grabs my arm, her grip firm, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for worrying her. “You need to see a medic. Now.”

I want to argue, but as I catch the look of pure worry on her face, I realize I can’t dismiss this.

The medic tent feels like a blur as we walk in, the reality of the situation crashing down on me as the adrenaline fades away. The medics pull my wetsuit down, and as it falls away, I see my leg—covered in deep angry cuts.

“Shit,” I mutter, trying to mask my fear as I see Maliah’s eyes begin to glisten.

“Stay still, Koa,” the medic instructs, and I nod, swallowing hard.

They have me lay down on a gurney as they begin cleaning the cuts to assess which ones will need stitches. The pain intensifies, radiating up my leg. I grit my teeth, determined not to show how much it hurts, for Maliah’s sake, but as the alcohol swabs touch my skin, a scream bursts from my lips, echoing in the small space.

Maliah grips my hand, her fingers intertwined with mine, and I can feel her trembling. I turn to her, and tears pour down her face. “I’m okay,” I try to reassure her.

“No, you’re not,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

The medics continue to work, and I can’t help but squeeze her hand tighter, each burn and sting punctuating my cries. I hate this—hate that I’m making her worry and cry, hate that I can’t be the strong one right now.

They stitch up a few of the deeper cuts before bandaging my leg with fresh gauze, wrapping it snuggly. “You’re good to go,” the medic says, but I feel anything but good right now.

Maliah leaves to our tent to grab my change of clothes before returning with both of our bags. She helps me stand, and the moment I do, the pain lances through me again. “Just breathe,” she murmurs, supporting my weight as I change into my clothes.

She continues to support me as we step back into the sunlight, cameras swarming us, their flashes blinding. Questions rain down about my leg, the competition, and my performance, but I barely register them. The only thing I hear is that we managed to keep our first-place ranking, despite my injury, and a sense of relief washes over me. After that, all I can focus on is climbing into the waiting vehicle, Maliah following behind me before shutting the door and cutting off the media from any more questions and pictures.

The ride back to the villa is tense. I lean back against my seat, trying to find a comfortable position that doesn’t exacerbate thepain radiating from my leg. Maliah is silent, her fingers gripping the phone tightly as she calls Gabriel.

I pretend to sleep, hoping to shield her from my frustration, but the tightness in my chest tells me I’m failing miserably.

“Hey, it’s me,” she says, her voice shaky, and I can hear the worry lacing her tone. “Koa got hurt at the competition. He…he hurt his leg on the reef at the southwest peak.”

A curse escapes Gabriel’s lips, loud and clear even from the other end of the line. “Is he okay?”

“He’s bandaged up with a few stitches on some of the deeper cuts. It looks really bad, Gabriel,” she replies, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ve never heard him in that much pain before.”

“Damn it, Maliah. I’m sorry. I should have prepared you guys better for the conditions out there…I’ve been distracted lately. Don’t worry, I’m going to use a wildcard to bring in someone from the Saltwater Shredders for the next competition. Koa needs time to heal.”

I feel a surge of anger mix with self-recrimination. Will this cost us the overall win of the tour? Because of my carelessness?

---