The Big Break

Jun and Po.

He had almost forgotten about them. He’d been so fixated on the tsunami and his own leg that his thoughts had crowded out little Po. In some ways, the boy was impossible to forget. Kai couldn’t look at his battered knee and the long ugly scar that ran the length of his thigh without thinking about the dreadful day, about being washed out with Po, about barely surviving. But Kai didn’t look at the day the same way Jun did. He didn’t know why Jun was trying to thank him. She kept sending him food all through that first month and then the second, too. Kai had thought maybe she’d forgotten him at last, but then she showed up on the anniversary of the damn thing. He really wished she’d stop thanking him.

He hadn’t done anything. He’d simply stayed with the boy. In the end, it had been just dumb luck they’d not both been killed. He’d thought countless times, what might have happened if he hadn’t gone to the day care that day to check on his cousin? If he’d simply headed straight to higher ground?

He remembered Po, the small dark-haired boy, recalled that the two of them had huddled in the second story of the day care before the first wave hit. He’d obviously been scared, but he’d worked so hard to be brave. Just three then, barely older than a toddler, he’d swum for his life and made it. After the wave had wrecked half of the building and torn them from it, he’d lain crippled in the flood with Po, who was magically unharmed. He’d done nothing special then but pray.

But he couldn’t convince Jun of that. Jun, with those serious dark eyes and that delicate heart-shaped face. He’d forgotten how striking she was, how pretty. His thoughts wandered where they shouldn’t, and he felt sleazy for even wondering what her petite, toned body might look like naked in his bed. She was a mother, for goodness’ sake.

There you go again, avoiding the real problem. It was easy to avoid problems, he thought, when he had a pretty face to think about.

Kai reached into his pocket and pulled out the small business card Jun had slipped into his gift bag. It read “Jun Lee, personal trainer, life coach. Live life organically.”

She must be one of those New Age nuts, the kind that ate only granola and rabbit-pellet food. Kai had never been in that camp. He had always been a barbecue-rib kind of guy. He flipped the card over and saw the “Good for One Free Tai Chi Class” scrawled on the back. He thought that was something only old people did, but Jun wasn’t old. At least it wasn’t yoga. Kai couldn’t see himself doing yoga. But Tai Chi, maybe he’d try it.

Or maybe he’d just call her and ask her out for a drink.

Then he remembered the look of complete horror when he’d asked her if he could see Po, how quickly she’d squealed out of his driveway. Maybe she had a boyfriend. Po’s dad, maybe?

Or maybe she’s just not interested.

Somehow, the thought electrified him just a little. It had been weeks since he’d found any girl a real challenge. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman flat out told him no.

He held the card between his two fingers, thinking about her lean, athletic body. She was sexy, no doubt, but there was something else that intrigued him about Jun Lee.

You could change that. She’d seemed so sure he could turn around the disaster his life had become, as if she had some magic bullet to solve all his problems. He knew she couldn’t, that it was probably just talk, and yet the way she’d said it, with unwavering conviction, got him wondering. Could he?

He glanced at her card again and then nearly laughed out loud. What was he thinking? The Tai Chi instructor didn’t have the answers. It was just his little head doing all the thinking again. It was just about him being attracted to the woman, nothing more.

Besides, she was far too serious for him, he reasoned. A grown-up. That was what came to mind when he thought of Jun Lee. The exact opposite of the tourists he’d been having fun with lately. They never took anything too seriously, which was fine by Kai. Right now taking anything seriously just seemed like a waste of effort. After all, in the end, what was the point? You get all serious and the next thing you know, a freak national disaster and a freight train of water takes away everything you cared about.

The office door swung open and Kirk Cody, Kai’s manager—tall, blond and excessively tanned from spending too much time on the beach—leaned out. He wore his trademark Tommy Bahama gear from head to toe. “Sorry about that, Kai! You ready?” Kai walked in and was quickly surrounded by pictures of himself: him endorsing all kinds of products; him on a Wheaties box; him launching his clothing company nearly two years ago.

Kai had made Kirk rich, but Kirk had done the same for Kai. Kai never thought in marketing terms. He just liked to surf. When Kai was at the top of his surfing game, the relationship worked perfectly. These days, however, Kai felt as though it was only a matter of time before Kirk found out his knee hadn’t healed right. Then the endorsement deals would disappear overnight.

Hanging above Kirk’s desk was a giant photo of Kai surfing a stomach-churning nearly forty-five-foot wave at Mavericks, California, the break so heinous even some pro surfers steered clear of it. Kai thought about his performance earlier that week on a wave not even a fifth that size. He’d made his fortune risking it all on big waves, and now he couldn’t even stand upright on five measly feet.

“How are you, man?” Kirk asked Kai, who simply shrugged.

“Fine, I guess,” he said, studying the old picture on the wall.

A quarter Hawaiian, a quarter Japanese and half Irish, Kai had always felt as if he had the pulse of the water. All of his ancestors came from one island or another, and that brought with it a healthy respect for the sea. But lately, it felt as though he’d simply lost his gift.

A knock at Kirk’s office door drew Kai’s attention. He realized with a start that Bret Jon stood there. Bret was Kai’s tow partner, or had been, before the tsunami. Bret was the one who’d driven the Jet Ski that took him out to the big waves, the seventy-footers that no one could physically paddle to. Bret was also the one who had risked his life to go in and get him whenever Kai wiped out.

Bret glanced at Kai and frowned.

“You didn’t tell me he would be here,” Bret said. “You asked me to come here to talk about a new job. Now I see why you didn’t want to do it on the phone.”

He had good reason to be angry. Kai couldn’t look his once-good friend in the eye. He lived on Maui, so what was he doing here?

“Maybe I ought to go,” Kai said, standing.

“Both of you—sit. You used to be the best team in big-wave surfing, but now you’re not speaking.” Kirk looked back and forth between the two men, who weren’t saying anything. “You guys have been doing this for more than fifteen years. Come on, you and Laird Hamilton, Buzzy Kerbox, Sandra Chevally...you invented this sport. You guys found a way to surf waves that everyone else said were impossible to surf. Tell me why you girls are fighting so we can put this behind us.” Kirk leaned back in his chair.

Bret, who was built like a linebacker, all broad, hefty muscle across his back, stared a hole through Kai. “He knows why.”

“Bret, I said I’m sorry.” Kai moved toward his old partner, but Bret backed away, hands up.

“I don’t want your apology, man.” Bret’s eyes had gone cold and flat. “You can keep that, along with your endorsements and your clothing line. Just...stay away from Jaws. I told you once.”

“Bret, come on, man,” Kirk pleaded. “Let’s sit down and talk about this. The Big Wave Championship is coming up. You and Kai, you’re like gold.”

“Keep your gold,” Bret muttered, shaking his head. Kai wished he could say the right thing, but no matter how often he apologized, he could never make it right. He knew it and Bret did, too.

He felt a pang. He remembered, years ago, back when only a few crazy souls would even attempt a ninety-foot break, and yet there the two of them had been, taking turns towing each other into waves that should’ve killed them. They’d learned as they went, instincts and grit the only things keeping him upright and alive, out of the mouth of the beast. Together they’d been brave or crazy or both. They’d been pioneers. And now here they were, barely speaking.

“Look, Kirk, nothing personal, but I’m done talking.” In seconds, Bret had stalked out of the office. Kai watched him go, feeling as if a chapter in his life was closing, yet he wasn’t done reading it yet.

Kirk let out a long sigh. “You going to tell me what’s going on there?”

Kai shook his head. “Not my story to tell.” If Bret hadn’t told him the details, then Kai wouldn’t.

“You’ve got a new tower? Someone you can trust?”

“I’m working on it,” Kai lied. He wasn’t. Why recruit a tow partner when his knee was 50 percent at best?

“You’d better work fast.”

“I know.” Kai shrugged, thinking about his wipeout earlier in the week. He hadn’t been on his board since. In fact, the very thought of getting out there again made his stomach buzz with nerves, as if he’d drunk too much of the Kona coffee served at his sister’s café.

Kirk studied him a minute. “Knee okay?”

“Still stiff,” Kai admitted, avoiding all eye contact, as if the truth would be evident on his face. Kirk nodded, looking somber, and then leaned forward, clasping his hands together on his desk.

“Gretchen says you’re blowing off training.”

Gretchen was Kai’s personal trainer, but even he had to admit he hadn’t been very trainable lately. Gretchen had told him to cut back on the bar life, but there wasn’t anything scarier than not being able to surf again except dealing with that sober.

“You gonna be ready?”

Kai met Kirk’s gaze and for a split second considered spilling his guts and admitting everything. I’m not going to be ready. I might never be ready again.

“I’m gonna try,” Kai said. He thought it was safely the truth, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wasn’t sure. Was he trying?

“The new surfboards are ready to go, but we need some promo shots,” Kirk said, leaning back in his chair. Pure Kona sunshine filtered in from the big bay window behind his desk. “Maybe you on a big practice wave? Maybe on Jaws? You know, after you find a new tow guy.”

“Yeah, sure. Sometime.” No way. Never.

“How about next week? Photographer has openings a week from Sunday.”

“Can’t do it.” Kai nearly clipped off the end of Kirk’s sentence in his haste to decline. The idea of a photographer or anyone else recording one of his recent surfing disasters filled him with white-hot embarrassment. He glanced at his fine form in the oversize photo above Kirk’s desk. He was a lifetime away from the Kai Brady of two years ago.

“Kai, this has to be done.”

“I know.” Kai eyed Kirk, who didn’t blink as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“Fine.” Kirk sighed, frustrated. “You’re going to have to talk to me sometime about what’s going on with you.”

“Nothing’s going on with me.” Nothing that can be fixed by talking about it. Kai stood, and even in that brief motion, he felt the loosening creak of his right knee. He didn’t care what the orthopedic surgeon said—those tendons and bone just hadn’t healed right. He nearly stumbled a little but righted himself in time. “Is that all, Kirk?”

“Need your signature on this,” Kirk said, sliding contracts his way. “Just a renewal for the Mountain Dew endorsement. Oh, and Todd Kolkot wants to talk to you. Says he needs to get your approval on the new fall line.”

Kai bent down and signed his name with a flourish, all the while wondering how fast Mountain Dew would have dropped him if they’d seen him surf this week. Kai turned to go.

“One more thing, Kai. Somebody from Time magazine keeps calling. They’re doing an anniversary piece on the tsunami, you know, ‘The Big Island a Year Later,’ and wanted to interview you for it.”

“No,” Kai said. He’d woken up in a cold sweat from nightmares about reporters asking him questions about how well he was surfing, how his knee was, all of which would be part of any interview, no matter how it started. Besides, he didn’t like talking about the tsunami. Not just because of his knee, but because of a whole host of other reasons, namely that people he knew had lost their lives that day.

“But it would be good for your brand. You know no publicity is...”

“I said no.”

“Okay, okay!” Kirk’s hands went up in a gesture of surrender. “I know you don’t like to do interviews about the tsunami, but at some point, you’re going to have to talk about it.”

“People died that day. I just got my leg broken. So what?” Might as well have died, though. Self-pity began to creep in again and he tried to shoo the thoughts out of his head, but they had sticky, gooey edges. No matter how hard he pushed them out, some gunky residue always remained behind.

“You’re famous. You’re a hero. You can inspire people.”

At this, Kai barked a caustic laugh. “I’m no hero.” Last night he’d been so drunk he barely remembered what had happened between him and the two tourists. He woke up in bed with a new girl nearly every weekend. He hardly knew if he was coming or going. He was the farthest thing from a hero.

“Course you are. There’s that little boy you saved.”

“I didn’t save him. We were both just lucky.”

Kirk rolled his eyes. “Fine. Then what about all those amateur surfers at Jaws? How many did you pull out of the rocks?” Kirk stared at him. Kai shrugged. “Two? Four? More than that?”

“They had no business being out there in the first place,” Kai said. “I only saved them so I could chew them out and tell them to find another hobby. Doesn’t make me heroic.”

“It doesn’t matter. It only matters if people think you are.” There was the Kirk Kai remembered, the one always looking for the angle and hardly caring about the truth. It was this side of the business, the marketing whatever sells, that just rubbed Kai the wrong way.

“Why not make that the next shirt slogan?” Kai said, a bit of bitterness creeping into his voice.

Kirk laughed. “We should, bro. We totally should.” He leaned forward, his antique wooden desk chair creaking. “By the way, that gossip columnist called again for a quote or confirmation. Said something about you and some wild escapade with two tourists. They have a picture. Looks like you.”

Kai’s stomach lurched. He didn’t want to know what picture they could’ve gotten ahold of.

Kirk tapped his tablet and then handed it to Kai. There he was, sitting in his hot tub with the two women he’d just dropped off at the airport. They were both topless, but the picture was pixelated. One of the women was kissing his face and the other was taking a selfie. Kai groaned. If his aunt Kaimana saw this, he’d be in for another lecture.

“Yeah, that’s me, but it’s not as bad as it looks.”

Kirk threw his head back and laughed. “Bad? Man, I’d kill to be you for one weekend.” The wedding ring flashed on Kirk’s hand as he took the signed contracts from his desk and tucked them into a file.

“It’s not as fun as you think it would be,” Kai said, remembering the awkward goodbyes that afternoon after he dropped the tourists at the airport. They hadn’t even gotten out of sight before they’d started posting to Instagram, clearly.

“As long as you can train and do this. You sure you can?”

“Yeah, of course.” Such a lie.

* * *

SEEING BRET AGAIN had made Kai itch to get out on the surf. He had something to prove. In the surf just beyond his beach house the next day, he started paddling. The wind was low, the waves gentle. It would be an ideal time to try to test his knee.

Kai paddled hard against the sparkling Pacific surf as he spied the perfect wave rolling in. He redoubled his efforts, sea spray hitting his face as the early-morning light glinted off the tip of his prototype surfboard. Kirk would be happy to see him on it, at least. Kahaluu Beach stretched out behind him, and the crystal-blue water was clear and relatively calm, the waves easy for even a beginner to handle. A few tourists were out, trying out their rental boards for the first time.

Kai still thought his board looked too new and flashy. If he’d been on one of the serious breaks, the locals would’ve ribbed him for it, and they’d have been right. Neon colors and cool graphics didn’t make you a skilled surfer. Sweat and blood did.

Maybe he’d forgotten that. He admitted loving the spotlight, the interviews on ESPN, the legions of followers online. Who wouldn’t enjoy dating the models and actresses who gravitated toward his rising star? He hadn’t turned them away. He’d passed the millions mark before he turned thirty. Since then, it had just been about building his empire of shirts, boards and even waterproof video cameras small enough to fit in your palm.

Of course, that was all before the tsunami.

Ocean spray hit his forehead and he shook his head to clear his eyes so he could focus on the wave. He couldn’t dwell on the past. Surfing was all about living in the moment.

He flexed his knee. It felt strong. Stronger than it had in weeks. Good. He was going to crush it today.

Is that why you’re hiding out on a tourist beach? Is that why you’re riding these beginner waves, barely six feet? You used to say anything below twenty wasn’t worth your time.

A tingle of nerves pricked his stomach as he tried to shake off the uncertainty.

He was the three-time reigning big-wave champion. He’d survived some of the most dangerous breaks in the world. He’d surfed waves taller than an eight-story building.

That was before the ocean shredded your leg and left you for dead.

Kai shut his eyes against the memory.

Now was not the time for doubt. He knew it, and yet he couldn’t shake the ghosts of uncertainty. He might never be good again, and he damn well knew it.

But now he was out of time. The wave was here. He’d have to attempt it or wait for the next one. He tried to blank out his mind, rely on muscle memory as the wave rolled toward him and he popped up on his board, the warm sun on his back, cool air whipping across his chest. For a shining split second, he believed he was going to do it. He felt the rush of the adrenaline as he struggled for a toe hold and a quick glance around told him nothing in the world could be as beautiful in life as this: glittering ocean beneath his board, shoreline in the distance dotted with gorgeous palm trees, like a line of hula dancers swaying in the tropical breeze.

Surfing was his first, and only, passion: he craved the rush of wind through his hair and the ocean spray on his face like a junkie needing a hit.

He was going to do it. He was upright, arms out for balance, both feet on the board.

And then something about the wave, the merciless engine of it, challenged him a bit too hard, bucked him ruthlessly, as if the water wanted him to fail. As if the ocean already knew what he was afraid to admit: he wasn’t a world-class surfer; he was just the empty shell of an imposter, nothing more than a has-been.

He adjusted, trying to find his balance, but out of the blue, a sharp pain shot up his knee.

No.

He struggled to keep upright, but his knee buckled like a rusty hinge collapsing under the strain, and he fell backward into the surf, and suddenly, the moment of bliss was replaced by a moment of panic. The wave held him down, punishing him, as his leg flailed, ankle still attached to his board. The shiny neon board slid onward, dragging him beneath it under a dangerous weight of water.

And once more, the fear suffocated him: he was back in the tsunami wave, powerless against the angry force of nature. He again felt the paralyzing terror: I’m going to die.

Panic, cold and hard, drove down his spine.

He struggled wildly to breach the surface, but tangled in the force of the wave, he felt helpless, as the expensive, shining new fiberglass board broke free of his ankle tether and shot across the wave.

The water is going to kill me. The thing I love most in the world is going to kill me.

He floundered, and then the wave released him, breaking across the reef, and he came up, gasping, sucking in big gulps of air.

Alive, I’m alive. And then he realized he wasn’t back in the tsunami. The huge wave that had killed so many people and destroyed so many homes was long gone. Yet the wave, being under, had brought him right back to the worst day of his life.

He coughed as salt water stung the inside of his nose and ran down his throat, the brine threatening to choke him.

He saw his board floating out to sea and let it go, too shaken to fish it out of the surf. He needed to get to land, and he swam, heart thudding as he made it to the sand. He rolled up on shore out of breath, feeling as if he’d just run a marathon with a gorilla on his back.

His knee had failed him—again.

The disappointment welled up in him. Months of rehab, and his knee wasn’t anywhere close to where it needed to be if he was ever going to surf seriously again. Hot tears of frustration burned the backs of his eyelids but he refused to let them fall. He was on all fours in the hot, wet sand and he felt like punching the ground but didn’t.

It wasn’t just his body that had disappointed him but his mind. He was afraid in a way he’d never been before. His whole life he’d been fearless, and now a simple dump off the board and he felt as though the ocean would kill him. He didn’t want to go back out there. Wouldn’t. Not today. Maybe not ever.

At the heart of it, he was a coward, plain and simple.

The wave knew it, too. That was why it had bucked him. It was the ocean schooling him for being a fool. He managed to drag himself back to his house, not proud of himself for leaving his broken board to the surf but too shaken to do much of anything else. He vowed to go look for it later, once he’d gotten his breathing under control. He felt as if he was going to have a heart attack, the panic pressing against his chest like a two-ton weight.

Was he really done with surfing at age thirty-three? Was it really all over?

When he got to his porch, he saw Gretchen waiting for him there, sitting on one of his patio chairs, clipboard in her lap, looking pissed.

Training! He’d forgotten entirely that it was a training day, that Gretchen would be working him on weights today. Everything about the tightness in her shoulders told him she was furious. He almost turned around and left, but she’d seen him, and he knew that would just make her angrier. Sooner or later, he’d have to take his medicine, and later would just be worse.

He trudged to the open patio, still dripping wet, his hands still shaking from nerves.

“You’re late,” she said, and he could feel her glare even through her mirrored sunglasses.

“Gretchen, I am so sorry. I was surfing and lost track of time...”

“What did I say about being late?” She cut him off, standing. Her short dark hair hung nicely around her face, but it was her muscled body that everyone noticed first. It was no wonder she was the most sought-after personal trainer on the island and had a library of exercise videos and apps under her belt. She got results. She knew how to push him in all the right ways.

Except recently.

In the past year, her go-for-broke, hit-the-weights-harder approach just hadn’t been working for him. The more she yelled, the less he wanted to do anything.

But the fact that Gretchen wasn’t yelling at him now only made him nervous. That she was suddenly so calm made him realize the situation was far worse than he’d thought. She gestured with her hand and her diamond wedding band caught the light and sparkled like fire. Happily married to one of the best tour-boat captains on the island, she was off-limits. Kai liked that their relationship had been strictly professional. Gretchen was one of the few women in his life who didn’t feel complicated.

“You said I couldn’t be late anymore or skip sessions.”