At four in the morning, Drake woke and couldn't fall back asleep. He hadn't told Father Patrick about his car or reported it to the police. Brad had given him enough grief as it was.
He rose, made coffee and sat on their balcony that overlooked the beach. His cell phone beeped—another text from Kylie asking if he planned to come over before the competition. His annoyance mounted, and he turned off the phone and ignored it.
The sun hadn't found its way to the coast yet, so Drake waited for sunrise in silence.
The crashing waves and smell of saltwater tried to calm him, but this time they failed. Despite his still body, his mind hammered out worry after worry. Brad had made him swear he'd at least consider dropping the competition, but Drake knew he wouldn't. He refused to run away from his dreams because of a few slashed tires and a bad feeling.
Oranges, reds and purples filled the dark sky as the sun reflected against the ocean's waves. He waited for the sun like a man waiting for a lover to come home. When the bright morning rays reached the balcony, he closed his eyes, basked in the warmth, and let all worry go for just a moment.
Brad's voice broke the spell. "You're going through with it, aren't you?"
Drake nodded.
"Come on, then, I'll walk with you."
They left for Venice Beach, where hordes of people would be gathered to see the competition—winning would earn him a place in the U.S. Open in Hawaii.
This had been Drake's dream since childhood. Each time he landed in a new foster home, he prayed it would be near the ocean. When it wasn't, he'd take busses for hours to get to the beach. Nothing could keep him away then, and nothing would keep him away now.
They arrived early enough that a large crowd hadn't yet formed. Drake found a spot for their boards and supplies, then put his wetsuit on, removed his surfboard from its bag, and rubbed it down with surf wax. The exotic coconut scent tickled his nose.
Soft arms wrapped themselves around his waist. He turned to face Kylie, and frowned.
She'd been a fling that had become too clingy. He didn't have time for, or interest in, a girlfriend—something he'd told her repeatedly—but Kylie didn't seem to get the message.
"Drakey, you didn't come over last night."
He backed up and placed his board between them. "What do you want, Kylie?"
"I'm your cheer squad, and I missed you. You never come by or hang out anymore. I just thought maybe you could use a little fun before you hit the waves. We could head to the bathrooms for some privacy."
He cringed in disgust. "Look, I had a good time with you, but, like I said before, I'm not looking for a relationship."
She puckered and pouted and puffed out her chest. "But we're so good together."
"No, we're really not. Go find someone else to drape yourself on. I'm not the guy for you."
He waited for her to leave, but her eyes turned to slits and she crossed her arms over her ample chest. "You can't get rid of me so easily, Drake. I'm not going anywhere. We belong together and I'm not leaving until you see that."
Seriously? His temper flared to life but he pushed it down. "Get out of here, Kylie. I mean it."
She reached for him and pushed herself against his chest. "Don't you want to at least say goodbye properly?"
A war raged in Drake. He couldn't use force on her; he didn't want to hurt her or attract attention.
The murmur of voices around him faded into the background and his focus zeroed in on her vacuous mind. In a voice anyone else would have had to strain to hear, he pushed all his power at her. "Go away, Kylie, and leave me alone. We're done."
He hadn't just nudged her this time, he'd put the full force of his power behind the compulsion.
She nodded, a vacant expression on her face, and walked away without another word.
A small twinge of guilt plagued him, but he ignored it easily enough. She'd be fine, and would soon enough latch on to another hot guy like the barnacle she was.
Brad arrived with two bottles of water. "What's up with Kylie?"
"Nothing. She won't be coming around anymore."
Brad shrugged but didn't say anything, and Drake appreciated the silence. He needed to get into the zone and prepare for the competition.
He'd never suffered from excessive paranoia, but as he drank his water, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed... and not by a sponsor.
***
Max McKerry, the celeb surfer, broke the silence when he knocked into Drake's board. "You think you're going to beat me with that piece of shit? Dream on, loser."
Brad rolled his eyes at Drake but directed his comment to Max. "Get a life, man. Do you really think anyone here is scared of you?"
The cocky smile plastered on Max's face didn't fade in the least. "It doesn't matter. Your friend's going to lose either way. No way a homeless orphan is going to win this competition."
Words had no power over Drake. The insults slid off his back like water off a duck. One thought and Max's ass would be groveling on the hot sand begging to kiss Drake's toes, but that's not how he wanted to win, so he ignored the jerk and stayed in his zone.
He didn't get off on the competition against others; the real journey existed only between him and the ocean. Her power claimed him, and nothing else mattered. The glory, the sponsors, the trophies—they were only a means to an end, a way to live well, to have financial security while doing what he loved.
Max may have had a better surfboard and more fans, but he didn't know this water like Drake.
Brad grumbled and set up his chair in the sand. "I don't know why you don't put that guy in his place. He's a jackass."
"No point. He'll find his place when we're in the water. I'm not worried about it."
Drake's confidence was not misplaced or unfounded. As the day progressed, each set brought him closer to victory as other surfers were weeded out.
Finally, three surfers remained: he, Max, and a girl named Chrysta who had surprised them all with her entry and success. The surf crashed to the beach and pulled Drake into the open arms of the Pacific. He let everything go and emptied his mind of all worries, angers and fears. Floating and bobbing in the swells of water set his mind at ease. Thoughts floated in and out like the currents, but he paid them no mind; he only waited for the right wave.
Then it came, and all his focus went into paddling. Every muscle, every ounce of energy, pushed him toward the pulsing water. In that last moment, he stood and glided on top of the wave, slicing through the surf.
Eckharte Tolle wrote in The Power of Now, "If the primary focus of your life is the now, then you will be free from pain and suffering." Drake understood those words only when surfing. In that moment, nothing else mattered, and no other thoughts or feelings had any chance to hatch and take hold. In that moment, only the wave mattered.
In a perfect moment of synchronicity and connection, the wave broke and wrapped him in a watery cocoon from which he would emerge reborn. In that state of bliss, he barely noticed Max cutting him off, barely felt the pull of the current until his board threatened to spill him into the depths of the ocean.
With paranormal strength, he steadied himself and kept his feet under him. A look of surprise flashed across Max's face before he directed his attention to the wave that also threatened to engulf him.
The men rode their boards to shore and were greeted by hundreds of voices cheering their success.
To anyone watching, they had both just scored a serious victory. Even the judges wouldn't be able to tell that Max had cheated and tried to sabotage Drake.
Words mattered little to him, but Max had just declared war.
Drake shoved Max to the sand using a touch more than normal strength, just enough to sting. "What the hell, man? Are you so desperate to win, and so afraid of me, that you would cheat?"
Max's eyes turned cold, but he pushed himself up and stared at Drake. "I don't know what you're talking about, but do that again and I'll make sure you're disqualified from the final round."
A group had formed, drawn into the drama. Drake passed his board to Brad and stormed off toward the showers to cool down before he blew it for good.
***
The warm sand squished under his feet, and the hot sun blazed down on his head.
He stripped off his wetsuit and stood under the showers, letting the warm water wash away the sand, salt and anger. Today could change his life forever; he just needed to keep his cool and ignore Max.
He'd been so absorbed in his rage that he hadn't noticed the buzz of warning under his skin that someone was watching him.
By the time he felt it, it was too late.
Something stung his shoulder.
He reached around and pulled out a dart. His thoughts swirled around in his head, and his recent clarity gave way to a jumble of incoherent ramblings.
"Dude, are you all right?"
A voice spoke to him, but male or female, he couldn't tell. His vision blurred and he slumped onto the wet cement, the now cold water spraying over him until it ran out of time and stopped.
"Drake, you'll be okay. Come on, boy." Another voice he didn't recognize.
He reached out with his mind to stop whoever was touching him, but nothing happened. His power didn't work. Then he felt it, the compulsion to obey, directed at him as someone siphoned his powers from him.
When hands pulled him away from the familiar noises, he tried to fight with his muscle.
"Damn it, he's still too strong. Get him to the van, quick."
"Don't worry," one voice said to the other. "Drake, you will relax and walk quietly to the van with us. You will not put up a fight or make any noise."
Drake nodded, stood and walked forward.
Before he could process anything more, a painful whack to his head sent him tumbling toward darkness.
The leader yelled at whoever had hit him, and then Drake found that darkness.
