Page 121 of When the Stars Rise
Four in the morning? No wonder I feel like shit. I’ve only had a couple of hours of sleep. I massage my aching temples, then guzzle some water from my bottle. Hydration is the key. “At least I made it to my bed.”
“You didn’t walk on your own. We carried you, asshole,” he says as we follow the dirt trail through the trees to the wooden staircase. “You were going on and on, saying all kinds of shit.”
“What was I saying?”
“Not sure. We didn’t catch most of it. You weren’t making any sense.”
We stop at the top of the staircase to assess the conditions. Bodhi was right about the waves. They’re barreling and there are already some surfers in the lineup. None of them are as good as Bodhi, though, except for one. He stands out from all the rest so he’s pretty easy to spot, even from this distance.
“Shit,” Bodhi grumbles when he sees his brother is out there. “How much do you wanna bet that he’s going to find something to give me shit about? He’s always on my ass about something.”
Bodhi’s older brother Kai is one of the best surfers in the world—a bit of a legend in Costa del Rey. He rides Bodhi pretty hard, but to be fair, I think it’s because he’s a lot more focused than his younger brother. He knows how good Bodhi could be if he were more disciplined and dedicated to his sport. But Bodhi loves to party, and I don’t see him giving it up any time soon.
“You kept saying you’re going to give it all up,” Bodhi says when we reach the bottom of the staircase.
“What?” I jam my board in the sand and pull up the top of my wetsuit that was around my waist.
“Last night when you were mumbling shit. You said you’re going to give it all up. You can’t live without her, can you?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I’ve never really tried.”
“Like I said, you’re fucked.”
I don’t even know why I bother talking to him about any of this.
“You know why I steer clear of falling in love?” he says as we carry our boards down to the water, picking our way over the rocks. “I grew up hearing the story of what my dad did for my mom when he was our age, and everyone thought it was so fucking romantic. I never thought that, though. All I ever thought was, ‘Thanks for setting that benchmark so high, Dad.’ How am I supposed to top that?” He shakes his head. “The things people will do for love, man. It’s fucked up.”
On that note, we paddle out and battle the waves to get beyond the breakers. I’ve only been surfing for four years so I’m not as good as the Wilders, the St. Clairs, or Sage. They’ve been surfing all their lives. But what I lack in experience and technique I make up for by surfing balls to the wall and holding nothing back.
Twenty minutes in, after attempting a backflip, a spin, and a backside grab followed by an alley-oop, my hangover is forgotten, and I feel like a new man.
Doesn’t matter that I was left eating sand. Catching air was worth it.
“You almost had it,” Bodhi says, laughing his ass off when I paddle back out.
“Let’s see you do better, Wild Man.”
He snorts, watching the horizon until he spots his next wave. “Watch and learn, grasshopper. You can bet your ass I won’t be hitting the backside of the wave.” He starts paddling hard forthe wave and it’s just about the only time he puts real effort into anything. When he’s surfing. “It’s gonna be smooth as your pretty baby face,” he yells over his shoulder. Asshole. I don’t have a baby face.
Seconds later, he’s up on his board, flying above the wave, and manages to pull off an aerial maneuver that makes all the other surfers sit up on their boards to watch. All except for Kai who thinks his brother is a show-off.
Maybe I could be content with just surfing. Can’t deny that it’s a rush. Not as big of a rush as BASE jumping, but I could still do all the rest of it—the travel vlogging, the modeling, some scuba diving.
Why isn’t that enough for me?
But I know the answer.
When I’m jumping out of a plane or hurling myself off a cliff, I’m weightless. Free of all the guilt. Free of all worries.
If I just keep running, keep moving, it can’t catch up.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Hayley
“How very Gatsby of him,”Jules remarks, snagging two mini wagyu beef burgers from a passing silver tray and handing one to me as we scan the backyard for a Bastian sighting.
Bastian lives in a 1920s mansion in the Hills that exudes old Hollywood glamour—how very Gatsby of him. That, and the fact that he hasn’t shown his face yet.
