On The Rocks

John has always been the type of friend that I could lay anything on… without fear of judgment or reprisal. When I was eighteen, I competed in a pro event in Australia, and the waves were massive. The competition was the fiercest I had ever been among. Part of the sport of professional surfing is trying to beat your competitor to the wave. It takes determination, aggression, and power, something that I usually didn’t have a problem with at eighteen, because I was just cocky enough to have all of those qualities in spades.

I remember watching the heat before mine, trying to get my head into the zone. I watched as a young newcomer…fuck, I can’t even remember his name now, snaked his opponent by cutting in on his wave, and then doing a vicious cut-back, causing the fins of his board to hit the other dude and slice into his ankle. It was an egregious move that got him disqualified and ended the other dude’s career because it severed his Achilles tendon.

It was at that moment that I realized I was in the big leagues, and I had a wave of uncertainty crash through me, causing my heart to skitter out of control and my stomach to cramp tight. John was standing beside me, and I didn’t even have to say anything, but I did… because I knew I could and I knew he’d understand.

“Fuck,” I told him, my voice quaking. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

He brought his hand up and clapped it around my neck, giving me a slight shake. “You’re ready. Doesn’t mean it’s not scary, because it is. Use that fear to make you smart.”

He affirmed my fear, didn’t hold it against me. That empowered me more than anything did, because he taught me to embrace it and use it to my advantage. Any other person out there would have called me a * and probably destroyed whatever healthy ego I had at that young age.

Not John though. He mentored me through it and showed me I could trust him. Over the years, he’s been there for me time and again, handing out sage wisdom, slapping me on the back of the head if necessary, and generally being there to pull my head out of my ass when warranted.

“Gabby’s different though,” John says softly, breaking into my ruminations.

I look at John, taking in the understanding bend in his eyebrows, the way his eyes are non-judgmental and accepting.

“I love her more than surfing. She’s more important than surfing. You can throw all the money in the world at me, you can guarantee that I’d win every competition… none of it is better than Gabby. I can’t leave her, John. I don’t want to leave her.”

“Then don’t,” he says simply, as if it were really just that simple.

I mean, it really is just that simple to me, and it’s nice to know that John sees it the same way. I’m not sure why it’s so complicated for everyone else that has weighed in with their opinion.

So that’s that.

I’m not taking the deals; I’m not going back on the tour. I’m going to stay here, run Last Call, and be with Gabby. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders and it feels fucking fantastic.

I search deep within… look for signs of uncertainty, fear, or regret.

I come up empty.

All I feel is excitement about my life with Gabby, back home with my friends and family. I don’t even feel a pang of sorrow for leaving my surfing career behind.

This is absolutely the right thing to do.

Turning to John, I grin. “I’ll call Keith in the morning and give him the bad news. He’s not going to be happy.”

“Bad news about what?” I hear from behind, and see Sasha sauntering up to our table. She takes the seat to my left and looks at me with curiosity.

“I’m not going back on tour,” I tell her, still smiling with mega wattage on the inside.

Sasha’s brows furrow, and her lips flatten out. “You got to be fucking kidding me. You’re going to give all of that up?”

“Looks like,” I tell her lightly.

“You’re a fucking idiot. And let me just guess… you’re giving it all up so you can be with your precious Gabby, right? Un-fucking-believable.”

“What the hell is your problem?” I snarl at Sasha.