Page 88 of Pack Frenzy
Once we’re about waist deep, he grins at me.
“Knees soft. Hips square,” he says. He moves like a wave himself—loose, sure. “Hands by your ribs. Don’t yank—press. Let the water do the work.” He taps the horizon. “Eyes there. Your body follows your eyes. I’ve got you.”
The wave nudges. I press, the board lifts. My legs wobble; the whole world tilts. For half a breath, everything holds—me, board, sunlight—and then I’m off.
The bay swallows me with a hush. Cold rushes down my spine. My hair veils my face, and for a blink I’m fifteen again in a different kind of drowning: Mom face-down on the couch, Dad gone to work, the house loud with silence.
My feet find sand. I push up, break the surface—gasping, blinking.
And a laugh bursts out of me as salt stings my eyes, but I don’t care.
“There you go!” Cassian whoops. “Fall like you mean it!”
“Shut up,” I laugh, water dripping off my chin.
We go again. And again. He steadies the board each time and lets go the instant I balance.
“Hands by ribs, eyes up, good. Don’t flirt with your feet unless you want to kiss sand.”
The fourth wipeout gets me. I come up sputtering, frustrated, slapping the water. “I can’t?—”
“You are,” Cassian says, solid as bedrock. “You’re doing it. Again.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then you fall again.” His grin curves slowly. “You’re good at that part.”
“Yeah, right.” The fear doesn’t disappear, but it stops driving.
The sun dips lower, painting the water gold. Farther out, Rowan stands at thigh depth—not hovering, not shouting. Just there. It should make me feel watched. Instead, I feel… safe. Seen, but not cornered.
I get my knees under me. The board twitches like it wants to run; I don’t let it.
“Eyes,” Cassian calls.
I pick a notch on the horizon, breathe toward it, and plant my feet. My thighs shake. Fear hums under pride, but I’m still up.
One breath. Two. Three.
I’m standing.
A rush of warmth sweeps through me. The board hums beneath my feet. Water hisses past in a rhythm that matches my pulse. For five perfect seconds, the bay carries me.
“Look at you,” Cassian shouts. “Look at you, Jess.”
And something behind my eyes go hot.
Then the board decides it’s done listening. I plunge sideways, hit water, hip smarting, salt in my nose. When I surface, hair plastered to my cheek, Cassian reaches to brush it back. I beat him to it, because if he touches me right now, I might cry—and I refuse to cry on a victory lap.
“I stood for a couple of seconds.” I pant, grinning.
“Longer than five seconds,” Rowan says from closer than before. His mouth curves, private. “You’ll stand longer next time.”
Next time.Like certainty. Like room for me in a future I haven’t dared picture.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Next time.”
We keep at it until my legs tremble and my feet buzz from gripping wax. The air smells of salt, kelp, and someone’s grill downshore, making me realize I’m getting hungry, but I don’t want to stop now. I’m so close to nailing this.
