Page 72 of Below the Barrel

We move together, our breaths synchronized, building something more than just pleasure—it’s healing, it’s forgiveness, it’s love.

We make love and it’s different from before—better, because now there are no walls, no lies, no fear. Every movement feels like a vow to stay, to love, to never let go again. Her nails dig into my back as I press deeper, and I feel the shiver that runs through her body as we both reach the edge. She whispers my name and it sounds like salvation.

When we finally collapse, our bodies slick with sweat and our breaths still heavy, it feels like we’ve finally broken through something. Like we’ve found each other again, stronger than before. I pull her close, her head resting against my chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin.

I kiss her forehead, then her cheek, and finally her lips.

Gentle, tender touches that feel like home.

“Maliah,” I whisper, brushing her blonde hair away from her face, my thumb grazing her bottom lip, “we’re not just starting over. We’re starting better. Okay?”

Her eyes soften as she looks up at me, a small smile tugging at her lips. She nods, her hand resting on my chest.

This is where we belong, together.

TWENTY-EIGHT

MALIAH | OAHU, HAWAII

We’re finally in Oahu,the last stop on this whirlwind tour, and I can feel the energy in the air. This is Koa’s home. I can see the pride in his eyes as we step onto the sands of Sunset Beach for the competition, a glint of something deeper—something more personal—every time he glances out at the ocean.

The heat of the sun, the salt on my skin, the cheers from the crowd, everything feels heightened today. We ride those waves like we’re made for them, Koa and I in perfect sync with the ocean. Every turn, every drop feels right, like we’ve tapped into something primal, something that flows deeper than just skill. And when we finish, the scores flash on the screen—first place. It’s a rush, but there’s also this calm that washes over me as I turn to Koa, knowing we did it together. He grins at me with that boyish grin before starting to paddle back to shore.

As soon as we reach the sand, towels are thrown over our heads and our boards are taken before we’re whisked to a small tent near the beach for interviews. I try my best to dry my hair and body with the towel as the cameras finish setting up, the reporters already buzzing around, eager for sound bites. Koa sits beside me, the ocean behind us, his arm draped casually over the back of my chair.

The cameras roll, and the interviewer jumps right in.

“First place at Sunset Beach, congratulations to both of you! How are you feeling, knowing Pipeline is just around the corner?”

My heart skips a beat at the mention of Pipeline so I glance at Koa, and he gives me a small nod, letting me take the first response.

“We’re excited,” I say with a smile, still catching my breath from the rush of it all. “I’ve heard that Pipeline is no joke, though. It’s one of the most dangerous waves in the world.”

Koa leans in slightly, his voice calm but serious. “The ocean here in Hawaii…she’ll either give you everything or take it all away. You have to respect her, or she’ll take it from you.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. He knows the water better than anyone, and I can tell the weight of surfing Pipeline isn’t lost on him.

The interviewer seems to catch onto the gravity of what he’s saying, nodding thoughtfully before moving on to lighter topics. But I can feel it. Pipeline is looming, and while we’ve both surfed dangerous waves before, this one is different. It’s not just the danger—it’s the history, the stakes, and for Koa, it’s personal.

I’ve heard stories of Pipeline almost my whole surfing career and it’s always been the wave that haunts my dreams; the one that terrifies me in a way no other wave does. I can feel the nervous tremor in my leg, even as I try to keep it still.

Without a word, Koa’s hand finds its way to my knee, his fingers pressing gently but firmly, grounding me in the moment. I don’t look at him, but I breathe a little easier, grateful that he knows me well enough to sense my fear.

The interviewer shifts, leaning in. “And about the two of you, there’s been a lot of speculation. The chemistry on screen—let’s just say it’s noticeable. So, what’s the story?”

I feel the question hit like a soft blow, the kind that leaves you momentarily stunned. For a second, I’m speechless, but then Koa’s hand squeezes my knee, a reminder that I don’t have to hide this anymore. I turn toward him, and he’s already smiling at me, like he knew this was coming.

“Yeah,” I finally say, my voice clear. “We’re together. We’re happy with what we have.”

The words feel freeing, as if saying them out loud makes them real all over again. Koa grins at me, his eyes full of warmth, and I can’t help but smile back.

The interviewer looks pleased, maybe even a little too pleased, but I don’t care. The camera cuts, the lights dim slightly, and for a moment, it’s just the two of us again. No cameras, no tour, no waves.

Just Koa and me.

After the interviewer wraps, the SurfFlix producers usher us off the set, sending the top five teams of remaining surfers back to the hotels to get ready for dinner, while the others have already been sent home. Cut from the tour—including Charles.

Dinner is supposed to be a big celebration after today’s competition, the last chance to unwind with other surfers before we face the intensity of Pipeline next week.

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