“We love you, Sofi!” Alejandra chirped before hanging up, followed by the voices of Carlos and their parents.
“You made the right decision,” her father added. “And we love you too. My brave biologist.”
Then they were gone.
Brave. What a fucking joke. She was about to shit her pants at the idea of saying yes. But her parents were right. She didneed the money, for the business, for her team. And this time, it was her decision to make. She could handle Ilias and his charm. She’d put clear boundaries in place. Hopefully her body would obey.
11
ILIAS
Te Miro a la Cara – Daviles de Novelda, Abraham Mateo
What he needed wasa powerful swell to shut off his brain from any thoughts about TerraVive, the board, Sofia’s reply. All of it.
And Ilias found it at Coxos. Just a ten-minute ride from his now empty apartment in Ericeira.
Amira, Coach, and Gretchen had already flown to Bali, while he had stayed behind in the hope Sofia would give him a positive answer. If not, he would head down to Imsouane, where Ghita was dealing with Azul. Ilias would meet them again in Australia, at Snapper Rocks. If he wanted his points back and a chance to even classify for the Big Five final, he needed a miracle. Or to win every single remaining event. Which, considering the competition, wasn’t likely. But his comeback had been strong. He wasn’t about to start doubting himself now.
Once he arrived at the beach, the conditions were flawless.
He paddled hard into the pulsing northwest swell; eyes locked on the dark lines stacking on the horizon. The tide wasmid, just enough to expose the sharp reef under Coxos’ right-hander. As the wave steepened, he popped to his feet, tracing a high line down the face. The takeoff section pitched hard. He tucked low, threading himself into the barrel. The lip spat beside him, the reef rushing past under a curtain of water. Time bent for seconds. Then he shot out clean, water trailing off his shoulders like wings.
He carved tight off the bottom, rail slicing like a blade. Another wall built. He hit the lip vertical, tail drifting for a beat before landing square and smooth. He pumped down the line with speed. Another section formed, steep, fast, hollow. He snapped under the lip, the blowtail catching the sunlight.
The wave collapsed behind him. He kicked out clean, grinning like a lunatic as the whitewater chased him to the channel.
No judges. No cameras. Just feel.Just flow. Just him and the ocean. The kind of surfing that rewired the soul. Without surfing, he was no one. Even during his two years break in Morocco, he spent every morning surfing with Ghita. He hadn’t missed a day, because surfing was his therapy as much as talking with his therapist. It had helped his mind and body to not be wrecked by the guilt, the responsibility and the disappointment he could hear every time he spoke to his mother.
Three hours later, after a few easy conversations in the lineup, Ilias was tired, happy, and annoyed with himself in equal measure.
The punch had come up a couple of times among the locals, mostly as jokes, a few as questions, but he didn’t care. Surfers supported him; sponsors were another story. The fact that TerraVive would’ve likely dropped him if Alejandra hadn’t pitched that wild image-rehabilitation plan with Sofia made his blood boil.
He knew he should be grateful. Azul was still alive only because TerraVive kept sponsoring him and Amira through his two-year break. But he wasn’t a monster. That punch had been justified.
Ilias understood business. He understood what TerraVive wanted—discipline, clean image, smiles for the cameras—but he also knew that if Coach hadn’t dragged him away that day, he might’ve hit Steven again. The media had said their piece, the public had formed their opinions, and he told himself he didn’t care.
But Azul relied on that money. Ghita relied on him and Amira to keep the business their father had left behind from sinking completely. Azul was struggling. His father’s will had tied their hands with restrictions that lasted three years. Three years that were almost up. And he still had no idea if closing the school was even an option anymore. He’d poured everything into Azul. His winnings. His savings. His pride. The business had become a wound that wouldn’t close, a legacy he’d never wanted but couldn’t let die.
When he got back to the Jeep he had rented, his entire body still humming with the adrenaline of the last wave, the first thing he did was check his phone.
Sofia signed it.
His grin spread. He started typing a reply, too distracted to hear the footsteps approaching in the parking lot.
“You did well out there.”
He turned, surprised, and there she was.
Sofia was looking up at him with those big brown eyes, sun glinting in her hair. She wore a white tank top, no bra, he noticed instantly, under a dark pink linen shirt, open at the front, and high-waisted jeans that hugged her hips too well.
He smirked. “Why didn’t you join? Ale said you surf.”
“Longboarder.” She shrugged. “Big waves like that scare me.”
“They weren’tthatbig,” he teased, unzipping his wetsuit halfway, sliding on a poncho.
“So,” he said, grinning, “you gonna tell me what you’re doing here or should I be the one filing a restraining order?”
