CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LUX
I’m working a shift at the pub, partly for nostalgia’s sake and partly to help out Sarah with the influx of new arrivals. Still, the usual suspects are here up the back, all four of them, the races showing on the old CRT television in the corner. Crazy as it sounds, I’m going to miss this place.
The door opens and in walks Sergeant Wilson, stepping up to the bar and placing his hat down. “A cold one, thanks, Lux. It’s hard work cleaning up this town.”
I pull him a beer and pass it across. “So I hear. Guess it will be even quieter when the boys and I leave.”
He shakes his head, holding his beer. “I’m going to miss those pricks. I really am. They did bring a bit of life to this town, even though I’ll be doing paperwork until kingdom comes thanks to our little run-in down at the bunker.”
“I heard they put you up for some kind of award.”
He shrugs it off. “Some bullshit I have to travel up to Sydney for.”
“You deserve it.”
He shakes his head. “Just doing my job. Besides, I want to see you ride that wave everyone’s talking about.”
And there’s the problem. Since Bo’s shark attack and the press from the shootout, the tourist inflow into Finke has been slowly picking up. It started with a journalist from a surfing mag asking about the break, then a news crew, a couple of pro riders… Still, none of them have managed to ride it yet. They don’t know its intricacies like the boys and I do, even if I have yet to face it again.
The sergeant downs the last half of his beer in one go and readjusts his belt. “You know, if that boy ever does you wrong, pick up the phone and call me.” He pats his revolver. “Sure could do with some more target practice.”
“I don’t know. You seem like a pretty good shot.”
He tips his cap. “Well, you know where to find me if you need me.”
I can’t resist. “In the back room of the police station watching Days of Our Lives reruns.”
He nods. “That’s the one.” Then he’s walking out, the door flapping back open with a gust of wind.
Sarah slams it shut, locking the top and walking back to the bar. “Hell of a storm coming.”
“They’ve been saying that for weeks.”
Sarah leans against the bar on one elbow. “No, it’s coming this time for real. You live here long enough and you develop a sixth sense for these things, ain’t that right, Bilbo?”
One of the regulars pipes up from over near the slot machines. Poor guy must be in his nineties. He shakes his leg from the side of the machine. “Gonna be a big one. I can feel it in me lucky leg.”
“See?” says Sarah, smug.
I look out the windows where the clouds are gathering thick and grey. Maybe she’s right. Maybe the infamous once-in-a-century low is coming.
One last time. One last chance to surf the monster.
The aftermath from the shootout played out for days. When the US authorities found out who the Hunts were, they sent a representative over, a tough Texan by the name of Wilcox. He managed to smooth things over a little with the Australians, but it was inevitable they’d be deported, especially considering how they entered the country in the first place, not to mention the stockpile of weapons they’d managed to acquire.
Mercifully, they allowed the boys to remain week or two for Bo to heal up in the hospital for flying—more than enough time for us to settle everything and think towards the future.
The future. God, what does it even mean now?
The place has been swarming with cops and detectives ever since, some for protection, others looking into the shootout. When Deacon told me about the guy who’d been watching me, I almost threw up. They caught him an hour out of Hobart, connected him to another rape since he skipped parole. Funnily enough, he had nothing to do with the brothers.
Bo’s been in good spirits considering. There’s an extra guard on him as well. The US office didn’t want any chances being taken and assured all of the brothers proper witness protection. Not that Deacon trusts them or plans on going through with it. He doesn’t seem to trust anyone but his brothers and I these days.
*
“Nervous about flying out tomorrow?” I shout.
The super low has arrived. Massive, pounding surf has been smashing the coast line since yesterday and turning Shipstern Bluff on in full.
I stand with Deacon on the beach watching the maelstrom, the wind nothing compared to the cold.
I look up at the cliff line, the ridge above the scrub. People are gathered. Some with cameras and tripods, others rugged up against the wind that sweeps out from the land. “Guess it won’t be a secret spot for much longer, huh?”
A light rain whips across Deacon’s face. “It had to happen eventually. Everything beautiful has to come to an end.”
I take his hand and squeeze. “Not us. Not ever.”
He draws his board out of the sand. “You ready for this?”
I look out to the break. It’s big alright, massive waves building on the horizon against a charcoal sky. I think of Dad. “I am.”
Razor pulls up beside me. I’ve never seen him so excited.
“Fucking pity Bo couldn’t be here,” he says. He hoists up his board underarm. “It’s fucking big, boys and girls. First to wipe out’s buying beers.”
I punch him in the shoulder. “Guess you’ll be doing the buying then.”
I run towards the water, my legs scissoring below me. I’m nervous, yes, but I’ve trained for this. I’m ten times stronger now than when I arrived in Finke. It’s given me strength, but so much more. I have Deacon. I have a family. Okay, a very twisted, testosterone-slanted family, but it works and I sure don’t want to be anywhere else. I wouldn’t give it up for the world, danger or not.
I hit the water and paddle, Deacon right beside me smiling as the rain grows heavier, the ocean pockmarked around us and a strong offshore pushing the face of the incoming waves up into liquid walls. I duck-dive and push through, pressing on towards the reef.
I look up to the people on the cliff line. They want a show. They’re going to get one.
When we arrive out the back, the size of the swell becomes clear. This is life and death stuff. My core clenches, but I push it away. Fear is a choice.
I count the sets, wait, and there it is, growing and morphing.
Deacon reaches through the water and takes my hand. “It’s yours, baby. We’re right here.”
I breathe out. “Okay.”
I turn and start paddling. Waves this big you can barely paddle into, but I manage it, directing my board downwards right as the monster begins to crest over and the point of no return is lost. I either commit or I go down.
I press up, stand, and brace for the drop.
As soon as I’m on my feet, two things become apparent. One, this wave is fucking massive, and two, it’s not going to let me take it easily.
In true Shipstern form, the center of the wave buckles and shifts, splitting into liquid steps. There’s so much water being sucked up the face I can see the reef exposed below.
Holy shit.
There’s no time for thinking. I simply have to react. I brace my feet and take the first step. My feet leave the board completely before they crash into it and I head over, coming right to the bottom of the beast. With a curtain of water overhead, I tuck, grab the edge of my board and cut low. The tube expands and narrows until all that’s left is a tiny window of hope and daylight.
Come on.
Come on.
The wave starts to unravel, breaking up around me.
Come on.
It starts to distort and change, the water playing tricks, but this time I’m prepared. The backwash hits and catapults me from the barrel with a phsst, the spray washing over my back as I’m ejected over the back of the wave. Water crashes onto my board and I paddle for the line with everything I’ve got before the next wave bears down on me.
Deacon’s shaking his head when I arrive.
I hear cheering, look up at the cliff line to see people hollering and shouting.
Razor turns his board to face me. “You sure you haven’t got a set of balls between your legs, Hollywood because fucking hell. That was some ride.”
Deacon draws me to him, presses his lips hard against mine, hand against the back of my neck and the ocean roaring around us, the solid mass of it shifting and calling as the rain whips and belts us.
We break away, foreheads together, the wet curtain of my hair allowing us privacy for now.
I cry, not from sadness or fear but from the realization I’ve done it, of how proud Dad would be. Would he approve of Deacon? I laugh inside. Not at first, but I have a feeling he’d grow on him.
I look out, see the next wave coming. I point. “So, you boys going to let a Californian girl like me steal all your thunder?”
Razor turns and starts to paddle. “Fuck no, princess.”
Deacon and I watch him vanish into the barrel.
I look up at the crowds. “It’s a shame, isn’t it?”
“What’s that?”
“Our secret spot soon to be the home of the next big-wave contest.”
Deacon’s smiling.
“What? What is it?”
“I’d tell you that nothing good lasts forever, but I’d be lying.”
I’m confused. “What do you mean?”
Razor goes kicking into the air, landing back onto his board and beginning to paddle back towards us amongst catcalls and whooping from the cliffs.
Deacon’s still smiling. “Maybe you should check that pocket on the side of your wetsuit there.”
I reach down to my hip. “This pocket? I don’t keep anything in it.”
His smile is growing. “You sure?”
What are you up to, Deacon Hunt? I sit up on my board and keep my eyes on him, unzipping the pocket and carefully fishing inside. My fingers close around something small and hard.
“Careful now,” he says.
With caution, I take the object out pinched between two fingers, holding it between us.
“Well?” he enthuses.
It’s a ring—silver with pearl inlays and a diamond that sparkles even in the drab, dismal light. “I love it.”
“I wasn’t asking about the ring.”
I play along, holding the ring between my fingers. “No?”
“So?” he continues.
“So,” I repeat, smiling.
For a moment he looks to the horizon before bringing his eyes back to mine. “You know, I never thought I’d need another ring, that anyone could replace her, but I was wrong.”
I place my hand over his. “Deacon, we can take it slow.”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m sick of hiding and I’m sick of denying my own happiness. I know with every bone of my being I want you as my wife, by my side until the end of time. Lux Louise Jackson, will you marry me?”
“You didn’t get down on one knee.”
He smiles back. “Drop-knee is for body boarders, and our children are going to surf standing up.”
“Our children?” I laugh. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?”
“You don’t think we’d make the cutest kids in the world?”
“I don’t know, but I think we can have a lot of fun making them.”
I reach over and grab his crotch, his cock growing hard in my hand through his wetsuit. “Don’t you?”
“I do,” he replies.
“Careful, I warn. I believe that’s my line.”
He takes hold of my shoulder and pulls himself across, the tip of our boards touching. “Like I said, I can’t promise you an easy life, perhaps not even a long one, but one thing I can guarantee is that I’ll never stop loving you. I want to be with you, forever, whatever it takes.”
I reach forward and embrace him, holding the ring over his shoulder while we kiss, my arms tight around his neck.
I can hear Razor applauding as he approaches. “They’re getting fucking married!” he shouts to those watching from above.
Good ol’ Razor.
Around us, I’m aware of break working, water pounding into the reef, the swell rising and falling around us, the energy of it all overwhelming.
I shove him away and point to the approaching set. “This one’s got your name on it. Go.”
Deacon turns. “Watch and learn, Hollywood.”
I laugh, placing the ring away and zipping up the pocket. “No problem. I could watch that cute little ass of yours all day long.”