32. Dex

Chapter thirty-two

Dex

I carry Britta's kiss with me halfway across the world, all the way to Portugal. I'm not sure if her kiss meant yes to making this a proper relationship, or maybe . I don't think it meant no. Not when I can still smell the sea in her hair, taste the salt on her lips, feel the warmth of her skin where I slid my hand under her jumper— my jumper—to her bare back. I remember every second. It's all I can think about.

Literally, I forget everything else, including Archie sitting next to me on our sixteen-hour flight. That's a little on purpose. I'm still irritated with him for implying all Britta means to me is a ticket to the Olympics. Britta didn't act offended, but Archie can't go around saying stuff like that, especially now that Britta and I have opened up about how we really feel.

When we finally land, our plan is to island-hop around Sao Miguel, Terceira, and Sao Jorge, following the wind and the swells. I haven't been to the Azores in years. They're remote and less crowded than Nazare and other sites in Portugal. Santa Catarina off Terceira rivals Hawaii's Pipe with a freakishly quick drop into an instant barrel that skims across shallow reef. It'll be good practice before the first Championship Tour event at Pipe in January and the perfect place to refocus on what should be my one and only priority: surfing.

At least, that was my intention. I should be stoked about the swell when we get to Santa Catarina. The wave coming off the reef is perfect, and I get a rush of adrenaline watching it. But after paddling out and dropping in, I wipe out.

I do the same thing again and again and again. Even when the swell dies down, I still get raked over.

Finally, the last time I get tumbled over the reef, Archie waves me in. I climb over the rocks to get back to shore, breathing hard and hurting everywhere, probably bleeding somewhere. I hand off my board to Archie before I'm close enough and he has to lean farther to yank it from me.

"Let's go, mate, before you get hurt. Your head's not where it's supposed to be." He tucks my board under his arm and leaves me to scramble over the last few rocks.

"Yeah? You got something to say about where it is?" I catch up to him, then shake my head hard enough the water from my hair sprays him.

Archie turns. "Somewhere south of your shoulders, shoved up pretty far."

We glare at each other for a few seconds before walking to our rental car and heading back to the resort where we're staying. I'm a whacker, fighting with my manager and best mate. But everything is off being so far from Britta, worrying she might be lonely or that she might need help with Annie's . I'm not even able to contact her because the Wi-Fi here sucks and the time difference makes it hard to connect for more than a few minutes.

Things don't get better over the next few days. We extend our time in Santa Catarina based on the wind and swell reports from the other waves we plan to surf. Sets are still ripper here, and I hate walking away from a wave before I've conquered it.

Problem is, I can't quit thinking about Britta. On or off the wave, she's front and center in my brain. Every morning before Archie and I head for the beach, I check my phone to see if I've got enough bars to call or text her. On our fourth morning there, as we're walking out of our room, I finally do.

I stop in the middle of the hallway; afraid I'll lose reception if I move.

"This wind changes, and you're going to miss your wave." Archie's voice is as tight as his clenched jaw as he watches me typing into my phone.

The wind is predicted to change this afternoon, so we're checking out and moving on today deeper into the bush. Who knows what the reception will be like there?

"Just checking in with Britt while I've got service." I'm not keen on taking orders from him at the moment, so I type slower than I usually would.

"She's seven hours behind. It's the middle of the night there."

A growl works its way up the back of my throat, and I pull my lips in to keep it from escaping. I hate it when Archie thinks about things I don't. It's why he makes a good manager, but right now he's a pain in my butt. "Then she'll get it when she wakes up and know that I'm thinking about her."

"You wanna get on with it and tell me what's wrong, or you wanna keep messing around?" Archie's got me by half a head, and he uses those inches to hover over me.

"You were a tool to my wife." I don't back away. I've taken him in a brawl before. I can do it again if that's what it comes to.

Archie pulls back, looking genuinely surprised. "When?"

His scoffing tone riles me even more. How can he know everything except when he's being a jerk?

"You told her she's only good for getting me to the Olympics." I throw out my hands, challenging him.

Archie blinks hard, like I've slapped him. "No. I reminded you that you married her to get to the Olympics."

I shake my head for lack of anything better to say. I hate it when he uses facts to win an argument. "Doesn't mean you weren't a jerk the way you said it."

Archie's eyes go wider, like he has no idea what he's done. "Mate, I wasn't saying it to her. She's got way more on the line here than you do. I'm trying to protect her from you ."

"Protect her? That's my job. She's my wife." I move closer so our chests are inches apart, both of us puffed up and ready to go.

"Yeah?" His face turns a darker red than his hair. "Have you thought about what happens if you don't make it to the Olympics because you lose focus and fall off Tour or get injured again?"

I stare at him, beginning to think I may have it wrong about who's being a jerk. "I don't make the team," I say finally.

"Right." He pokes me in the chest. "In the meantime, Britta's gone quarter of-a-mill in debt to you, given up falling in love with any other blokes, and risked going to jail for you. I see what's happening between you guys and it's going to lead to disaster, mate. You're going to lose your head, same as you did the first time you fell off Tour, and she's going to end up with a broken heart. This is supposed to be a business arrangement, but that's not what's happening, right?"

Archie emphasizes his right with another poke to my chest. I brush his hand away, but not with any anger. That's been washed away with the realization that I, in fact, am the tool. "I hear what you're saying," I mumble.

"Then pull your head out of your backside and decide whether you can really be in a relationship and stay at the top of your game—based on what I've seen since we got here, you can't," Archie's face is bright red now, and he's absorbed all the anger I've shed. "If I'm right, then don't toy with Britta. You mess up this relationship, it hurts her more than you, but you'll have to live with that. Got it?"

I drop my head. "Got it."

Archie turns and stalks down the hall, leaving me behind. I glance at the bars on my phone—still there—before I tuck it away and jog to catch Archie.

He's fast and is on the elevator before I can get there, so I take the stairs. I'm standing in front of the elevator doors when they slide open. Archie's face is back to his normal color, but he still meets me with a glare.

"Thanks, mate," I say. "You're right. I appreciate you looking out for Britta."

He nods, and his mouth pulls into a half-smile.

There's something neither one of us has thought of, though, but his worry about me getting hurt again made me think of it and take what he's said even more to heart. It's a legitimate worry, getting hurt. Surfing is a dangerous sport. I haven't met any pro who hasn't had a concussion—or half-a-dozen. Most have had other serious injuries, too.

"I need you to do something else for me," I say as Archie and I walk toward the car.

"What?" Archie keeps walking, only half paying attention, so I grab his arm to stop him.

"If I get injured again—something like last time, or worse—" At this, Archie raises his eyebrows.

My back injury took nearly six months to heal. There aren't many worse injuries. At least not the kind you can recover from.

"I don't want Britta taking care of me," I tell him. "She may feel obligated, but she's not. She's not giving up anymore of her life. At least not for me… Will you make sure she's not left responsible for me?"

Archie nods with his whole body.

The rest of the day, I work hard to push thoughts of Britta out of my mind every time she breaks in—which is a lot. She responds to my text by midafternoon for her, but late for me. I don't respond.

We've been in the Azores for four days and I haven't caught a single decent wave. It's not Britta's fault, it's mine, but it's tied to thoughts of her—that's obvious now. By the next morning, I'm feeling clearer, and my focus is better. I want the Olympics, which means I need to win at Pipe in January.

Once I focus on what I should be, I catch my first good wave that afternoon and I don't wipe out again in the Azores.