[wattpad editor's picks, nov-dec 2023]
After a one night stand in Monaco between a fallen from grace championship surfer and an up and coming Formula One star, the two are sure they'll never see each other again...but what happens in Monaco doesn't...
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Portugal swells were the stuff of legends.
Normal little kids fantasized about seeing Santa Claus or the tooth fairy, pretending to be asleep so they could catch just a glimpse. Surfer kids fantasized about seeing the waves off the coast of Nazaré, tasting the spray of the sea and dropping into a monstrous wave, arms flailing and board shaking. Maybe it wasn't Santa Claus at all. Maybe it was the boogeyman.
Records were set and smashed and set again at Nazaré, which was why the WSL held a big wave competition here almost every year, separate from the main circuit of events. This was the first year I'd qualified for it since my injury. An injury that I sustained on these very waves.
There was no sugarcoating it - I was fucking terrified. When Malia first brought it up that I qualified for it last month, it was a no from me without a second thought. But after my time in Singapore with Atlas, and knowing he took on his demons no matter how scared or how uncertain of everything it would make him, it made me want to fight back against mine too. He instilled a rare level of tenacity in me without even trying - it was just who he was. He made me want to be better. To do better.
So when I got back, I let Malia know I was in. She just laughed at me, admitting she'd committed me to the event two weeks prior. Since the event required certain weather conditions, we were only officially called in for the event 48 hours beforehand, but we'd all known there'd be a north atlantic swell hitting that weekend for a while. It was almost inevitable.
We got in the day before, mostly so I didn't psyche myself out and had time to take it all in. Nazaré was a fishing town, but surfing events like this had transformed it into a tourist destination. Local vendors dotted the narrow streets, and a chorus of different languages sailed above the sound of the wind. I took my time walking along the streets, feeling goosebumps prick my skin as the gusts continued to come in from the impending swell.
A large cliffside bordered the coast of the town, jutting into the water like a spike, and atop it sat a historic lighthouse, where most of the crowd would congregate for the event tomorrow. The cliffside absorbed the constant pounding of the waves, the water hitting the rocks and exploding like fireworks of whitewater. I leaned on the railing of one of the platforms at the lighthouse and just looked down. It was a portal to another universe.
I knew Atlas was in Germany at the Porsche factory, but I quickly snapped a picture of the waves and sent it to him. Surprisingly, he responded right away.
ATLAS VAUGHN 🖤: Smash it. Be safe.
I smiled softly and took one last deep inhale, hoping to absorb some of the salt in the air into my veins and grant me immunity from potential disaster.
The next morning, Malia and I sat out on the balcony of our hotel with coffees and watched the rise of the morning swell, just hours before the competition started. Streaks of golden light painted the ocean yellow and orange, and it almost made it all seem less foreboding.
