Chapter 3 Chapter 3

~Tyler~

By the time I cleared the break, Heaven was already ten yards ahead of me, digging her arms into the water as she paddled toward the lineup without looking back once.

I followed, watching the water slide from her shoulders with every stroke while trying not to think about how good she'd gotten over the last three weeks at pretending I wasn't anywhere near her.

Except I knew Heaven… Or I used to. Enough that I caught the looks she thought I missed, noticed when her laugh disappeared because I walked into a room and saw every damn time she rubbed her right shoulder after a hard session, then dropped her hand the second she realized I was watching. That one was harder to ignore.

Digging harder, I closed some of the distance as she reached the lineup and sat up on her board, pushing wet hair away from her face while she studied the horizon.

For half a second, three years disappeared. Same ocean behind her, same concentration pulling her brows together, same Heaven reading the water like it was speaking a language only she understood. Then she glanced toward me.

“What?” she demanded, turning her board slightly with the current.

Slowing beside her, I shook my head. “Nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed. Right. She hated that answer.

“I was checking the current,” I added, nodding toward the water.

“Then look at the water,” she suggested, lifting an eyebrow.

I bit the inside of my cheek.

Her eyes narrowed farther. “Are you smiling?”

“Nope,” I answered, although my mouth was already trying to betray me.

“You are,” she accused.

“I'm really not,” I argued.

“You're thinking about it,” she muttered.

A laugh escaped before I could stop it, and the second it did, Heaven stared at me.

Shit.

I'd forgotten how easy that used to be before one wave had taken everything between us and left me with three years of wishing I could change what happened next.

Heaven turned toward the horizon as the first set started forming farther out.

“You've got priority,” I reminded her, shifting on my board.

“I know,” she replied without looking at me.

I closed my mouth. Probably my best decision of the morning.

The first swell passed beneath us without doing much, and when another started standing farther south, Heaven watched it for a second before letting it go. Not ours.

The third had more shape. “Heaven,” I started, nodding toward it.

“I see it,” she replied, already shifting.

I nodded as her gaze slid toward me. “What?”

“I didn't say anything,” I pointed out.

“You were going to,” she countered.

Christ.

Three weeks back in the same place, and apparently she could still read me too.

The wave continued building, and Heaven dropped onto her stomach while I moved deeper into the lineup, giving her room as she paddled twice, then a third time before pushing to her feet.

Everything inside me went quiet. I'd watched the footage. More of it than I'd ever admit to her.

Her first competition after rehab, then the next one, and enough after that to recognize when she'd finally stopped protecting her shoulder and started trusting it again. Watching her through a screen hadn't prepared me for having her right in front of me.

Heaven dropped down the face and buried the rail through her first turn, throwing spray behind her before redirecting toward the next section. Faster than she'd been at seventeen. Stronger too. Still reckless as hell whenever the water offered her something tempting enough.

My mouth curved. Some things never changed.

She hit the next section and came down clean, but when her right arm shifted slightly, the smile disappeared.

Nobody on shore would've noticed. I did.

My stomach tightened as Heaven adjusted and kept moving without missing the next turn.

She finished the ride, kicked out and started paddling toward me while the announcer called her score across the water.

7.41.

Solid.

Now I needed mine. A new set started building behind me, and turning my board, I watched the first wave rise before letting it go. Wrong angle.

The second came in cleaner. I started paddling into position.

“Tyler!” Heaven shouted from behind me.

I looked over my shoulder. She pointed farther north. “Third one!”

My gaze followed her hand. There. Bigger wall. Cleaner face. Better wave.

I changed direction immediately. No argument. No hesitation.

She'd seen something I hadn't, and before I had time to think about what I was doing, I'd already trusted her.

The realization hit about half a second before the wave did.

Fuck.

I dug hard, felt the board catch, then pushed up and dropped down the face.

The thought disappeared with everything else.

Driving through the first section, I came off the bottom and hit the lip before landing beneath it, then cut around the next section as it started closing and redirected toward the open face.

The crowd grew louder from shore.

One more.

I drove into the turn, brought the board around and kicked out as the horn sounded.

Dropping into the water, I surfaced and pushed my hair from my eyes.

Heaven sat twenty yards away. Watching me.

I hauled myself onto my board as the score came through.

7.68.

Enough to put us near the top.

By the time I paddled toward her, she'd already turned back toward the horizon.

“You almost took the wrong wave,” she informed me, trailing one hand through the water.

A laugh slipped out as I slowed beside her. “Hello to you too.”

“You did,” she insisted, glancing toward me.

“You yelled,” I reminded her.

Her fingers stopped in the water. “You listened.”

Neither of us said anything. We didn't need to.

For years, Heaven had called things across the lineup and I'd reacted before thinking about it. She saw what I missed, I caught what she didn't, and somewhere along the way, trusting each other had become as automatic as paddling when the right wave came. Until the day I'd given her every reason to stop.

Heaven looked toward shore. “We need another score.”

There it was… The wall sliding right back into place.

“Yeah,” I replied, settling onto my board. “We do.”

Another set appeared along the horizon, and we both shifted almost simultaneously.

Heaven moved deeper. I angled south.

Neither of us said a word. We didn't have to, and that should have bothered the hell out of me. Instead, when Heaven glanced across the water and our eyes met, something tightened beneath my ribs; three years apart hadn't erased this. One accident hadn't erased it. And apparently, neither had everything we'd left unsaid.

Heaven looked away first as the swell began building between us. I should have been watching the wave. I wasn't. Because Heaven still believed the worst thing I'd done three years ago was make the mistake that nearly killed her.

My fingers tightened around the rails of my board as she dropped onto her stomach and started paddling.

God, I wished that were true.