The cocky smile plastered on Max's face didn't fade in the least. "It doesn't matter. Your friend's going to lose either way. No way a homeless orphan is going to win this competition."
Words had no power over Drake. The insults slid off his back like water off a duck. One thought and Max's ass would be groveling on the hot sand begging to kiss Drake's toes, but that's not how he wanted to win, so he ignored the jerk and stayed in his zone.
He didn't get off on the competition against others; the real journey existed only between him and the ocean. Her power claimed him, and nothing else mattered. The glory, the sponsors, the trophies—they were only a means to an end, a way to live well, to have financial security while doing what he loved.
Max may have had a better surfboard and more fans, but he didn't know this water like Drake.
Brad grumbled and set up his chair in the sand. "I don't know why you don't put that guy in his place. He's a jackass."
"No point. He'll find his place when we're in the water. I'm not worried about it."
Drake's confidence was not misplaced or unfounded. As the day progressed, each set brought him closer to victory as other surfers were weeded out.
Finally, three surfers remained: he, Max, and a girl named Chrysta who had surprised them all with her entry and success. The surf crashed to the beach and pulled Drake into the open arms of the Pacific. He let everything go and emptied his mind of all worries, angers and fears. Floating and bobbing in the swells of water set his mind at ease. Thoughts floated in and out like the currents, but he paid them no mind; he only waited for the right wave.
Then it came, and all his focus went into paddling. Every muscle, every ounce of energy, pushed him toward the pulsing water. In that last moment, he stood and glided on top of the wave, slicing through the surf.
Eckharte Tolle wrote in The Power of Now, "If the primary focus of your life is the now, then you will be free from pain and suffering." Drake understood those words only when surfing. In that moment, nothing else mattered, and no other thoughts or feelings had any chance to hatch and take hold. In that moment, only the wave mattered.
In a perfect moment of synchronicity and connection, the wave broke and wrapped him in a watery cocoon from which he would emerge reborn. In that state of bliss, he barely noticed Max cutting him off, barely felt the pull of the current until his board threatened to spill him into the depths of the ocean.
With paranormal strength, he steadied himself and kept his feet under him. A look of surprise flashed across Max's face before he directed his attention to the wave that also threatened to engulf him.
The men rode their boards to shore and were greeted by hundreds of voices cheering their success.
To anyone watching, they had both just scored a serious victory. Even the judges wouldn't be able to tell that Max had cheated and tried to sabotage Drake.
Words mattered little to him, but Max had just declared war.
Drake shoved Max to the sand using a touch more than normal strength, just enough to sting. "What the hell, man? Are you so desperate to win, and so afraid of me, that you would cheat?"
Max's eyes turned cold, but he pushed himself up and stared at Drake. "I don't know what you're talking about, but do that again and I'll make sure you're disqualified from the final round."
A group had formed, drawn into the drama. Drake passed his board to Brad and stormed off toward the showers to cool down before he blew it for good.
***
The warm sand squished under his feet, and the hot sun blazed down on his head.
He stripped off his wetsuit and stood under the showers, letting the warm water wash away the sand, salt and anger. Today could change his life forever; he just needed to keep his cool and ignore Max.
He'd been so absorbed in his rage that he hadn't noticed the buzz of warning under his skin that someone was watching him.
By the time he felt it, it was too late.
Something stung his shoulder.
He reached around and pulled out a dart. His thoughts swirled around in his head, and his recent clarity gave way to a jumble of incoherent ramblings.
"Dude, are you all right?"
A voice spoke to him, but male or female, he couldn't tell. His vision blurred and he slumped onto the wet cement, the now cold water spraying over him until it ran out of time and stopped.
"Drake, you'll be okay. Come on, boy." Another voice he didn't recognize.
He reached out with his mind to stop whoever was touching him, but nothing happened. His power didn't work. Then he felt it, the compulsion to obey, directed at him as someone siphoned his powers from him.
When hands pulled him away from the familiar noises, he tried to fight with his muscle.
"Damn it, he's still too strong. Get him to the van, quick."