Ripped - Cassia Leo Page 0,50

shoots me a look. It’s almost time for the heat to begin. My stomach tightens into a ball of nerves. This is it.

I kneel down so I’m at Mila’s level and I grab her hands. “Daddy has to go into the water now, baby, but I’ll be back before you know it. Can I have a good-luck kiss right here?” I say, pointing at my cheek. She bumps her lips against my cheek and I take her into another hug. “I love you, baby.” When I stand up, Kaia is smiling at me, showing off that missing tooth. I take her hand to pull her toward me, and she smashes her cheek against my abdomen. “You’re gonna carry the trophy for me on the stage, okay?” She nods, her face beaming with pride.

I kiss the top of her head before I grab my board and head out. The crowd presses in on all sides of me as I make my way across the sand out to the shore. Carlos makes it out a few seconds after I do and we wait for the horn before we race out into the surf. The crowd goes wild as we make our way around the breaks and the paddle battle begins.

Carlos is a few feet ahead of me as we paddle out, but I can’t let him beat me to the lineup. Keeping my head stationary, I raise my elbows higher as I paddle, allowing me to catch more water, adding more power to each stroke. Soon, I’m right next to Carlos.

“Don’t fucking think about it, Parker. This is mine.”

I ignore his comment, saving my breath to propel myself past him. I make it out to the lineup first, putting myself in position to catch that first wave. Most of the waves are breaking to the left, and everyone knows I’m left-handed, which makes me better on the right-hand waves. But I don’t let this worry me.

We duke it out wave-for-wave, until there are just two minutes left in the heat for either of us to make a move. The total of Carlos’s two best waves are just a fraction of a point ahead of my two best. I need to outscore my second-best wave—an 8.4—by at least 0.6 points. As the clock counts down the seconds to the end of the heat, I take a deep breath and lie across my board. Then I close my eyes and count the seconds between sets.

The water rises beneath me.

One. Two. Three. Four.

The water begins to drop.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Rising again.

“Eight seconds,” I whisper to myself as I open my eyes. Perfect timing. This is my competition to lose.

Suddenly, the sounds of the crowd on the shore and the film crews on the boats nearby fade away. I close my eyes and allow the energy in the water to seep into my skin, into my bones, and I feel it. It’s time.

When I open my eyes, Carlos is going for the wave, but I know I can beat him. I paddle my ass off toward the crest and we both stand up at the same time, but I loop around his backside, dropping in over the top of the wave to come out in front, forcing him to drop off or get called for interference.

I immediately move into a soul arch, leaning my head and shoulders back as I carve through the bottom of the wave, then I lean forward and crouch down a bit as I swoop up to the top of the wave and snap my tail over the lip.

The crowd goes wild, but I try to tune them out as I bounce my tail on the water to generate more speed, shaking the water out of my hair as I come up fast. My stomach vaults when my board lifts out of the water. Then I’m flying. I grab the rails and shift my center of gravity in the direction the board naturally wants to spin. Holding on to the board tightly, I fight to keep my eyes open as the ocean spray showers my face. Then the board comes down on the top of the lip and cruises down the flats into the whitewash.

I laugh hysterically as I stand up. Fucking shit. I just landed a rodeo flip on my final fucking wave. I shake my hair out again, pumping my fist in the air as I ride through the whitewash with my back straight and my head held high.

I lean