Page 36 of The Surfer

“So, you had this as a teenager? I find it hard to imagine you as a teenage boy.”

“Why?” Cove asks, stepping towards me. “Do you think if we met as teenagers you’d fancy me?”

I snort. “As if you would be so lucky, Cove Finn.”

“I’m sure I could’ve worked my magic on your geeky ass.”

Yeah, to be honest, I bet he would’ve. And it probably would’ve worked.

“In your dreams, pal,” I reply. “So, what were you like as a teenager?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“We’re going to be spending the next few months together,” I say, shrugging. “We might as well get to understand each other.”

Cove turns and stares out at the ocean. “It was mostly surfing, that’s all I did as a teenager,” he replies. “Other than that, I was a pretty shy kid, I never really liked talking.”

I punch his arm playfully; I can’t imagine him being a shy kid at all. Not that cocky Cove I know. “Shut up, I bet you weren’t. I bet all the girls wanted to date Mr Surfer Boy.”

He laughs and turns back to face me with his piercing blue eyes. “No really, it’s true. It’s pretty strange being the rich kid in a small town. I just stuck to surfing all the time. Surfing gave me a way out of just being the kid with the rich dad and it instead gave me something to excel in. It’s something different from my Dad and my family’s expectations. See, you don’t really know me at all.”

Oh, there’s more to him than I initially thought. He’s not just an arrogant dick.

“Maybe you can still do it.”

Cove winces. “Surfing?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “You can try it again, see if you’ve still got it.”

His face changes. He’s no longer laughing. “No, Ripley.” His voice is direct and unmoving, it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about him getting back on a board anytime soon.

I’ve pushed him too far.

I get it now. He’s still hurt from his accident. His body might’ve recovered but he’s still healing inside. Getting him to even teach me surfing is already a big step for him, I can’t also get him to open up already to all his past wounds.

The message from him is loud and clear.

Don’t try to get him back on a board.

Cove still needs more time.

“Okay.”

“How about we head down to the beach, then?” Cove suggests, breaking the tension.

With his teenage surfboard under his arm, Cove leads me back to the steps leading down into the sand. I can taste the salt from the ocean breeze already. With the heat and the clear blue water and the sheer openness of it all, this is a foreign land for me, but, looking up at how self-assured Cove is as he walks towards the beach, I can tell it’s natural for him. This is a guy in his element. I just wish I could see him actually surf, see him doing the thing he was actually born to do.

I bet he’s an amazing surfer.

Sandy’s told me how he used to be the best. The way he danced on the waves was apparently the best she’s ever witnessed. I really wish I could see that for myself.

As we reach the area where the parking lot ended and the grass before the beach started, someone steps into our path.

“Cove?” It’s a man coming back from the beach. He’s wearing a black wetsuit, dripping wet from the ocean. His dark hair sticks to his forehead. He’s around the same age as Cove and me, early twenties. He carries a long surfboard under his arm. “Cove Finn?”

I glance at Cove next to me as the man rushes up to us, his surfboard flapping in the breeze. He’s one of the early morning surfers, and both Cove and I are forced to stop as he approaches, blocking our path to the beach. I watch as Cove narrows his eyes at the stranger.

“James?” Cove asks the surfer, slowly recognizing the man.