I AM A long way from Sandy Cove.

Sitting out on the balcony of the tour house a few of us share in El Salvador under the cover of the canopy above, my eyes watch as the rain pours down around me. My hands curled around a warm cup of coffee as I look out onto the heavy crashing waves brought on by the weather.

Because of the weather, the competition hadn't begun yet. Since arriving here two days ago, the weather had been glum. It's supposed to pick up over the next few days, which should give us our five-day window to surf.

The past week since leaving Sandy Cove, my training had become regular again. Running, swimming, and perfecting my technique on the board—on the sand, I might add. I had not stepped foot back into the water yet, something my trainer wants me to do before the competition starts.

Looking down at the coffee in my mug, I can't help but smile as I think back to a memory of Atlas.

My eyes flickered open, and I groaned as the sunlight shone through the windows in Atlas's bedroom before I closed them again. The bed dipped slightly, and I felt a hand rest on my waist over the covers, shaking me.

I pried my eyes open once again and let them adjust to the light before I saw Atlas sat on the side of the bed, two cups of coffee in his hand.

"Is that coffee for me?" I asked him, and he chuckled.

"No, it's for the other surfer in my bed," he said, and I rolled my eyes. I clutched the covers to my chest as I sat up and he handed me my coffee before he leaned in and kissed me softly.

"Hilarious," I deadpan, as we pull back and he chuckles before rounding the bed to climb back in. He wraps his arm around my shoulder, bringing me closer so my back is against his chest and his arm is draped across the front of my chest where the covers are pulled up to. "Mmm, you make excellent coffee."

"Is that why you're keeping me around?" He laughs and I chuckle.

"Well, I will admit it is hard to make the perfect cup of coffee for someone, so I guess you're useful to me for now," I say, and he leans down to nip at my shoulder as I laugh.

"Drink your coffee," he tells me.

"Bossy," I mumble, and I feel his lips brush against my ear.

"You love it," he mumbles before placing a kiss on my neck.

"Maybe just a little," I admit, and he chuckles, shaking his head. I smile and reach to move some of the hair that fell down away from his face as he stares into my eyes before I mock, "drink your coffee."

"There's something better than coffee I want," he tells me before taking my mug and he places both of ours down before cupping my cheek and kissing me as he lies us down on the bed.

"Prove it."

Mornings like those with Atlas became familiar. Somehow we went from strangers to friends to something more, and it had never felt more natural than it did with him. Sighing, I take my phone out of my pocket and hover over Atlas's contact, wanting to hear his voice.

"This is where you're hiding," someone says, and I look to see my trainer Corey walk through the doors. Putting my phone away, I smile.

"Just thinking," I tell him and he nods.

"About the comp, hopefully. Weather is supposed to clear this afternoon, meaning the heats should start in the morning, so afternoon is ours to get you back out there," he tells me.

My heart pounds against my chest at his statement and the notion that today is the day where I see if I can really continue my old life the way it was before the accident.

Finishing my coffee, I stand up. "Well, let's go surf."

✺✺✺

Doing this without Atlas feels unnatural.

Whenever I went out to the water, whether it was to dip my feet in or lie on the board, he was there for every step of the way. He saw my panic attacks and helped me through them. He encouraged me and let me choose what I wanted to do and felt comfortable with.

My board sits under my arm as I stand on the beach looking out at the ocean. My trainer is with me, ready to head into the water with me.

Taking a deep breath, I head towards the water. Lying flat on my stomach as my arms paddle through the water, taking me further out. The water ripples beneath me, my board going over them like they are speed bumps. Soon enough, I come to a stop. I sit up on the board, focusing on my breathing, and my gaze travels around.

There are other surfers in the water, further away from where I have placed myself. I watch as they surf the enormous waves this break offers. Mostly, they are fine. They manage to surf every one of them perfectly. But when the waves come and wipe a surfer out, I wince, remembering what it was like to feel the pressure of that wave crashing down on me and holding me under.

"Thalia."

My trainer's voice feels far away. He repeats himself, but soon enough his voice is blocked out. My harsh breathing reaches my ears as my heart pounds in my chest. I close my eyes, willing for this to not happen.

I wipe my clammy hands on my legs, but nothing helps. I try to focus on my breathing, use the counting techniques, but nothing works.

My body is aware of someone near me, hands on my arms and a face in front of me, talking to me. But my only thought is that it's not Atlas.

✺✺✺

The surfing competition the next day comes quick, the rest of yesterday flew by and suddenly I am standing on the deck that overlooks the beach. My headphones are on as I stare out at the waves. Music blasts through the headphones, blocking out the noise around me as I focus on the waves.

Closing my eyes, I wince as my mind flashes back to yesterday. The panic in my mind, the unease and lack of comfort as the waves rippled under me. The way my throat closed up and my body shut down.

Everything was going so well, all the baby steps I was taking back in Sandy Cove and all that work was down the drain as soon as I panicked. My therapist says it's normal, some days you can be perfectly fine and others it will flare up.

Shaking my head to clear it, that image not being what I needed before getting into the water, I focus on others around me.

Other surfers have people with them, whether it's partners who come on the tour with them, families or a friend encourage. Even though the surfers have their headphones in to get into the zone, they're not alone.

That never used to bother me. At the competitions it would just be me, sometimes Cassidy, and my trainer. My parents would come to a few events if they were closer to their home, but for the most part, it was just me.

A tap on my shoulder breaks me out of my spell of wallowing. I turn, seeing Easton's friendly face smiling at me. Since today is the woman's heat, he is not surfing. Pulling my headphones off, I give him a smile.

"Don't want to interrupt your mojo, just wanted to come say hi," he says, and I smile. "Wish you luck."

"I think luck is all I have with how yesterday went," I admit, placing my headphones away and his brows furrow.

"First time back in didn't go so well?" he asks and I shake my head. "Atlas told me things had gotten better."

I smile at the thought of Atlas caring about my wellbeing. "It had, sort of. As much as it possibly could. It seems to just be that some days are harder than others. But yesterday was the worst it's been in a long time."

"You sure you're ready for this?" he asks, and I look out to the ocean. "You know, surfing is our calling. It's our life. But I do miss Sandy Cove and the people I left behind."

"You can't say if you were in my shoes, you wouldn't take the chance to come back. Not after everything we've ever worked for," I say, and he thinks for a moment.

"I can't say that no. But at the end of the day, the tour is always here, sure we may have new competitors coming all the time, but this isn't being taken away from you. It's here for you whenever you feel ready to come back. The way I also think about it is what happens when we no longer surf, if we retire or, in your case, if you can't get back in the water, what else do we have?" Easton explains to me.

My eyes stray again over to the surfers who have friends or family with him and I realize whether they win or lose, they have someone with them or someone to go home with. They have something else other than surfing.

"I guess I just wanted to prove that I could do it, or at least try so I didn't regret not trying harder in the future," I tell him.

"Is it worth giving up everything else for, though? If you win, will you be happy, but if you lose or you can't do it, is it really worth it?" Easton asks me and I can't justify a response.

"I really don't think it is."

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A U T H O R N O T E

Three chapters left!!!

I cannot believe how close we are to the end of this book! I started posting Riptide at the end of August but it feels like yesterday, it does not feel like it has been 8 months! Okay saying that has made me wonder where the time has actually gone.