Below the Barrel (Saltwater Springs #2)

8. Koa | Western Australia, Australia

EIGHT

KOA | WESTERN AUSTRALIA, AUSTRALIA

The morning air is warm as the sun begins to rise, casting a golden hue over the coastline. The production team is setting up cameras and equipment for today’s shoot. SurfFlix has planned a helicopter ride for all the surfers to capture breathtaking aerial shots of the coastline from above. I glance at Maliah, and I can tell she’s not thrilled.

She stands a few feet away from me, listening to the crew explain the plan, but I notice the way her eyes widen just a fraction along with the subtle tension in her shoulders, the thought of getting into a helicopter is clearly freaking her out.

When the crew finishes explaining, I walk over to Jackie.

“Hi.” She turns to face me, brow arched.

“Hello, Koa,” she replies.

I look over my shoulder at Maliah who looks to be doing her best to keep her face neutral, not wanting to show any sign of weakness, as usual.

“We want to opt out of this one,” I say.

“We need this shot,” she says, looking directly at Maliah over my shoulder. “It’s already paid for, and it’s going to look incredible. Everyone has to go. No exceptions.”

I bite back the angry words that sit at the tip of my tongue. “It’s going to be a shitty shot if we both look miserable up there.”

Jackie frowns. “Is that a threat?”

I take a moment to reply, knowing that if I piss her off she’ll give us the worst edit in television history.

“How about this,” I say, glancing at Maliah once more before turning to look at Jackie. “I’ll do what I have to do to make sure Mal isn’t scared shitless up there, I’ll even give you guys some great content to work with to build the storyline, on one condition.”

Her growing smile falters slightly before she narrows her eyes, waiting for me to continue.

“Cut the scene of Maliah yelling and crying at the end of the Bells Beach competition. We don’t want that aired.”

Jackie thinks about it for a moment, tapping her chin thoughtfully before holding her hand out to me.

“Deal.”

I shake it with an appreciative smile before I return to Maliah.

“Ready?” I ask, stepping in front of her to block her view of the helicopter.

She nods, forcing a small smile, but I can see the fear in her eyes. She’s not fine, no matter how hard she’s trying to pretend otherwise. I know her too well—know that she’s feeling trapped, like she doesn’t have a choice but to go along with it. But I also know it’s more than just the helicopter ride. It’s Gabriel.

Ever since her performance at Bells Beach, she’s been avoiding Gabriel. I’ve seen the way it’s been getting to her, how she’s been carrying the weight of it all, trying to make up for that one bad day. She goes to the gym before I even wake up, leaving just as I get there, and then goes back again at the end of the night. She’s pushing herself to her limits to make sure that it never happens again.

Now, with this helicopter ride, I can tell she doesn’t want to risk getting in shit with him again, even if it means confronting one of her biggest fears. I step closer to her, wanting to say something, to tell her everything will be okay. But before I can speak up, she turns to me with that same forced smile, her eyes betraying the anxiety she’s trying so hard to hide.

“I’ll be fine,” she says with a slight tremor to her voice. “It’s just a helicopter ride, right? I did the hot air balloon ride, so I can do this.”

I nod, but inside, I’m uneasy. I realize this is another heights excursion and the production team is aware of how Maliah feels about heights. It’s almost as if they’re doing this on purpose. I hate seeing her like this, but I know Maliah, once she’s set her mind to something, there’s no talking her out of it.

I help her step up to the helicopter, watching as her free hand grips the doorframe a little too tightly. She buckles herself in while I take a seat across from her, buckling myself in too. We wait for the cameraman to join us before the helicopter's rotors begin spinning to life, cutting through the silence with a deafening roar. As the helicopter lifts off the ground, I watch her grip onto her shoulder straps and squeeze her eyes shut.

Within seconds, the helicopter is airborne, slicing through the clear blue sky of Western Australia. Maliah’s gripping the straps so tightly that her knuckles have turned white as she forces herself to look out the window, her eyes wide and filled with fear. I lean in closer, trying to catch her attention.

“Remember that time when you convinced me to climb that massive tree at the back of The Shredder House?” I start, keeping my voice light and casual.

Maliah glances at me, her grip loosening just a fraction as she nods, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Yeah, I remember. I was trying to see if we could spot the Kooky Coconut from up there.”

I chuckle, the memory vivid in my mind. “You were so focused on getting to the top, but halfway through, you lost your footing and fell. I’ve never seen you move so fast in my life.”

She laughs softly, the sound easing some of the tension in the air. “I was trying to grab onto that stupid branch, but it just snapped under me. I ended up with a nasty cut down my hip. You were so freaked out.”

“I thought you were going to break every bone in your body,” I admit, shaking my head with a small smile. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Her smile grows wider and the fear in her eyes softens. “You carried me all the way back to my room. I’m pretty sure you were more scared than I was.”

I grin, the memory warming my chest. “I probably was,” I nod, “but I’m pretty sure that’s when you started to hate heights.”

She nods and I watch as the tension completely drains from her shoulders. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

We share a quiet laugh, and I notice the cameras filming us, capturing this moment. But for once, I don’t care about them or the footage. I’m just happy to see her relax, even if it’s just for a little while.

As the helicopter lands, her grip on her shoulder straps finally loosens completely, the colour returning to her knuckles, and I watch as she breathes a sigh of relief. The cameramen jump out first and when they do, she turns to me, her expression soft and grateful.

“I know what you were doing with that story,” she says. “Thank you, Koa.”

I smile and nod but notice that she hasn’t moved yet. “Is everything okay?”

She shakes her head, looking down at her lap as she fidgets with her fingers. “I wanted to apologize for yelling at you at Bells.”

I whistle and sit back in my seat. “Is the Malia Cooper apologizing to me right now? Today must be my lucky day.”

“Oh shut up,” she says, pinning me with a frown. “This is why I don’t apologize.”

She huffs and gets up, grabbing onto the doorframe of the helicopter to get out, but I stand and grab her arm, tugging her toward me gently. She turns to face me, our bodies almost touching.

“You don’t need to apologize to me, princess. I know you were just caught up in the moment.”

“It doesn’t make it okay, so I’m sorry.”

Her eyes wander my face, pausing on my lips a few times before she finds my eyes again.

“Okay, I forgive you. Will you go back to doing training with me in the mornings instead of avoiding me now?”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

I smirk, seeing right past her white lie. “Oh, no, of course you weren’t.”

I walk past her, unable to hide the smirk as I step off the helicopter and extend my hand for her to take. She hesitates for a moment, before sliding her small, soft hand into mine and letting me help her out.

Progress.

The next morning, the energy is electric as we prepare for the competition at Margaret River. The break here is legendary, powerful and unpredictable. Gabriel told us the waves here can reach up to fifteen feet on a good day.

The men are competing first today. I paddle out, the swell already building and the waves rolling with a demanding force. The water here is colder than I’m used to, and the sharp reef below is at the back of mind as I position myself for the right set. The moment the first wave rises, I’m on it, dropping down the face with speed and precision. It’s massive, curling over my head into a barrel. I can feel every shift, every surge, and I move along with it, carving sharp turns and cutting through the spray.

The ride is exhilarating, the kind that makes your heart race and your senses sharpen. It reminds me of Maliah. I finish strong, riding the wave all the way to the inside, feeling the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I kick out. The rest of the men’s round goes like this for me, and I’m not surprised when I see that I’ve ranked highest.

As I finish paddling back to the shore and find a spot to sit on the beach, I turn my attention to Maliah watching as she prepares to paddle out. Her eyes are focused and determined today, and I’m confident she’ll give it her all.

She paddles out confidently and waits quietly to catch a wave, and when she does, I watch as she pops up on her board smoothly, her movements fluid as she navigates the wave with precision. She’s in control, completely in sync with the water, and it’s clear she’s in her element. She carves through the face of the wave with ease, her turns sharp and controlled. There’s no hesitation, no second guessing—just pure focus. She finishes with a smooth cutback, the spray of the water catching the light as she rides it out, and as she paddles back out to the lineup to continue, I can see the hint of a smile on her face.

Her eyes meet mine for a brief moment and I can't hold back the pride from my smile as I clap. There’s a glint of satisfaction in her gaze, a quiet acknowledgement that today, she’s back to her confident and fearless self.

By the end of the day, we’ve both done our best, and when the scores come in, we’ve managed to climb from sixth place up to third. She turns to look at me with a happy smile, one I can’t help but return.

“We should be able to get back to first place in the next competition,” I say as we turn to walk towards the car, “as long as we both perform like that again.”

She nods in determination before we hop in and head back to the hotel.