9. Dex

Chapter nine

Dex

W hat. Did. I do?

Britta is staring at me, her shoulders pulled back, both surprised and guarded. Archie looks ready to knock some sense into me, and an awkwardness hangs over us, thicker than a soft squelching noise that could be nothing or could be someone breaking wind. I want to take back all the words that just spilled out of my mouth, because I think I just asked Britta to stay the night with me.

"Us! I mean us!" My voice squeaks in my rush to walk back what I've said. "Archie and I are both staying down here."

Britta's blush covers both cheeks. I feel mine all the way down my spine and Archie's mad as a cut snake. Stella is the only one whose face isn't some shade of red.

"You have a house here?" she squeals.

"Not my house. The house we're staying at." I point between Archie and me, just to clarify, again, that I'm not inviting Britta to spend the night with me .

"It's the Rip Tide house," Archie says, like I've just offered to throw a party at his parents' house while they're away on vacation.

Which, to be fair, I did do once. Maybe twice. His parents are gone a lot.

"We're the only ones there. They won't care." I say to him and only him, because they're my sponsor, not his and even though I'm a little nervous about the invitation I just issued, I'm not going to show it.

Britta stays quiet, and I barely breathe. She'll either say yes or she'll say no. But I don't want her to think I was hitting on her.

Was I hitting on her?

"You just got back in their good graces." Archie crosses his arms and stares me down. This isn't his usual stern look. He's genuinely mad. "If you don't win and they find out you had girls over, they'll think you got…" His eyes dart to Britta then back to me. "distracted."

He's used that word more than once about Britta, and I'm getting bothered by it. Judging by the annoyed look on Britta's face, she is too.

"Women," Britta says, and Archie turns his head only enough to peer at her. "We're women, not girls."

Archie rolls his eyes, which ratchets the awkwardness up to an uncomfortable tension.

"He doesn't mean anything by it." I jump in to diffuse the situation, mostly to protect my mate, but also because I want Britta to stay.

Few people have the guts to stand up to Archie. Not because he's intimidating, but because of his last name. It packs a lot of power in Australia, and that—plus our long history—packs a lot of influence on me. I know Archie has my best interest at heart, and he's a ripper coach, but sometimes he's too protective of me, and I feel isolated from the real world.

Britta is a nice counterbalance to his certainty that he knows what's best for me.

Her eyes narrow in his direction, but she directs her words at me. "We didn't plan on staying. We don't have any extra clothes or toiletries, but thank you for the invitation."

Archie holds back a smile. He thinks he's won this little battle.

But Britta's answer isn't a no. It's a problem I can solve.

"The pharmacy will have toiletries," I shrug. "Rip Tide headquarters isn't far. They'll give me samples." Easy .

"Samples of what?" Britta asks.

"Clothes!" Stella grasps Britta's arm. "Yes, please! We're in!"

Archie lets out a loud sigh at the same time Britta says, "No, we're not!"

As much as I'd like Britta to stay, I won't push Britta to stay if she's not comfortable.

But then Archie says, "Good. Dex needs to focus," and Britta's eyes shift from the turquoise of Pipeline to the mottled blue of Lowers.

She doesn't like to be told what to do.

"We really couldn't let you give us clothes," she says to me with no conviction.

"Yes! We can!" Stella looks ready to burst out of her skin.

"But we don't want to distract you." Britta sends an angry glance Archie's way before looking at me again. "I know what a big deal this is. If we interfered with your win, I'd feel terrible."

Her eyes are back to the startling turquoise color of Pipe. They're as beautiful and as dangerous as that wave.

I've wiped out more on Pipe than any other wave I've surfed. I've broken my back there and nearly lost my career to it.

But I've also had the best rides of my life on Pipe. I'm mesmerized by its beauty. Tempted by its perfection. Scared by its power. And I'm never more alive than when I catch a perfect barrel there.

Britta's eyes tug at me in the same way.

So, trusting my instincts, instead of agreeing and sending her on her way—knowing I'll get my hopes up she'll come back tomorrow—I say, "You won't be a distraction. We'll hang out a bit, grab some dinner, then Archie will put me to bed early."

That gets a quick smile from her.

Archie throws up his arms and shakes his head. "Fine! But I get to choose what's for dinner—no burgers or tacos or anything heavy. Nutritionist approved only!"

He wags his finger at me like an old nun we had as a teacher in primary school.

"Yes, Sister Patricia." I fold my hands together, same as we had to for prayer, and bow my head.

Archie mutters, "Dimwit," then goes into the tent to pack up my stuff.

But Britta smiles. "I need to text Annie to tell her I won't be there tomorrow. Hopefully, she's more understanding than Archie. I think we're both in trouble with him."

"His bark is worse than his bite. Let me get some trakkies on and we'll get out of here." I wave my thumb toward Archie and the tent, then close the flaps behind me.

By the time we walk to the Sprinter van, Archie has already calmed down a bit. Stella talks his ear off as we load our stuff, then she sits up front by him. She's not his type—too peppy—but I think he gets a kick out of her.

We take Britta and Stella to their car, which is parked at least a mile away, then drop it at the house so we can all go to lunch together. When Britta comes back to the van, she's carrying a paper bag with thin handles, and I know exactly what it is.

"Don't let Archie see that," I whisper to her as soon as she climbs in.

Archie breaks in before she can respond. "Too late. Already saw it. No lamingtons until after you win." Archie motions for Britta to pass it to him, and, for whatever reason, she follows this order.

"Sorry!" she says and hands the bag to him. "I agreed to not be a distraction."

"Annie's cake doesn't count as a distraction. She makes it for me special." Does a whine creep into my voice? Yes. But that's because I'm hungry and nervous and Annie's cake always soothes what's bugging me.

"It's not on your nutritionist's list, so it's a distraction." Archie meets my eye in the rearview mirror while backing out of the tight driveway. "No sugar."

I growl, and my stomach joins me. "Then we need to get lunch now."

After some back and forth about whether ten o'clock is too early for lunch, Archie drives us to a farm-to-table restaurant that makes healthy food so delicious you forget it's healthy.

Another bonus is that it's twenty minutes from the beach, so there are fewer people to recognize me or ask about the finals, the shark, or anything else having to do with surfing. I don't want to talk to strangers about surfing. The only people I want to talk to about the Finals are the people on my team, including Britta.

Thirty minutes with Britta has convinced me I didn't make a mistake inviting her to stay. Even though, technically, she's a traitor for taking Archie's side about the lamingtons, joking around with her gives me something else to think about other than how I will not make the same mistakes tomorrow that I made today in the water.

She is a distraction, but exactly the distraction I need to keep from losing my chill.

While we wait to get into the restaurant, my phone buzzes. I take it from my pocket, then smile when I see whose face is on the screen.

"Rhys wants to FaceTime." I hold my phone for Archie to see. "Should I answer, or does he count as a distraction?"

Archie glares at me, then swipes the phone from my hand.

"Rhys James?" Stella's eyes fill her entire face, and she looks like she's not sure if she should faint, scream, or yak.

She goes on her toes to peek over Archie's shoulder as he accepts the call.

"You want to talk to Rhys?" I ask Stella while Archie lectures Rhys about what he is and isn't allowed to say to me.

"Do I want to talk to Rhys James? People magazine's official 2024 Sexiest Man Alive? Over Face Time?" she says dryly.

"So that's a no?" I take my phone from Archie, hold it close so she can't see, then dodge the bullets she shoots from her eyeballs. "Hey, mate! How's London? Did you hear about the shark?"

"Rainy, and I'm not allowed to ask you about the shark. How close was it?" My best mate's face fills the screen, his black hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead.

"Three, maybe four meters." I don't miss the surprise on Britta's face. "That's not so close," Rhys says.

"Closer than you've ever been, outside an aquarium."

Britta is playing cool. Her tapping foot is the only tell that she's interested in my conversation with one of the biggest musical artists in the world. Stella, on the other hand, may spontaneously combust if I don't give her at least a peek at Rhys.

Despite his fame, though, Rhys is shy. He gets nervous meeting new people, almost to the point of panic attacks. There's a physical and emotional distance between him and a crowd of people that makes him feel safe. One-on-one, though, isn't his thing.

"Hey, we've got a couple friends here who'd like to meet you," I say to him. "You up for it?"

His shoulders drop, and I already know the answer.

"No worries if it's not a good time," I say.

"I just got back from the gym," he says, like an apology.

It's an excuse—a flimsy one, at that—but it's fine. He has to protect his privacy in a way I only get a tiny taste of.

"Another time. They're rellies of Georgia and Cassie. You'll like them."

For a second Rhys looks like he might change his mind, but he changes the subject instead. "Did you get the tunes I sent you? For meditation?"

"Yeah. I used them this morning. They worked until I let McVey throw me off."

"What was McVey doing there?" Even separated by a screen and thousands of miles, I see Rhys's eyes go dark.

"Same as always. Stirring up trouble."

While I tell Rhys what happened, Britta gets her own call. She turns her back to me, and I can't hear her over Rhys, but I keep an eye on her.

Georgia didn't say specifically why she wanted me to keep an eye on Britta, but Georgia mentioned to me once in Paradise that I'd made Britta smile for the first time since losing her mum. I suspect that's what she wants me to do while Britta's here—get her smiling again.

So, when Britta's shoulders drop, I have a hard time focusing on what Rhys is saying. I want to make sure she's okay.

After a few uh huhs to what I'm only half-listening to , Archie motions our table is ready.

I interrupt Rhys. "We're grabbing some lunch. Thanks for calling, mate."

"Kill it tomorrow, dude. You can do it."

We end the call, and I hold open the door for Stella and Britta. As Britta passes, I ask, "Everything okay at home? Your dad all right?"

"Yeah, he's good. There're some problems with the construction on Britta's , but I'm sure that will be taken care of." Her expression doesn't hide the worry that her voice tries to cover.

But then she brightens. "Nothing I can't handle, though."

I squint, trying to determine if she really believes that, but she schools her face into a big, but empty, smile before I can.

"Did it help to talk to Rhys? That was nice of him to call. Does he always do that before your competitions?" She peppers me with questions that don't leave any room for my own questions about whether she really is okay.

I get the feeling this isn't the first time she's evaded concerns about herself by plowing the questioner in the opposite direction. In fact, as I think about it, she did it at Britta's once when a customer asked if Britta missed her mom.

Britta answered with a smile and a, we all do, but we're doing great. How's your family?

At the time, I thought she was being strong, but now I wonder if evading and redirecting is a defense mechanism.

I'd know. I do the same thing when anyone asks what my plans are once my surfing career is over.

I want to ask Britta more about her coffee shop and whether she really is okay, but I don't want to fill her with the kind of blinding dread and anxiety about the future that I get thinking about life after pro-surfing.

Beyond the coffee shop, I hope Britta has some sense that eventually she'll be able to answer questions about her mum and what life looks like without her.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to do that with pro-surfing. Partly because I love it as much as I do, but mostly because it's all I know how to do.

The thing with chasing a dream as big as being the best surfer in the world is that surfing is the thing I've spent my life focusing on. Not school, not vocational training, not a future that doesn't involve surfing. I've spent the last twelve years chasing nothing but waves.

Dad always said that kind of single-mindedness was exactly why I would be the best. I believed him for a long time. But the older I get, the more I can't keep from worrying about what happens if I'm not the best.

Not if. When. It's inevitable. I've been up and down the rankings so many times. Even if I beat all the odds and win the WSL Championship this year, it could be my first and only win.

Being around Britta makes that even clearer. She has Britta's, Paradise, and her family. She knows where she fits. She knows what her future looks like.

And maybe I like that the one thing she knows nothing about is the one thing I do know. When I talk about surfing, she looks at me like I'm smart. Like I actually know things.

I'm not smart, I didn't go to uni. If a conversation doesn't involve the ocean or surfing, I have little to say. Britta will find that out soon enough, but I think I'd like to see as much of her as possible until she does.

So, I guess I'll ride this wave until it gets frothy and hope I don't get too hurt when her time in LA is over.