25. Sail

sail

. . .

Safe Sea ILCA Regatta

E very time Sail saw the sign, spreading from building to building over the cobblestone road, his lips morphed into a grin. Excitement also built. The town was buzzing with exhilaration, and everyone talked about the regatta. And while they talked, Sail listened. As did everyone else in his family. Including Galvin.

Tidal had the inside track on who was staying where since he worked at the hotel in town. A couple of the higher profile racers were there, thanks to their sponsors. The other hotels, which Sail liked much better than the one Tidal worked at, were sold out. Those hotels were on the water and a huge draw for people to stay at. Who could pass up the opportunity to wake up and see the water out their window.

Sail went into the sport store and waved at the man behind the counter. It’d been years since he needed to shop there. During practice, he realized his suit was a bit snug in places and didn’t want it restricting his movements too much. His dad ordered him a new one, which the store happily donated as long as Sail wore their branding logo on his back.

“Are you ready?” Kim, the store owner asked.

Sail nodded. “Yeah, I think I am. We’ve practiced a lot, and you know I’m going to go out there and give it my best shot.”

“We’re all rooting for you,” Kim said as he handed Sail a bag. The suit was custom tailored for Sail. “I’ll have a tent up in tent city. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will. Thanks, Kim. I really appreciate it.”

“Our pleasure.”

Tent city was a market of sorts, for racing. Vendors came from all over the country to sell their goods and services. Each one would have a tent in the parking lot of the marina during the duration of the event. Aside from the goods and services, there were food trucks and a clothing pop-up. Tidal had already informed Sail he had shirts made for their family.

Sail left with his bag and headed toward the diner, after making a pit stop at the candy store to get Galvin a caramel apple, sliced for easy eating. He learned it was her favorite snack the other night at dinner with his parents. His mom had Galvin in the kitchen, asking her all sorts of things and Sail took notes. They’d already played their version of twenty questions, but they were more in-depth than what’s your favorite song.

They’d talked about regrets, dreams, and what they’d do if . . . Sail felt vulnerable during their conversation but didn’t want to stop. Learning about Galvin this way brought them closer, and he admitted he was falling in love with her. As much as he wanted to turn those emotions off and just be, he couldn’t.

He’d also tried the dirty talk thing during sex, and he wasn’t sure if he was a fan. Yet. Galvin liked it though, and so he wasn’t going to give up on trying to entice or please her with it just yet. Although, when he told her to call him daddy, he’d been joking . . . sort of .

Thinking about Sunday morning brought a smile to his face. He absolutely loved spending all his free time with her, and he never thought waking up with someone in his arms was something he could get used to. Now, he wasn’t sure it was something he could give up.

The diner was packed and had been since Monday. Sail weaved his way through the masses until he came face to face with Galvin.

“Hey,” she said as she wrote on a ticket and ripped it from the pad. “What’s up?”

“I brought you a present.” He lifted the bag and her eyes lit up. “I was down there and thought you needed one.”

“Thank you. I’d kiss you but . . .” She looked around the diner. “This is bananas.”

“Uh, this is how it is during the summer.” There wasn’t an empty seat in the place and a line at the door.

“Seriously?”

Sail nodded. “Usually about April it starts picking up. By May, it looks like this. Next summer you’re going to make a killing.”

Galvin leaned it. “I’ve already made three hundred and I still have a few hours left.”

Sail fist pumped. “Sugar mama.”

Galvin laughed. “Can you put that upstairs?” she motioned toward the apple.

“I just need your key.”

Galvin reached into her pocket and handed her key over. He appreciated that she did it without hesitation.

Sail went through the kitchen and out the back door. He climbed the stairs two at a time and unlocked her apartment. Inside, he put the apple in the refrigerator and then went to the counter and wrote her a note.

You’re the apple to my caramel.

It was cheesy, but he thought she’d like it. He used one of the magnets and pinned it to the refrigerator. He then caught sight of her bed. The bed they’d been sharing, making love in.

Thinking those words should’ve made him shudder. He’d never been the type of guy to say, “make love” and that was probably because he’d never been in love before. At least not in the way he was now.

What he felt for Galvin was real. Powerful. When they had to leave each other after Christmas, it was going to kill him. The last thing he wanted to do was return to Miami, but he didn’t have a choice. He promised his parents he’d graduate in May, and he’d already broken enough promises when it came to his parents.

Sail picked up Galvin’s pillow and inhaled her scent. It was a mix of her perfume, and him. She loved sleeping on him. It didn’t matter if they started out on their own side of the bed, she found her way to the crook of his neck.

Another thing he never liked until now. Spending the night was never a thing for him. Now he didn’t want to sleep alone.

As much as he wanted to stay and chill in her apartment, he hadn’t asked and didn’t want to be creepy. He locked up and went back to the diner.

“Hey, can you work?” Penny asked when he came through the backdoor.

“Uh . . . I guess. Doing what?”

“We need someone to expo and dump buckets. The dishwasher can’t keep up.”

“Sure,” Sail said. He went into his dad’s office and left his wetsuit there. When he came out, Penny threw an apron at him. “Thanks.”

“By the way, I know you said something to your dad about Galvin.”

“No,” Sail said. “I said something about you.” His cousin pissed him off and he had half the mind to let her figure shit out on her own. He would’ve, if it wasn’t for Galvin. Not only would he get to work with her, but him being there would help her.

Galvin stared at him when he went behind the counter. When he met her gaze, he winked. He took the bucket of dirty dishes to the back, grabbed another bucket, and checked tickets.

“What are you doing?” she asked when he came out from the back.

“Working,” he told Galvin. “I’ll be your expo.”

She smiled. “This will be fun.”

“I certainly hope so.” He winked again and picked up the order that the cook called out.

The next morning, Sail and Galvin walked to the marina. It was still early, but the bustle had started. Tents were almost up, and regatta officials were walking around. Sail took it all in, with Galvin by his side.

“So, people can do this as a career?”

“Yeah, sort of. They make money from sponsors, events, and then winning races. The top three finishers usually win money.”

“Crazy. I never knew.”

“I did,” he said with a sigh. “I just never thought it was something I could do.”

Galvin squeezed his hand and leaned into him. “You’re going to do great.”

Sail fought back a frown. He wasn’t so sure, and after watching practice he felt out of place. Like he was an amateur going up against professional.

Which was exactly what he was.

Sail checked in, handed Galvin her pass, which would allow her to access all areas of the competition. She would watch from the park with his mom, Caroline, and other family members. His dad and brothers would be with him. As supportive as Galvin has been, he needed his dad and brother’s expertise.

They made their way to where Sail was assigned. His dingy sat on a trailer, connected to Crew’s truck. Due to regulation, they had to leave their trailer and his dinghy there at night. To thank Crew, Sail let him use his car. He didn’t need it anyway. If he needed to go home, Dune could take him. Or Galvin would.

As soon as Jack arrived, they got to work.

The rising sun was already warm on Sail’s face as they rigged his ILCA 7. Hands moved in practiced precision, checking and rechecking everything for practice. Around them, the marina buzzed with activity—the whooshing sound of sails being hoisted, the clink of halyards against masts—and the cackle of the local broadcast echoing.

Today was critical.

The first day of races would either send a message that Sail was there to compete or prove he was out of his league. He’d accepted earlier in the week that he was unlikely to win, and while the money would’ve been nice, he was happy to have reconnected with his dad this way.

Sail tugged the mainsheet one final time, testing the tension. Satisfied, he leaned back and scanned the horizon. The forecast called for stronger winds this afternoon—his preferred conditions. His stomach tightened, not from nerves, but from anticipation. This was his water, his bay. He knew it better than anyone. The water was the stage, and today, Sail planned to take control.

The start line was utter chaos. Sail’s grip on the tiller was firm but light, his gaze darting between the committee boat and the pack of competitors clustering near the middle of the line. The countdown flags snapped in the breeze.

Five minutes.

Two minutes.

Thirty seconds.

Sail eased the mainsheet slightly, waiting for the perfect moment to accelerate.

The horn blasted, and Sail surged forward, carving a clean line through the churning water. His timing was flawless, launching his boat into clear air near the pin end. The wind filled the sail, and the boat leaped forward, slicing through the waves. Other boats jostled for position, but Sail ignored the bedlam, locking his focus on the windward mark.

Hiking hard, he felt the familiar burn in his legs as the boat heeled slightly, its edge cutting through the water like a blade. The cunningham was tight, flattening the sail to squeeze every ounce of speed from the growing breeze. Sail spotted a subtle wind shift and adjusted his heading, gaining a crucial few meters on the rest of the fleet.

The first tack was sharp and efficient. Sail’s body moved like a spring, shifting to the opposite side, and hiking out in one smooth motion. The boom swung over with a satisfying snap, and the ILCA settled into its new course, momentum barely faltering. Behind him, another sailor mistimed their tack and fell behind—a small victory that bolstered Sail’s confidence.

As he rounded the windward mark in third place, Sail leaned into the downwind leg with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. This was where he could thrive. Adjusting the vang and easing the mainsheet, he caught a wave, his timing impeccable. The boat lifted and surged forward, spray whipping past his face as he gained ground on the leaders.

By the time Sail reached the leeward mark, he was in second place. The final upwind leg was short, demanding precision and power. Sail stayed aggressive, blocking any attempts from the boat behind to pass. The finish line loomed closer, and Sail pushed harder, crossing the line just behind the leader.

It wasn’t a win, but it was a statement.

For the second race of the day, the wind had picked up as predicted. Sail had been prepared for it. Now gusting to fifteen knots, Sail was excited. Stronger winds meant fewer mistakes, and fewer mistakes meant a chance to climb higher.

The triangle course started with an intense upwind leg. Sail’s start wasn’t perfect, but he adjusted and quickly found a lane, staying clear of the messy air near the middle of the fleet. Hiking harder than ever, he changed the cunningham and vang on the fly, tweaking every detail for maximum speed.

Reaching the first mark in fifth place, Sail leaned back as the boat accelerated into the reaching leg. This was where the real fun began. Spray flew in arcs as Sail powered through the waves, his boat cutting across the water like it was flying.

Soaring.

The lead boats were just ahead, close enough to chase. Sail stayed focused, steering with precision, and trimming the mainsheet to keep the sail perfectly balanced, all while his brother’s voice echoed in his mind.

The second mark approached fast, and Sail executed a smooth rounding, easing the sail as they turned downwind. His body moved instinctively, balancing the boat as it surged forward. The wind tugged at the sail, and Sail adjusted his angle, feeling the boat respond like an extension of his body. Catching a rolling swell, he rode it forward, overtaking one boat, then another.

If he could fist pump, he would.

By the time he reached the leeward mark, Sail was in third place, his eyes locked on the two boats ahead. The final upwind leg was brutal, the wind gusting harder, the waves tossing the boats like corks. Sail’s arms ached, his legs burned, but he didn’t care. This was exhilarating.

Sail adjusted his heading, taking advantage of another subtle wind shift. The second-place boat faltered, their tack sloppy, and Sail seized the opening.

In the final moments, it was a duel between Sail and the Lex Danke. Both boats angled toward the finish line, their skippers hiking with everything they had. The horn blared just as Sail crossed the line—a fraction of a second behind the leader, but ahead of the rest of the fleet.

Sail felt exhaustion in every muscle he had as he sailed back to the marina. He told himself this was the good kind of tired. Not the tired he felt last weekend after Crew kicked his ass in practice. He hadn’t taken first . . . yet, but the leaderboard shifted in his favor. There were more races and he had definitely sent a message that he was there to compete.