She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Her hand found the spot over her heart where ink lived under skin, and for the first time in too long, she didn’t have to press to feel it.
The beach at dawn belonged to the serious ones.
The air was cool enough to raise goose bumps the sky painted that soft mauve-gray that only lasted a few minutes before the sun pushed through. A handful of locals were already out—silent figures waxing boards, stretching, or watching the sets roll in with the quiet reverence of church.
Lea was easy to spot. She stood at the shoreline, board tucked under one arm, grinning like a kid skipping class. “You actually came,” she said when Rowan reached her. “Thought I’d have to drag you by your ankle.”
Rowan adjusted the strap of her board bag, trying to keep her voice light. “Still time for that.”
Lea’s eyes softened. “You ready, girl?”
“No,” Rowan admitted. “But I’m here.”
“That’s enough.” Lea nodded toward the water. “Publics is clean this morning. Lefts’ peeling long. Like the island knows you’re back.”
Rowan’s laugh came shaky. “Don’t start with the signs and omens.”
“Not an omen,” Lea said. “Just respect. Ocean’s saying hi.”
They waxed in silence. The rhythmic scrape grounded her, the scent of coconut sharp against the salt. Her board gleamed in the rising light—sea-glass green fading to honey gold, her father’s koa stringer running down the center like a heartbeat under glass.
Lea caught her looking. “He’s here, you know.”
Rowan blinked fast. “I know.” A smile curled her lips when she thought of the night with Everett. “But this one’s for me.”
Lea lifted her hand and they high-fived. “There she is. Now, let’s go.”
They paddled out slow, arms slicing through warm silk. By the time they reached the lineup, Rowan’s chest burned and her shoulders trembled from effort. But it feltgood. God, she’d missed this.
Until the first wave came.
The set lifted, bigger than she’d realized, and her pulse spiked. She froze halfway to turn, every muscle locked. Her mind flooded with that memory—the crack of her knee, the way water filled her ears, the helpless spin as the dark tried to swallow her whole.
Panic rose fast and mean. Her breath came short, shallow.
Lea paddled close, voice calm and low. “Hey. Breathe. You’re not out here to win. You’re out here to remember.”
Rowan stared at the horizon, at the clean blue rise building again. “I can’t—”
“You can,” Lea said firmly. “One wave. Doesn’t matter how long. Just enough to feel her again.”
Rowan’s hands clenched the rails. She wanted to run, to bolt back to the safety of the sand. But she thought of her father’s laugh, of the board he’d shaped for her with calloused hands, of the way he’d yellPaddle, baby, the ocean’s waiting!She remembered the joy before it became work and gave winning more importance than freedom.
She turned, paddled hard, and felt the lift catch her. The board tilted, water hissing beneath her. Her pulse hammered. She hesitated. Then pushed up.
The fear dissolved into salt and light. The wave hummed beneath her, smooth and strong, and her body leaned into the curve before her mind caught up. The board answered, carving down the line, steady and alive.
For a heartbeat, she was flying.
Her laugh came out in a joyous bubble of sound.
Lea’s shout carried behind her: “That’s my girl!”
Rowan rode it until the wave melted into whitewash, then dropped to her knees, gasping, grinning like an idiot. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and realized they were wet long before the water hit her.
Lea paddled up, eyes bright. “You did it.”
Rowan shook her head, still laughing. “I didn’t die.”
