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o made—you’re allowed to change your mind. You’re human. And wanting to be a parent is natural. And from experience, I can tell you it’s pretty fucking beautiful.” I wait a moment while she wipes away some tears, then I add the necessary caveat. “But you have to be prepared to hear that Yuri’s not on the same page as you. You have to be ready to either come up with a compromise or settle for not getting what you want.”
She heaves a deep sigh and nods as she gets to her feet. “Let’s get back to work. Enough of my shitty relationship problems.”
I laugh as I get up with her. “Yeah, and whatever you do, don’t tell Yuri I gave you that shitty relationship advice.”
“You want me to lie to my boyfriend?”
We stare at each other for a moment, and a long, pregnant pause later, I reply, “Yes.”
Eleven
Coming in second to Carlos Ferreira—the Prodigy from Portugal, as the press likes to refer to him—at a single event on his home turf was something I kind of expected when I came to Portugal. And by the semifinal heat, Carlos pretty much had the victory locked in. But falling to number-two seed in the overall CT rankings was a painful blow to my ego. I spent more than six months riding the crest of that wave. I didn’t realize how much I liked it up there until Carlos came along and knocked me off.
It’s all good, I assure myself as Lena and I shove our way through the crowd. I still have one more chance to see my name engraved on that championship trophy at the World Surfing Awards in February. And the next event will be in Pipeline. I’m not specifically from Hawaii, but I’ll have the American home-field advantage with the crowd.
I may not be wearing the yellow champion’s jersey at Pipeline, but coming in as a champion isn’t everything. Last year’s world champ, Brad Wilson, is currently sitting at number nine in the CT rankings after skipping two events to go to an Olympic training camp. Two years ago was the first year surfing became an official event in the Olympics and that bastard took the gold. Last year he took the world championship. But as it stands, even if Brad wins first place at Pipeline, he still won’t have enough points to overtake either me or Carlos in the CT rankings.
We’re almost at the truck where my Rip Curl rep is waiting to whisk us away back to our hotel, when Enzo Hisakawa, editor of The Inertia—one of the largest online surfing communities—and one of my most vocal critics, comes out of nowhere with a photographer and a microphone attached to a digital voice recorder.
“Adam, what do you think about that interference call? Do you agree with the judges?” Enzo calls out to me.
I want to tell him to go fuck himself, and the judges while he’s at it, but I don’t want to get fined for violating the Code of Conduct. Instead, I keep walking to force him to try to keep up with Lena and me. As soon as we’re by the truck, I hand my Rip Curl rep, Andy, my board. He looks at Enzo and back at me, shooting me a look, a warning that I need to watch what I say.
I turn back to Enzo and look him in the eye. “The waves were pretty peaky out there today, splitting in both directions. I don’t know if the judges made the right decision. I still think I had priority until he cut in on me, but it’s not my call. That’s for the judges to decide and they called it for Carlos. That’s the breaks, man.”
Enzo follows me as I head to the passenger side of the truck. “What do you want to say to all the people who say your rise from #12 last year to #1 this year was all a fluke?”
“I say, ‘Fuck you. This is still mine to lose.’”
Andy opens the passenger door for me and shoves me inside to stop me from saying anything else. He glares at me as he slams the door and I roll my eyes as I turn to look at Lena in the backseat.
She shakes her head as she tries to suppress a smile. “You’re gonna pay for that,” she says. “I don’t think even Hank can get you out of that one.”
I shrug as Andy slides into the driver’s seat. “Fuck it. I don’t mind paying a fine for the privilege of telling that little fucker off.”
Andy shakes his head. “It’s not just the fine, Adam. You know the commissioner isn’t going to like that comment. And whether you like it or not, the judges take into account the surfer favored by the commissioner. Do you really want to get on Wembley’s bad side?”
I lean back and stare out at the clay tile roofs on the small houses lining the road near the beach in Peniche, Portugal. “I hate the fucking politics of surfing. The only thing that should matter is skill. It shouldn’t matter if one surfer is better at bullshitting the media.”
“Well, that’s the world we live in, so suck it up,” Andy replies. “Carlos has been the favorite since he won Pipeline two years ago and still came away without the world title. You gotta watch your step.”
After a long shower, and a two a.m. phone call to Lindsay, I toss and turn in my hotel bed as I think of all the things that went wrong today. From the shitty waves, to the even shittier call from the judges, and the crowd cheering their asses off for Carlos, I was destined to lose this one. I can’t let this loss screw me up mentally. But it’s pretty fucking hard not to, when Carlos has beaten me twice now, both times on calls made by the judges. Is the commissioner trying to force me out?
I shake my head as I turn over onto my other side. I can’t allow myself to get caught up in the paranoia or the politics. If Lee Wembley, the World Surf League commissioner, wants Carlos to win, he can probably pull it off. Carlos is a good enough surfer that no one will question it. Which is why I have to come out stronger than ever at Pipeline. I have to make sure that there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind who’s the better surfer.
There’s no way around it. I have to destroy Carlos Ferreira.
* * *
In the morning, Lena and I meet in the hotel lobby to check out and head to the airport. I grit my teeth as Carlos and his father get in line behind us at the reservation desk. Lena glances over her shoulder at Carlos as the woman at the desk calls us forward.
I place my hand on the small of her back to lead her to the desk. “Come on,” I mutter, not wanting to engage Carlos in a conversation when I’m feeling as bitter and energized as I am right now.
We step up to the counter and Lena puts her arms up on the glossy white surface. The woman behind the desk takes the room keys I slide across to her. As we wait for her to print out the final bill for the room, I glance over my shoulder and catch Carlos staring at Lena’s ass. That’s when I realize the back of her shirt is riding up, exposing her G-string. I reach over and pull the back of her shirt down.
She chuckles as she lightly smacks my arm. “What are you doing? Are you trying to touch my butt?”
“Your shirt’s riding up,” I reply, my voice taut with tension.
She reaches over, her hand hovering over my ass. “Ooh, look at me. I’m gonna touch the butt.”
I shake my head, my tension melting into a reluctant grin at her Finding Nemo reference. “I’m the one who’s supposed to make stupid kids’ movies references, not you.” The moment the words come out of my mouth I realize how insensitive I sound, considering she recently confided her desire to start a family. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
She flashes me a tight smile as she puts her arms back up on the counter, once again revealing her G-string to Carlos. “It’s fine,” she replies. “I didn’t really want to touch your butt anyway.”
I chuckle at this as the girl behind the desk hands me the hotel bill. As we turn around, I catch Carlos staring at her ass again. I grab Lena’s arm to move her to my other side, and he smiles.
“That’s a nice butt,” he says when we’re a few feet away. “Not as fine as Lindsay’s, though.”
Before I can stop myself, I’m charging at him. My shoulder collides with his chest with the force of a ten-ton wave crashing down on him. He gets the first punch in, his fist slamming into the side of my head and dazing me for about two seconds. I throw the next punch, which lands with a resounding thwack on his temple. After that, it’s all a blur of blows and a tangle
of arms pulling us apart.
Three security guards drag me outside and basically throw me into a cab with Lena. This is a blessing, because two hours later, news of the scuffle is already hitting the surf blogosphere. My phone is blowing up with emails and texts asking for my side of the story. I give them the honest truth: Carlos insulted my wife and my trainer, so I rushed him. But it’s the text message I get from Lindsay as I’m boarding the plane that makes me sick to my stomach.
Lena and I take our seats on the plane. When the flight attendant asks if we’d like anything to drink before takeoff, I order a bourbon. “Make it a double,” I say as she walks away.
Lena cocks an eyebrow. “A double? I know my butt may not be as fine as Lindsay’s, but it can’t be that bad.”
I laugh, silently thanking her for lightening the mood. “Your butt is fine. It’s better than fine.”
She secures her seat belt and tilts her head as she looks at me. “Then what’s the problem? It looks like everyone believes your side of the story.”
I sigh as I think of the text message from Lindsay, then I look her in the eye. “Lindsay just got a call from Wembley’s assistant. They’re thinking of kicking me off the tour.”
Twelve
As our plane touches down at Wilmington International Airport, my phone regains a signal and lights up with a text message from Brad Wilson, the reigning WSL world champ.
Brad: You did what the rest of us have wanted to do for ages. If they kick you off for that shit, I’ll back you up, mate.
In my head, I read the words in his Aussie accent, then I shoot off a text to thank him before turning off my phone. Even the words of encouragement are too much. I need to focus on one thing only right now, and that’s getting home so I can come clean to Lindsay. She needs to know that even if I do get suspended for the rest of the tour, I’m coming back next year even stronger. It’s time to tell her the truth, that I have no intention of retiring.
