Sea of Seduction: A Single Dad Sports Romance Page 7
Several more photos graced the article—the victim in the hospital with a huge gash requiring thirty stitches. “Digging the coral out of the skull and skin required hours of careful work.” Another showing the surfer’s swollen, wounded, smiling face with the caption, “Hope you haven’t eaten dinner.”
The article indicated that the surf break known as Pipeline broke over a razor sharp, shallow reef. The surfer had wiped out on a wave, struck his head, sustained multiple cuts, contusions and, as it turned out, a severe head injury.
I could hear my therapist’s voice in my head but I didn’t want to listen. “Remember the physical signs when you spiral out of control.” My hands grew cold as I thought about the severe pummeling he’d been forced to endure as he crashed into the deadly reef—the pain he must’ve felt as the surf beat the living daylights out of his body and sensitive skull. Nausea filled my stomach and I covered my mouth. “That could’ve been Dominick.”
Rhys reached a hand out to steady me. “Honey, it’s okay. The man lived.”
According to the article, due to the brain injury he still hadn’t returned to surfing and it had been two years. “But what if—”
Rhys turned toward me and held my face. “Coco, take a deep breath. You know how you get.” Rhys knew me too well. He’d supported me through the awful year after my mother’s death. He’d even accompanied me to some of my therapy sessions.
My therapist’s voice droned on in my head. “If your vision tunnels, take a walk and breathe deeply.” The laptop screen turned wavy and I covered my face. “I can’t look anymore.” I couldn’t catch my breath and felt like screaming. My breath came in short gasps, my voice strangled. “That man could’ve died out there.” My heartbeat reverberated in my ears when I thought of the phone call his mother could’ve gotten asking to identify her son’s body.
Chapter Eleven
Coco
I stood up so fast that I flung Victor Jose to the floor. All the blood left my head and my vision tunneled. I steadied myself against the railing. “That’s a high risk sport! People die out there. What’s the matter with them?” I grasped the railing and bent over as my body went into hyperventilating mode. I knew I was spiraling out of control but when I thought about Lola I felt a connection. Dominick surfed waves over spiky coral? What if he wiped out so badly that he died? What if he orphaned Lola?
Victor Jose’s ears perked up, his forehead crinkling and Rhys was immediately at my side. “Coco, don’t do this to yourself again. Your mother thought she was doing the right thing.”
My muscles tensed and I whirled around, jabbing a finger into Rhys’s chest. “Don’t tell me what she thought was right. She didn’t do anything to try and save herself. She just accepted death and didn’t even stop for a moment to think about me. I needed her. I was only fifteen.”
Rhys circled his arms around me as Victor Jose balanced on hind legs to get a look. “Coco, you need to calm down. I’m here.”
I broke free of his grasp. “Don’t tell me to calm down.”
I clapped my hands over my ears as the memories became too loud to bear. I wanted to flee the patio. I paced the length, knocking over an unlit candle. It toppled to the ground and Victor Jose leapt out of the line of fire, quickly keeping pace with his limp. Rhys sat on the edge of the sofa as I went on a tear.
My nostrils flared and when I spoke, my voice was more of a mutter as I reeled off the items on my mother’s bucket list. “Bungee jumping, sky diving, scuba diving with sharks, hiring a goddamn male prostitute in Bangkok. She thinks I didn’t know about that last one, but I did.”
Rhys made gentle clucking noises.
I leaned over the railing allowing the pouring rain to drench my face and hair. “Why did she have to go to Yosemite?” I raised my hands to the heavens. “What was the matter with you, Mom? People die out there. You died out there.” I hunched over, my hair a Raggedy Ann’s tangle.
Rhys hopped off the sofa, placed his arms around my waist and made me sit while I wept into his chest. He stroked my hair. “There, there. Just let it out.” Victor Jose covered my face with sweet puppy kisses as I sobbed.
My mother had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor when I was fourteen. Mom had a fatalistic attitude that she liked to call “destiny.” I called it sheer stupidity. She’d sat me down one day and told me that she had no interest in doctors prodding, poking, cutting and experimenting on her. Her decision was to live life to its fullest until her final breath. Her brilliant idea was to write out a bucket list of all the things she’d dreamed of doing and go out with a bang. “I can’t leave this earth with regrets, honey.”
And so it began. I was forced to stand on the sidelines and somehow live my own pathetic existence as mom ticked off each item on her list.
I had tried to be the voice of reason, going to the library, to Scripps Hospital, researching all the latest treatments, but she wouldn’t listen. “I have to live life my way.” She had held my hand, looked into my eye and said, “I want the same for you. My dream is that once I’m gone, you’ll live your life with abandon, go out there and fall in love, let the rain fall on your face, make love underneath the stars, drink too much wine, eat too much chocolate.” She had smiled at me with that smile that always made me feel euphoric. A week later she was gone.
Goddamn base jumping.
My mother had gone to Yosemite with the intention to jump off a perfectly good mountain. I’d begged her to back out because not only was it dangerous, it was illegal to jump off of the world famous peak. But she didn’t care. She’d gathered a group of her loony high-risk enthusiast friends and headed for the national park. There, in the early morning light, she had donned her wingsuit, spread her arms wide, closed her eyes, taken a deep breath, and then stepped over the ridge.
What did she feel? Perhaps a moment of freedom and expansion as the wind rushed through her ears.
Then, in a moment gone horribly wrong, her parachute had failed to deploy. I gasped for air as I thought of the terror that must have entered her being as she realized these were her last moments of life.
Did she cry? Did she think of me? Did she fervently wish she’d never gone to Yosemite? Or did she accept the inevitability of death?
Remembering everything I had learned from my therapist and in my yoga and meditation classes I slowed my breathing and counted my breaths until my body relaxed. Inhale to the count of four, exhale to the count of four.
Rhys and I had been through this conversation too many times. I forced myself to get it together and smiled up at my friend. He wiped my face of tears and Victor Jose licked the last of the salty drops. “Good pup.” I smiled a shaky smile. “We’ve got our anti-aging plan, right?”
Rhys smoothed my hair and kissed the top of my head. “Right. We’ll outlast them all.”
Did I really think I could live forever?
Of course not.
But I sure as hell was not going to be as careless as my mother with her devil-may-care attitude. After she passed away, I took a vow that I would do everything in my power to live a long, healthy life and avoid foolhardy risks.
The rain slowed and from the living room, my stereo blasted the David Bowie song “Fame.” Rhys sat up straight and clapped his hands together. “I love this song!” He stood up and stretched his hand out toward me. “Come on, Coco, dance with me!”
I wiped the last of my tears away and plastered on a smile.
Dear Rhys had been by my side for years as my best friend and business partner, and he could always bring a smile to my face. I took more deep breaths, smoothed down my clothes, reluctantly left my pity party and forced myself to join my friend. We bumped hips, swayed, gyrated and mimed sex with a pole as David Bowie sang his heart out.
He was only trying to distract me, but my evening was tainted. The times I allowed myself to relive my mother’s death it was exhausting. I had lost my cool. My shrink thought I needed to restrain my emotions but sometimes it actually felt good to let it all out.
I took a deep breath and wrote my headline. “Can Love Keep You Young?” I spent the next hour waxing philosophical about the healing benefits of love and sex and orgasms. Orgasms were proven to flood one’s body with oxytocin and numerous feel good chemicals and hormones.
My mother was gone but I was here.
And the exceptionally handsome Dominick was only a few blocks away.
I smiled wryly thinking that if I won this bet, the orgasms I’d experience with Dominick would keep me young forever. I finally yawned and snapped my laptop shut.
* * *
The next morning as I was leaving for work, I opened the front door to find a large bouquet of roses on my front stoop. My hand flew to my mouth. Flowers! I couldn’t remember the last time someone had given me flowers. I gathered up the bouquet of roses. Yellow, white, pink and red. I inhaled deeply of the perfumed aroma. A small note laid folded in half on the welcome mat. With trembling fingers I unfolded the ruled notebook paper. A huge heart had been drawn with red marker and in the center, it said: Love, D.
I jumped up and down and said a thank you to the heavens.
Lola wasn’t lying.
Her father really did like me.
Chapter Twelve
Dominick
Yo Dudes and Dudettes …
Help Us Create Our Healthy Energy Drink And Win Big!
It was early Saturday morning as I sat in the living room reading Surfer magazine. The house was quiet, the only sound the breaking waves on the shore. I glanced out the window checking out the surf, eager to hit the lineup before my appointments.
I went back to the magazine. Mystic Seaweed, one of the top surf companies, was running a contest.
Do You Have What It Takes To Create Our Next Taste Sensation?
Here at Mystic Seaweed we know you gnarly surfers love a good energy drink.
We see you dropping into killer waves every time you down one of our tasty drinks.
Call us biased, but we think our line of performance enhancing supplements is the best around.
BUT … there’s always room for a new kid in town, right?
So here’s the story.
The other night here at the Mystic Seaweed Hawaii Surf House, one of our athletes drank a six-pack of beer, a little too much of the ol’ tequila and bragged about how he had this totally awesome idea for a new energy drink.
He staggered into the kitchen, poured some Costa Rican coffee into the blender along with honey, chocolate, cinnamon and a raw egg.
He whipped that baby up and downed the whole concoction in one gulp.
Holy smokes! The dude didn’t sleep for at least two days.
Let’s just say he out paddled the rest of us, dropping into monster waves while us mere mortals cowered in fear.
Do I need to tell you awesome dudes and dudettes that he created this drink in his underwear?
It got me thinking.
Some of the best ideas come from our own surfers, not some dude in a lab coat in Arizona.
As team manager of Mystic Seaweed West Coast Surf Team I thought I’d put it out there to you, our fans.
Help Us Create The Next Healthy Energy Drink!
We wanna keep it healthy and yummy—no raw eggs puhlease!
Here are the steps:
1. Build your own drink combination. The sky’s the limit. Anybody who wants better performance already knows the drill: Acai, ginseng, honey, healthy herbs. You know, stuff we can’t pronounce. Who ever heard of Holy Basil—exorcism anyone? Just give us your best performance enhancers and make it yummy!
2. Name the drink. Maybe it rhymes. Maybe it doesn’t. It can be one syllable. It can be ten. Just make it awesome.
3. We know you’re artsy. Create the logo and artwork.
4. Submit your formula, name and artwork, we’ll take it from there.
What Can You Win?
We knew you’d be interested in the loot and man oh man is it enough to make a grown surfer shiver in his wetsuit. Mystic Seaweed has partnered with Surfer magazine to bring you some cool booty.
10% Royalties
Bragging Rights
Your Picture On The Cover of Surfer Magazine
What can I tell you? We’re feeling generous. Or maybe it’s just that Mystic Seaweed and Surfer Magazine have issues.
Good luck!
Mike Skindog Long—Team Manager
Deadline for entry: March 15, 2004
My mouth hung slightly open as I read. I knew the industry. Ten percent royalties meant muito dinheiro.
Memories of my days on the pro tour flooded back. Mike, the team manager of Mystic Seaweed, and I had been good friends at one time.
I could only imagine who the “mystery drink creator” was. I’d had a few drunken nights in my underwear myself.
My throat closed up as I stared at the Mystic Seaweed logo remembering a past that would never be my future. Sure, I still had surfing friends like Goff, but I was an outcast to the rest of the community. I sighed and set the magazine on my lap. The surfing tribe was small. Would I ever be able to live down slugging that judge? The answer to that was no and hell no.
“Hey, daddy.” Lola bounded into the room with a breakfast pastry in her hand. She slumped onto the sofa next to me. “What’s that?” She took a bite of her food and snuggled in, glancing at the text. “A contest!” She grabbed the magazine and read out loud so fast I wondered how the other kids—all Americans—kept up.
She threw the ’zine on my lap, jumped up and bounced on her toes. “We’re going to enter, right?”
I gripped the pages and stared out the window. “Now, why would we do that? What do we know about drink formulas?”
Lola placed her hands on hips. “We don’t need to know much. What is that you always tell me? Make friends with people you can learn from.”
“Yeah? And?”
Her lips curled into a smile. “You have a friend. Somebody who knows all about herbs and the junk they put in those drinks.” She jumped up and down twice. “We could win! You know somebody who can help. Somebody really pretty and smart.” She fluttered around the room and stopped in front of me. “Her name is Coco.”
“Now don’t go jumping to conclusions. Coco’s a client.” I was having a hard enough time controlling my attraction to Coco without asking her help. “Besides, how do you know she’s into herbs?”
She turned the slightest shade of pink. “Because I ran into her the other day when she was walking home and we talked.”
“Now Lola, don’t be bothering clients.”
“I wasn’t. Can I help it if I saw her? Do you want to win or not?”
“I haven’t even said I want to enter.”
Lola knelt down and placed both hands on my knees. Her brown eyes gazed into mine. “But we could win. How cool would that be? You know just last week I won a plastic ring out of a gum machine.” She smiled. “It was easy.”
I stared at my daughter and considered. Maybe she was right. If I entered the contest and by some stroke of luck actually won, it would mean making a name for myself in the surf industry again. “But this is different. We’d have to come up with a formula and a name.”
She jumped up and threw her arms in the air. “We’ll call it Coco Loco!” She smiled impishly. “Maybe you can put coconut water in there.” She tugged at my sleeve. “Coco could help. Ask her.”
“I don’t think this is such a great idea.” The thought of spending more time around Coco made my heart speed up.
“Why not?” She pointed to the magazine. “You could have your picture on the cover again.” We stared at each other a few beats. Lola was young. She didn’t totally understand the imp
act of my expulsion from the tour and the ensuing firestorm but she knew enough. “Why don’t you just walk over to Coco’s shop right now and ask her to help.”
I glanced at my wristwatch. “It’s too early.”
“Then wait five minutes.”
“I have to surf.”
“Then go after you surf.”
“I have appointments.”
“Then go after that.”
Lola stood in our living room in her pink plaid flannel pajamas, her long blond hair tousled from sleep, her face flushed pink with youthful excitement. She extended her hand and I couldn’t say no. “Come on Daddy. Let’s do it.”
We shook on it.
Chapter Thirteen
Dominick
Coco’s boutique was a hushed sanctuary of lotions, potions and sea salt scrubs, and the cool air smelled of lavender. A few women milled about, gorgeous females who looked like they spent their days at Pilates classes or visiting plastic surgeons. One woman gazed at me and smiled, then winked. I gave her a nervous smile and picked up a bar of soap, studying the label intently. The label read “Dead Sea Salt Body Bar.” I glanced around but didn’t see Coco.
A svelte man with dark hair who looked like he never had a hair out of place emerged from the back of the shop and greeted me. “Can I help you?” He stared at me with a glint in his grey-green eyes.
“I’m here to see the owner. Is Coco around?”
He cocked his head. “Is something the matter?” He laughed. “It’s just that people ask for the owner when they have a complaint.”
“No. I’m a friend.” I smiled and held out my hand. “I’m Dominick.”
He gave me a crooked grin and wouldn’t stop staring at me. We shook. “I’m Rhys. Pleased to meet you.” He held my hand longer than necessary. I politely extricated my hand from his grip.
“Is she here?”
“She’s in the office.” He turned on his heel. “Come on back, I don’t think her majesty will mind if we interrupt her.”