Page 44 of Daddy Defender
My Little side giggles, but my surfer boy side’s already moving, quiet and careful. I ease off the couch, my eyes on Henry, still glued to his screen.
The shack’s door is just a few steps away, and Shred’s parked right outside, under that tarp. If I’m quick, I can grab my board and hit the beach before he notices.
Call me crazy, but I think this might just work…
I tiptoe across the creaky floor, holding my breath as a board groans under my weight. Henry doesn’t flinch, his fingers still flying over the keys. My pulse races, half from the thrill of sneaking out, half from the fear of getting caught.
I slip through the door, quiet as a mouse, the cool air hitting me like a hug, the ocean’s hum louder now.
Shred’s right there, my trusty van, and I climb onto the roof, my hands steady as I untie the straps holding my board. The knotsare tight, but I’ve done this a million times, and the board slides free, smooth and familiar in my grip.
“That’s it, come to Bodie,” I giggle, feeling like a naughty little mischief maker and loving every second of it.
I hop down, my sneakers soft on the sand, and glance back at the shack.
No Henry, no lights flicking on.
I’m clear.
The beach is just a short sprint away, the waves glinting under the moon, looking seriously good—clean, crisp, maybe six-footers, perfect for carving.
My heart leaps, and I’m already running, shoes off, the board under my arm, the sand cool under my feet.
This is it—freedom, the real kind, not some fantasy of trusting Henry or hoping Vince forgets me.
I stop at the water’s edge, the tide lapping at my toes, and my mind flashes back to my first year in senior surf comps, when I was nineteen and untouchable…
I’d ditched college, my parents’ dreams, and hit the coast with Shred, chasing waves from Santa Cruz to San Diego.
That first comp in Coral Beach was everything—paddling out at dawn, the crowd roaring, my board slicing through a ten-footer like it was born for it. I felt alive, like the ocean was part of me, every wave a pulse in my veins.
I placed third, not bad for a rookie, and celebrated with cheap beers and bonfires, laughing with other surfers who got it, wholived for the same rush. That was before Vince, before his lies and his ledger, when surfing was pure, and I was free…
I want that back.
I need it.
Vince’s taken too much—my trust, my safe space, my van for his dirty deals. I’m done letting him win. The waves are right there, calling, and I’m not waiting for Henry’s permission.
I strip off my oversized tee and jeans, tossing them onto the sand, leaving me in my briefs and nothing else. It’s not a wetsuit, far from it in fact. But it’ll do for a quick sesh. The water’s gonna be cold, but I don’t care—I need to feel alive again.
I’m about to run into the surf, my board tucked under my arm, when a heavy hand lands on my shoulder. My heart lurches, and I spin around, expecting the worst—Vince, one of his goons, a gun in my face.
But it’s Henry, his dark eyes blazing, his jaw so tight I can see the muscle twitch. He’s pissed, and my stomach drops, my Little side shrinking, ready for a lecture or worse, another spanking.
“Henry, I…” I start, my voice shaky, clutching my board like a shield.
“What the hell, Bodie?” Henry growls, his voice low but sharp, like a blade. “I told you to stay inside. You think this is a game? Sneaking out, half-naked, with Vince’s assholes out there?”
I flinch, my cheeks burning, but I lift my chin, defiance kicking in.
“I need this, Henry!” I protest. “You don’t get it—the ocean’s my safe place, not some stuffy shack! I can’t just sit there, waiting for you to save me!”
Henry’s eyes narrow, searching mine, and for a second, I’m sure he’s gonna drag me back, lock me down. But then his face softens, just a fraction, and he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his scar.
“Alright, Little One,” Henry says, his voice still firm but warmer. “You can surf. But I’m keeping watch. You stay where I can see you, and you come in when I say. Got it?”
My jaw drops, relief flooding me so fast I almost drop my board.
