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“I’m begging you.” I gasp for air from running out here and climbing. “Don’t do this.”

Something flickers in his eyes. I’m not sure if it’s pity or concern, and I don’t care as long as it means he’s listening to what I’m saying.

It disappears as fast as it arrived, and his eyes grow cold again…it’s how he steels himself against me.

“The difference between us is that you’re scared of death and I’m not.” He turns to start climbing again. “If I was, I’d never get out of bed in the morning.”

He easily scrambles up the last rocks to reach the top only using one hand, while I struggle to follow.

“There is a world of difference,” I huff, “between a calculated risk and what you are doing right now. This isn’t a calculated risk. This is suicide.”

He reaches down to pull me up over the last big rock, and for a moment we’re standing close, his hand still on my arm, but then he releases me as if by force, walking forward to the cliff’s edge. I look down. Far, far below us the water churns, charcoal gray and ominous. He’ll have to jump ridiculously far to make it, and the odds of it happening, without him either getting hit by the board or breaking it in the process are slim to none.

He walks back to me. His face is too serious, too determined, for me to hope he’s changed his mind.

“I haven’t loved many things in this world,” he says, “but I loved you from the minute I saw you, and whether it’s today or seventy years from now, I’ll love you with my dying breath.”

And then, without hesitating or calculating, he runs toward the edge of the cliff.

I want to scream but the sound is locked in my throat. I want to run to the edge to see if he made it, but my limbs won’t work. I’ll love you with my dying breath. I didn’t even get a chance to say it back.

I’m frozen, too terrified to look. If he’s gone, if he’s badly hurt, I don’t know how I’ll even…

A cheer erupts from the people on Harrison’s deck. I walk to the edge, my legs shaking like a new foal’s, and I sink to my knees when I get there, unable to stand even a moment longer.

He’s paddling toward the break, and though he’s survived the jump there are still no guarantees. I clutch my stomach, worried I’m going to be sick.

The break is farther than it first appeared. By the time Luke reaches it, half the house is down on the beach, watching, shouting encouragement he can’t possibly hear. Rocks and gravel slip underfoot behind me, and then Danny comes up to one side and Libby to the other.

We watch in strained silence while he lets several moderate waves pass, his gaze focused on the horizon.

“What’s he doing?” Grady asks from behind us. “Those look like decent waves to me.”

I roll my eyes.

Danny, as always, is kind. “He’s waiting for that,” he says, pointing to a blue swell in the distance.

I’m not sure how he knows it’s different from anything else, but he’s right. It gets bigger, and Luke lies flat on his board and starts paddling—slowly at first, and then faster as it closes in. As always, he makes it look easy, but he’s moving fast and he’s timed it perfectly: the wave is probably twenty feet overhead by the time it reaches him. Small, by Mavericks’ standards, but far more dangerous because he’s surrounded by cliffs on both sides. It’s surfing a huge wave, while maneuvering through a deadly obstacle course, all at the same time.

“Holy shit,” whispers Danny.

Even over the roar of the surf, the excitement from everyone who remained on the deck is deafening as they run down the stairs to get closer.

Luke carves across the wave and then takes a sharp turn at the last moment to angle himself down the center of the channel, just skirting the rocks. And when he finally steps out of the water, the guys standing on the beach hoist him on their shoulders as if he’s just won the Superbowl singlehandedly.

“Thank heaven,” Libby says under her breath, turning with Grady to head to the beach.

Danny grabs my hand to stop me from going after them. “Why the hell did you follow him up here?” he asks me under his breath. “We already tried to talk him out of it, and he made it clear he wasn't going to listen to any of us.”

“I don’t know.” I stare at the ground, unable to meet his eye. “I was just positive he was going to die, and I needed to know that I’d tried to stop it.”

“Since when do you care so much whether Luke lives or dies?”

I shake off his hand, shocked by the callousness of the question. “If you think I’d be ambivalent about someone’s death, then I don’t know why you’re marrying me.”

He sighs. “I’m just not sure why everyone’s making such a big deal out of it. They’re acting like he’s Jesus. He’s just got a better board than the rest of us do.”

My jaw falls open. “Do me a favor,” I snap, moving away from him, “and don’t act like the only thing he’s got that you don’t have is a good board.”