A little while later, Skeeter joined them at the table, still hyped up over his win.
“Wow, that was amazing,” Maileah said.
Skeeter laughed. “Somehow, Sailor survives and notches a win, even at his age. I tease him and tell him he’s an old man in the sport now.”
Maileah was aware that most competitive surfers were young. Only a few competed past thirty-five, except for a handful of exceptional surfers. “How long does he plan on competing?”
Skeeter lowered her gaze. “Sometimes I think he’ll keep on until the ocean wins.”
Her words struck Maileah, and she realized the competition was not only against other surfers but also against nature.
More than that, she was concerned about Sailor. Even if he weren’t injured, what would it be like for a professional to age out of a sport? What else would he, or could he, do?
Not that it was any of her business, but she cared about Sailor.
14
When Sailor stepped off the ferry, Skeeter raced ahead and threw her arms around him. “Congratulations, what an incredible finish. Don’t scare me like that again.”
“Almost finished me,” Sailor said, shaking his head. He was glad to be home until the next tour date.
Skeeter playfully bopped him on the head. “I would’ve killed you if anything had happened to you.”
“Can’t you be more original?” He laughed and shifted his board bag to his other shoulder, trying not to wince as he did.
Skeeter picked up his backpack and slung it over her shoulder. “The Jeep is over there.”
Sailor was glad for her help. He was sore from the beating he’d taken. The next day, he’d surfed Pipeline with friends on Oahu before rushing to board a flight home without stretching or taking care of himself. Not the smartest thing he’d ever done, as the lactic acid had seized his muscles. He’d have to stretch and drink a lot of fluids once he arrived home.
After stashing his boards, Sailor said, “You can drive.” Aching, he climbed gingerly into the passenger seat.
Skeeter tossed him a bottle of water. “Thought you might need this. I always get dehydrated on those long flights.”
“Thanks.” Sailor opened the bottle and drank it down. “Good to be home. Anything new happen while I was gone?”
Skeeter fired the ignition and backed out of the parking space. “I think I found someone for you to take over the bike concession.”
“We’ve talked about that.”
“You need to focus on you.” Skeeter pressed her lips together, admonishing her brother. “I saw that on the screen. You weren’t paying attention.”
Sailor didn’t like being chastised by his younger sister, even if she had a point. “Maybe I’ll talk to the kid. Who is it?”
“A retired friend of Dad’s,” Skeeter replied. “I think he’d be great. His wife passed away and he needs to get out. He’s very dependable.”
“Can he handle the bikes?”
“He’s retired, not feeble. He could beat you at tennis.”
Sailor shook his head. “That wouldn’t be hard. I haven’t played since high school.”
“You know what I mean.” His sister grinned at him as if she had a secret. “You have a new neighbor.”
“Who moved?” He knew many people on the street.
“Babe rented her cottage.”
“She does that every week. Some of those people drive me bonkers, blasting music half the night. Even the walls shake from that thump-thump bass.”
