Page 30 of Resurgent
I get up and stalk over to the coffee maker set up on the dresser opposite the bed, not bothering to cover my half erection as I start coffee. “I think it’s okay for us to go down to the beach. Don’t worry. I’m not taking any chances with you, sweetheart. You’re safe with me.”
“I know,” she says, and the sincerity of that simple utterance slays me.
A few hours later, I’m wondering if she’s changed her mind about that vote of confidence, since she refuses to listen to anything I tell her about surfing. We’d started out okay. She’d listened attentively on the beach when I’d explained the basics, and she’d followed my directions to aTas we practiced going from lying on the surfboard to standing. Not that I was surprised. I’m positive Charlotte is the kind of girl who would sit in the front row and write down everything the teacher said in school. I’d admired her smooth grace, and figured she’d catch a wave on one of her first tries.
Then, we’d paddled out into the Pacific so she could test it out for real. I gave her a few last-minute instructions on how to safely wipe out—suggesting she try kneeling and then standing until she got the feel for it, and then she sat on her board and watched me demonstrate the process a few times. She was eager and excited and insisted she was ready, so I watched for a good wave for her and motioned her out. Like a lot of first-time surfers, she ended up riding the white water, and also like most first-time surfers, she wiped out. Again. And again. Now, each time she tries to get up again, she fights the ocean like she’s wrestling a bear. The board slides out, she regains her footing, and then plants her feet in the sand before she gets back on her board, only to have a wave crash into her and knock her down. At this rate, she’s going to be exhausted in no time.
After the fourth or fifth time, I swim over to her, hauling her out of the surf and holding her to me. She doesn’t fight me.
“I’m never going to be able to surf if I can’t even get on my board,” she says, the frustration apparent in her voice.
“You’ll get the surfing part down,” I assure her. “But you’ve got to stop fighting so hard when you fall. When you plant your feet in the sand, your body’s too rigid, so when the waves come, they knock you down. If you ride the waves as they come, you’ll stay afloat. Also, don’t look out too far or you’ll be overwhelmed. Just take each one as it comes.”
I show her what I mean, letting wave after wave buoy us up as it rolls in and deposits us back on the shifting sand of the ocean floor as it continues its journey to the shore. I’m still holding on to her, but I can feel her body begin to relax as she accepts the rhythm of the ocean. After a while, I let go of her, letting her take a few on her own.
“Okay. Take your time, but in between waves, you want to get back on your board and paddle out again. You’ve got this.”
With a determined little nod, she gets back on her surfboard and paddles back out. From where I’m standing on the beach, I give a shout and a thumbs-up as I see the perfect wave coming, and this time she catches it perfectly, effortlessly rising to her feet and riding the wave all the way in before nimbly jumping off in the shallow water like she’s been surfing for years. She’s grinning as she runs over to me, throwing her arms around me.
“I did it!”
“You sure did, baby. You did a damn good job of it too. You looked like a pro. See? It’s all about letting go of control.”
Still beaming, she stands on her tiptoes and gives me a quick but exuberant kiss that has me wanting to haul her over my shoulder and carry her back to our villa like a caveman. She’s silent for a moment, then she says, “How did you get so wise? About the letting go thing, I mean. You weren’t just talking about surfing, were you?”
“No,” I admit, threading my fingers with hers as we slowly walk up the beach. “I know this situation is hell for you. For me, too, but you aren’t used to things being out of your control.” I pause for a minute before continuing. “When my parents died, I realized we don’t really have control over anything. Life happens, and you can fight it, which accomplishes nothing, or you can take it as it comes and ride the wave and see what other doors open up as a result. For example, I probably never would have become a Navy SEAL if my parents hadn’t died.”
“Really?”
“Nope. I was in college majoring in finance—that’s what my dad wanted me to do—and hoping to be a pro football player. I probably would have ended up as one of those guys that turn you on,” I tease. “An accountant who’s…what were your words?…dependable and predictable. Instead, I had no money to finish college and I was suddenly forced to reevaluate my life. I decided the only thing I could really control was the time I had and I was going to make it count. But you can’t be afraid. You have to accept you can lose it all any minute.”
“McKenzie says you’ve always been a thrill seeker. Is that why? Because you aren’t afraid of dying?”
“There’s nothing like the dopamine rush that comes with doing something scary and conquering it,” I say with a laugh. “But it’s never been a death wish. It’s a life wish. Like what you said last night about why you wanted to…you know…” I search for the right word.
She arches an eyebrow at me. “Fuck?”
Why does her reducing it to that bother the shit out of me? “Yeah. Doing extreme things makes me feel real, like I’m truly connected to my deepest self and living life to the fullest.”
She nods. “I kind of get that. But you just said you have to be willing to lose it all.”
“Yep. That’s true. There’s amazing freedom in that. The tighter you hold on, the more likely you are to lose control, not have it. You have to accept you can lose it all at any minute, and be okay with that. Because it’s life. Never—”
“—underestimate the power of fuck it,” she finishes for me. She smiles, and it’s like the sun bursting through the clouds. After a second, she says softly, “Teach me how to do that. What should I do first?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Stop topping from the bottom. Let’s practice a little more in the water before we move on to…other things.”
Her eyes darken, but her smile is impish. “More surfing?”
I grin back at her. “Absolutely. Let’s go out together this time.”
Two hours later, she’s finally had enough and we return our surf boards to the rental stand and walk hand in hand toward a couple of chairs under an umbrella.
“Want a drink? Something girly and fruity with an umbrella in it?” I tease.
“That sounds perfect. As long as you have one, too.” She smiles, and my heart inflates a little.
“Be right back.”
