There was a part of me that forgot what winning felt like. Or rather, forgot that I had the ability to win. But when my name rang loud over the speakers with a 9.45 final score, and Gemma ran over and tackled me into a hug despite the fact that I was soaking wet, it all became reality.

Atlas fucking Vaughn who? I had my own trophy and my own podium to stand on. I traded that ugly Pirelli cap for a lei adorned with plumerias and shells, and the champagne spray mixed with the fresh, tangy water from the ranch tasted sweeter than anything Silverstone, England could have conjured.

That night, with confidence and champagne still swimming in my system, I found it in me to conjure up something bold and brilliant, like the trophy that I clutched onto as if my life depended on it. I took a quick selfie next to me in bed and sent it.

His response had come almost immediately - it was noon in Monaco. A tired chuckle escaped my lips, and I shook my head at my phone. "What an ass," I muttered.

"What happened?" Gemma stirred in the other hotel room bed, her blonde hair splayed out in ribbons against the crisp white comforter.

Another notification came through, and I thought my heart was going to burst from my chest.

"Nothing," I gave a wistful sigh. "It's nothing."

"Mhmm," Gemma mused, rolling over so her back was to me. "Nothing is never nothing."

Nothing is nothing, until you trade drunk selfies and phone calls with nothing after midnight. Then nothing becomes something, though what that something was I wasn't sure.

At the end of the weekend, Gemma and I had gone our separate ways again - her back to London, and me back to Encinitas - but it wasn't bittersweet. I'd be lurking in her Soho apartment between events in England and Portugal over the next few weeks. My dad picked me up from the airport, and the smell of the saltwater as I rolled the windows of his truck down and the sound of Tom Petty from the speakers filled me with warm familiarity.

"Mikayla and I watched the live stream of the event." He gripped the steering wheel tighter, almost as if he was trying to temper the pride that bursted through his voice. "Some of your skills were just so spot on. You looked strong."

Of all the things anyone could have said to me, strong was something I ached to hear. Strong was something I thought had resigned itself to my past. Pre-injury Savannah was strong and dominant. Post-injury Savannah was...not those things. But I was starting to realize that maybe she still could be.

We picked up Sam from my dad's house before he drove me back across town to my condo, and the moment I stepped through the threshold of my front door, greeted with the smell of my lavender plug-ins and the sea, I collapsed onto my couch. I slept for the rest of the day.

The next morning, Dane insisted that he took me out for breakfast to celebrate my win, though I managed to push him off for a day or two under the pretense I was recovering. I couldn't avoid Dane forever, but we hadn't hung out properly since Miami, and that was two months ago. I knew he wasn't angry with me for ditching him, but that was part of the problem. Dane could never be mad at me, and if the roles were reversed, I would have been pissed. But because of the way he felt, and the way I let him feel, I could do no wrong in Dane's eyes, and that had to end.

We met at Rosewater Cafe in the warm little center of downtown Encinitas, and before I could even sit myself down in the sticky green cushioned chairs, I ordered a large iced Americano with extra espresso.

"I'm so proud of you," Dane muttered into my shoulder as he pulled me into a hug. When he pulled away, a sheepish grin spread across his lips. "I mean, I knew you could do it, but holding up that trophy sure helps."

The feeling of his words didn't linger the way they should, and I had to swallow the thought - they didn't feel like Atlas's did, warm and whole even from oceans away. Even though Dane was right next to me, smiling at me the way any girl wanted to be smiled at, he felt cold and distant.

"Sav?" Dane pulled me out of my thoughts.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "Guess I'm a little distracted. What did you say?"

Dane chuckled. "I asked you when the next event you're going to is."

I knew he knew, but I humored him. "Sennen Cove in England, at the beginning of September."

I twirled my coffee with the straw, and the clinking of ice against the glass seemed deafening against the silence between us.

Dane rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes trailing up from my coffee to me. I subconsciously squirmed in my seat, the backs of my thighs sticking to the plastic. I had to say something before one of us emotionally combusted.

"What?" I finally blurted out, and I was hit with instant regret as Dane flinched.

"Well, uh..." he forced a white-toothed smile, bright against his sunkissed skin. "I guess I just figured since you'll be around for a bit, I could take you out to dinner." He paused. "You know, to celebrate properly."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, my eyes darting back and forth from my coffee, to the half-eaten pastry between us, and the backs of people's heads sitting at the coffee bar, desperate to look anywhere but at him.

"Listen Dane," I sighed out, running my fingers through the salty tangles in my hair. "This is all my fault. I don't wanna keep giving you the wrong idea about us."

"Us?" Dane shrugged, feigning confusion. "I mean...there is no us, is there? Just dinner."

I knew what he was doing - turning the tables to avoid getting hurt. I couldn't even fault him for it, because I would have done the same. Self-preservation came with a price.

"I know this is horribly cliche, and it makes me cringe even saying it, but I really do value our friendship. I always have." I hoped he could hear the sincerity in my voice, and god damm it I couldn't bear it if I was that girl. The resurgence in the confidence I had in myself meant having confidence in my decisions - even if those decisions were hard.

"I just don't think of you that way anymore," I continued, finally forcing myself to look up at him. "Romantically, I mean."

"Anymore?" Dane echoed.

"Yeah well...back then at all those junior surf events, we took advantage of the fact that we were unsupervised and had access to liquor. Whatever we thought we felt...I didn't know anything. We were just kids."

At 22, sometimes I felt like I still didn't know anything, but sitting at that table, one thing came to me with striking clarity - Dane wasn't what I wanted. He wasn't Atlas.

After what felt like years of silence, Dane finally let out a heavy sigh. "Well, whatever we did or didn't know, I know I felt something. So I won't pretend like I'm not hurt, but I guess part of me always knew I was being overly optimistic about whatever it was."

"I meant what I said." I pulled at the frayed hem of my denim shorts. "You're a really good friend, and that means a lot to me."

Dane offered me a faint smile. "I'm never gonna stop being your friend, Sav."

I finally exhaled a breath I didn't even know I was holding, and I gave him a faint smile. "Thanks, Dane."

We ordered a few more small pastries and coffee, and we talked about Dane's losing heat in the finals in Huntington Beach, despite scoring a 9.6. Slowly, a tepid familiarity settled between us, but it was short lived.

Dane poked at his croissant with a fork. "I know it's not really any of my business, but I gotta ask...does what we talked about before have anything to do with that guy you left with in Miami that night in an extravagant Mercedes?"

I felt myself snap up straight. "It wasn't a Mercedes, it was a Porsche turbo, and..." Heat rushed to my face, and I smacked my palms down on the table. "You walked me right into that one."

"It was too easy," Dane said with a chuckle. "You don't have to tell me, but...as a friend, can I ask who he is?"

"He's nobody," I replied a little too quickly. Dane laughed again.

"Anybody who drives a car like that can't be nobody."

I sighed, and I knew I couldn't hide the discontent painted on my face.

Dane raked a hand through his mess of dark hair. "Lemme rephrase - who is he to you?"

I watched little rivers of condensation race down the side of my glass. "Honestly? I'm not sure."

"Not sure, or not sure you're ready to accept the reality of it?" Dane quirked an eyebrow at me. "You did a pretty bad job of hiding that little smile when I brought him up."

I was about to bite back when I was cut off by the trill of the facetime ringtone. Speak of the devil and he doth appear. Always.

"Well, you better figure it out, because it looks like you're something to him." Dane nodded at my phone.

I sighed and flipped my phone face down. "I'll call him later. Can't skip out on breakfast."

Later turned into much later, and the window of time I knew I could call him back had closed, but I needed a soul cleanse. The cure for anything was saltwater - sweat, tears, or the sea.

I took my board out for a night surf, watching the stars twinkle like diamonds on the peaks of the waves. They say never turn your back on water - it'll get you when you least expect it. But recently, I'd been reminded that I never could, even if I wanted to. I loved it more than anything else. Maybe too much more.

standin' on a hill in the mountain of dreams
tellin' myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems

going to california / led zeppelin

i am a vessel of light and love and so is my girl savannah. i know this was a bit of emotional filler, but we're back to regularly scheduled angst next chapter. not sorry about it.

also literally do not have the mental space or creative capacity to make manips or graphics for their text exchange here. not sorry about that either.