Chapter Eight: where there's a will, there's a wave

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Adam really didn't want to think about his dad right now.

The water beyond a cove of cliffs on the Goldie was the day's designated office, the briny wind and building swell his only superiors. The surf zone. AKA, a no-dad zone.

Clad in his usual bright yellow jersey, Adam sat upright on his board as the waves built, rocking with them while he honed in on sound of water crashing against the rocky shore. No thoughts about dad. No feelings about dad. This was Adam's happy place. He was free out here. To lie. To be someone else. To be Adam Ripley, who still bore his father's surname proudly. Who hadn't been abandoned or forgotten or replaced.

He closed his eyes briefly, relishing in the smack of wind on his cheeks and the smell of salt flirting with his hair. The Gold Coast was one of his favourite stops on the tour. Not because it was a classic, like Hell's, or deliciously chaotic, like Pipeline. Here, familiar buildings dotted the misty morning horizon. Palms he'd known longer than Hunt and Ezra stood sentry at the timberline. The weather was on the brisker side that morning, but Adam had never been bothered by a bit of cold. He knew those waters better than he knew his paternal heritage. This was his turf. The place he came not to think, but to be. That's what his coach had told him the first time he'd brought him to Burleigh to train: leave what doesn't serve you on the shore.

Thoughts about his dad didn't serve him, so didn't belong.

Especially not today.

It was the first morning of the event before the mid-season cut, and a big one, as Adam had been reminded over and over by his coach, manager, sponsors and Estelle. Like he hadn't been doing this since he was eighteen years old. But like they'd known that a potential distraction might arise.

Adam didn't believe his dad when he said that it was a coincidence he'd called that morning. The oh-so urgent news? Benji's tenth birthday had been re-scheduled for the week of Adam's event in Cali. For Adam's convenience, if their father was to be believed.

Yeah, right.

Adam loved his half-brother. Would spend every day with him if he didn't live on the other side of the globe. But Adam didn't want to spend a minute longer than he had to with their father. He definitely didn't want to think about him, and certainly not when he was in the middle of a heat.

Adam shook himself off. Droplets of seawater splattered from his hair, lost to the spray as another salt-laced breeze rushed toward the shore. He let thoughts of his dad go with the tide, then opened his eyes and faced the open surf.

A four-man heat, and with the air growing cooler, the wind growing stronger, it was going to be a steady build. The youngest of his competitors—the Hawaiian—had taken fourth priority, and Adam watched as the American started paddling for the next break. Adam indulged him.

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