We shift without discussion, angling our boards away. Three clean waves come through. I take one, carving a tight line while the tourists still struggle to get past the break. On my paddle back, I watch one of them drop in on a guy with a gray beard who's been out here since dawn. The other cuts off a kid mid-ride, forcing her to bail.
Bell paddles for a clean right, her body coiled with anticipation, fingertips trailing the glassy surface as she positions herself at the peak. The wave builds behind her, a perfect shoulder unfolding.
Then one of the assholes appears from nowhere, cutting across her line, his board slicing through water she's already claimed. Their boards collide with a sickening crack. Bell tumbles, a tangle of limbs and fiberglass disappearing beneath churning white water.
I'm already paddling, my board slicing through water, arms burning as I cut the distance between us. Five seconds pass. Ten.
She surfaces coughing sharply, her chest heaving with interrupted breath. A muscle in her jaw pulses as she blinks away the water.
“Hey,” I call, the word scraping my throat raw. “Watch where you're fucking going, asshole.”
The guy's teeth flash white against his tanned face. “It's a free country, last time I checked. You don't own a wave, man.”
The muscles in my shoulders bunch up . My breath comes short and hot through my nose. Three strokes and I could reach him.
Bellamy's wet fingers press into my forearm. Her eyes lock with mine, cool as the deep water beneath us.
“The swell's dying anyway,” she says, staring at me intently. “Let’s go.”
I look at her, but I’m not picking up whatever she’s trying to say. I do, however, trust her.
I nod once. “Yeah, okay.”
We paddle in together, the adrenaline still buzzing under my skin. My jaw aches from clenching.
We walk back to our cars in silence, and then she looks from the water to me. “Do you still carry a bat around in your car?”
My brows sink over my eyes, trying to figure out where she’s going with this. “Yeah, why?”
She drags her teeth over her bottom lip, but it doesn’t contain the wild grin. “Great. You might wanna get it.”
She darts into her car. Seconds later, she's weaving between the trio of Mercedes, her movements fluid and practiced. A flash of metal catches the sunlight. Her fingers work quickly at each vehicle, then disappear into her pocket. When she returns, something clinks inside her closed fist before she tosses it back through her car window. She comes to stand beside me, shoulders relaxed, gaze fixed on the horizon as if we're just two surfers enjoying the morning view.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“Cut their straps,” she says, and her eyes glitter with satisfaction.
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. Her eyebrows lift, and she leans forward slightly, like she's pleased with herself.
We don’t have to wait long.
The guys come back, boards tucked under their arms. Their expressions shift from confusion to anger in about half a second. “What the fuck?—”
The three of them look around as one, finally landing on us.
One of them is feeling brave. He takes a step forward. “You cut our straps?”
“I don't know, man. Did you steal her wave?” The bat makes a soft whisper as I lift it, letting the weight settle against my shoulder. The guy's eyes track the movement, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.
They freeze, eyes darting from the bat to each other. The brave one's shoulders drop an inch.
Bellamy rocks onto her toes beside me, her breath catching just enough that I can hear it—the same way it does right before she drops into a perfect wave.
They mutter something about 'fucking assholes’ under their breath, drop their boards on the pavement, and peel out of the lot.
Bellamy exhales, shoulders shaking with laughter.
I toss my bat back into my car and head toward their forgotten boards.
