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“Don’t fucking think about it, Parker. This is mine.”
I ignore his comment, saving my breath to propel myself past him. I make it out to the lineup first, putting myself in position to catch that first wave. Most of the waves are breaking to the left, and everyone knows I’m left-handed, which makes me better on the right-hand waves. But I don’t let this worry me.
We duke it out wave-for-wave, until there are just two minutes left in the heat for either of us to make a move. The total of Carlos’s two best waves are just a fraction of a point ahead of my two best. I need to outscore my second-best wave—an 8.4—by at least 0.6 points. As the clock counts down the seconds to the end of the heat, I take a deep breath and lie across my board. Then I close my eyes and count the seconds between sets.
The water rises beneath me.
One. Two. Three. Four.
The water begins to drop.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Rising again.
“Eight seconds,” I whisper to myself as I open my eyes. Perfect timing. This is my competition to lose.
Suddenly, the sounds of the crowd on the shore and the film crews on the boats nearby fade away. I close my eyes and allow the energy in the water to seep into my skin, into my bones, and I feel it. It’s time.
When I open my eyes, Carlos is going for the wave, but I know I can beat him. I paddle my ass off toward the crest and we both stand up at the same time, but I loop around his backside, dropping in over the top of the wave to come out in front, forcing him to drop off or get called for interference.
I immediately move into a soul arch, leaning my head and shoulders back as I carve through the bottom of the wave, then I lean forward and crouch down a bit as I swoop up to the top of the wave and snap my tail over the lip.
The crowd goes wild, but I try to tune them out as I bounce my tail on the water to generate more speed, shaking the water out of my hair as I come up fast. My stomach vaults when my board lifts out of the water. Then I’m flying. I grab the rails and shift my center of gravity in the direction the board naturally wants to spin. Holding on to the board tightly, I fight to keep my eyes open as the ocean spray showers my face. Then the board comes down on the top of the lip and cruises down the flats into the whitewash.
I laugh hysterically as I stand up. Fucking shit. I just landed a rodeo flip on my final fucking wave. I shake my hair out again, pumping my fist in the air as I ride through the whitewash with my back straight and my head held high.
I lean back to collapse into the water just as the horn sounds, signaling the end of the heat. Grabbing my board, I begin making my way out of the water, watching the board for my final score. Then it appears: 9.8.
I fall to my knees on top of my board in the knee-high surf. I did it. I fucking did it.
The crowd roars as they all rush the water, pulling and touching me from all sides as I cry the most bittersweet tears of my life. Yuri and Andy fight their way to me and soon I’m hoisted up onto their shoulders.
The announcer bellows into the microphone and a chill passes through me. “Congratulations, Adam Parker! Your new WSL World Champion!”
Sand and confetti fly everywhere as Andy and Yuri, buoyed by the energy of the crowd, carry me across the sand toward the stage. I smile when I see Lena, Mila, and Kaia standing off to the side, waiting for me. Yuri and Andy set me down on the platform, which has been covered with black cloth, and I immediately rush over to get my girls.
My heart swells when I see that Kaia is crying. “What’s wrong, baby?”
She shakes her head as she turns her face into my chest. “I’m just happy for you, Daddy.”
“Oh, baby,” I say, picking her up and squeezing her tight. “I’m just happy you’re here with me.”
Hank hands me the trophy and I immediately hand it to Kaia. As the cameras flash, and the congratulations roll in, I can’t help but feel a raw emptiness eating away at me. This moment just isn’t the same without Lindsay.
Someone taps me on the shoulder and I turn around to find Yuri standing behind me, holding out his phone. I take the phone from him and hold it an inch away from my wet ear, but I can’t hear anything over the crowd.
Covering my other ear, I press the phone against me and shout into the phone. “Hello?”
“Congratulations, champ. I knew you’d do it.”
“I wish you were here,” I shout, my throat thick with emotion.
“Hurry up and come home so we can name the babies,” she replies.
I laugh as I hit the FaceTime button on the phone to switch to a video call. She accepts the video call and the sight of her sitting in the hospital bed takes my breath away. I turn around and the commissioner, Lee Wembley, shoves a microphone in my face.
“How are you feeling, Adam?”
I hold the phone up for the crowd to see, then I shout into the microphone, “I had twins last night!”
The crowd laughs at my outburst and I turn the phone screen back to me in time to catch Lindsay laughing.
I grab the microphone from the commissioner and he looks a little shocked as I begin speaking. “Not everyone gets the privilege to see their dreams come true. This victory is for my childhood best friend, Myles, who died the day of his first event. And it’s also for my new best friend. The woman who gave me the four most valuable trophies a man can receive. I love you, Lindsay.”
The crowd goes crazy, but it’s the smile on Lindsay’s face when I look at the phone that makes me happiest. I blow a kiss at her and we both mouth the words I love you before I disconnect and hand the phone back to Yuri.
And as the award ceremony winds down, and Carlos and his team give me their congratulations, Yuri and Lena finally get to take Kaia, Mila, and me back to the hotel. The five of us have a quiet dinner before Yuri and Lena head back to their room and the girls and I settle in for the night. After a long shower, the world champion of surfing falls asleep with his baby girls slobbering all over him, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
Eighteen
I’ve only been in the stockroom of Yuri and Lena’s surf shop a couple of times, but I’m not at all surprised that it smells briny despite the fact that it’s very clean and organized. The briny smell is probably from the wetsuit that hangs from a hook in the ceiling, dripping saltwater into a large blue bucket. Cases of sunblock, nutritional supplements, and surf wax line the shelves, which extend from floor to ceiling in this room that’s about as big as a janitor’s closet.
I stand up straight when I hear Lena’s voice inside the shop. Even with the door to the stockroom closed, I can still hear her laughing as she says, “Keep your eyes closed or I’ll shank you.”
I open the door and peek my head out of the room. Lena locks eyes with me and nods, giving me the all clear to come out. I take my place behind the checkout counter at the back of the shop.
Yuri grins as Lena leads him past a rack of board shorts. “This better be good, ’cause you’re giving me nervous gas. It’s just you and me here, right? ’Cause I really need to rip one.”
I press my lips together and cover my mouth so he can’t hear me laughing.
Lena rolls her eyes as she leads him toward the counter.
“Yeah, it’s just you and me. Let ’er rip.”
Yuri lets out a loud fart, much louder than anything I could have expected. And I can’t hold it in anymore.
I cackle loudly, coughing through my hysterics as Yuri opens his eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I choke out through the laughter and the smell. “I think the walls shook with that one.”
Lena shakes her head in shame, but Yuri isn’t laughing. He’s standing on the other side of the checkout counter stock still, staring at the wall behind me. He doesn’t say a word as I take a moment to catch my breath, my gaze following the same direction as his.
Up on the wall, under the Rip Curl sign Andy gave Lena on the championship tour last year, is a six-foot-two-inch-long hollow-core surfboard shaped from paulownia wood. The glassy resin finish still has its original mirror shine. I switched to an epoxy board pretty quickly when I was learning to surf. The wood is just a tad less flexible and forgiving than the epoxy boards. But my mom had the foresight to keep my first surfboard in a protective case in our garage until I moved in with Lindsay and asked for it back. It’s been hanging in my workshop ever since.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Yuri whispers, his eyes still fixed on the board.
“Not at all,” I reply with a huge smile. “It’s yours, if you still want it.”
He finally looks at me, his eyes pleading. “This better not be a joke, or I swear to God I’ll rip another one.”
“Dude, no need to make threats,” I say, holding up my hands. “The board is yours.”
His eyes widen as he breaks into a cheesy grin. “Are you fucking kidding me? Woo!” he hollers, pumping his fist as he leaps into the air, accidentally kicking a display of energy drinks. He rounds the counter and throws his arms around me. “I love you, man.”
I laugh as I pat his back. “Love you too, bro.”
When he lets me go, his eyes are red and watery as he turns his Quiksilver baseball cap backward so he has an unobstructed view of the board.
