Crashing Waves Read online

  Crashing

  Waves

  By

  Graysen Morgen

  Crashing Waves © 2014 Graysen Morgen

  Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events of any kind, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition – 2014

  Cover Design: Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  Interior Design: Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  Also by Graysen Morgen

  Bridesmaid of Honor

  Falling Snow

  Fast Pitch

  Fate vs. Destiny

  In Love, at War

  Just Me

  Love, Loss, Revenge

  Natural Instinct

  Secluded Heart

  Submerged

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to CJ, my eagle eyes down under! Tack för allt du gör, kompis.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my partner. Years ago you asked me to write a surfing book. I'm sorry it has taken me this long to finish it. Is breá liom tú

  Prologue

  December (Pipeline Invitational)

  The announcer looked on with fear in his eyes as he watched two pieces of the broken yellow and white surfboard wash ashore. The entire crowd on Oahu's North Shore was standing in silence, watching the massive Bonzai Pipeline waves. The three-time Women's Short Board Surfing World Champion and present leader of the Women's World Championship Tour, Rory Eden, had just wiped out in a shallow zone with razor sharp reefs. She was being held under by the fierce current in what was known as a triple hold-down to surfers around the world, and amounted to nearly two minutes underwater. Two riders on Jet ski's were out in the double-overhead, thirteen foot waves, searching furiously for any sign of the surfer.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, it appears that Rory Eden is still being pulled under by the brutal Pipeline waves. No surfer has ever survived a triple hold-down in this area. She is a very strong young woman and it's possible that she..."

  Just as he paused, trying to gather his words, the rescue crew found the surfer being torn between the waves. They quickly hauled her limp body to shore. Two paramedics put Rory on a backboard and shuffled her into the back of the ambulance, before anyone standing on the beach could see her. Once inside the rescue vehicle, the paramedics performed CPR until they were able to finally get her heart beating, but her pulse was very weak and fading in and out. One of the medics squeezed the oxygen bag that was manually breathing for her while the other went to work trying to stop the bleeding from the massive cut across the top left side of her head.

  "Her body is in severe shock. She has a four inch laceration on the left side of her crania and we had to do chest compressions three times from the beach front to here. I don't know how much longer she can hold on," the paramedic said, squeezing the bag and filling her lungs with air as he handed her over to the flight nurse.

  The helicopter transported her to The Queens Medical Center in Honolulu. Rory's cold, limp body was immediately taken into the trauma center from the helicopter pad.

  "Let's intubate and get her stabilized, then send her up to get a CT scan. Also alert the neurosurgeon on call," the male doctor said, squeezing the bag as they raced into the brightly lit room.

  "Doctor, she's arresting!" the nurse said, watching the heart monitor bounce all over the screen.

  "Damn it, start CPR." He grabbed the defibrillator. "Two hundred, CLEAR!" he yelled.

  Everyone watched as the heartbeat on the monitor was still jumping around erratically.

  "Two fifty, CLEAR! Come on, girl!"

  "No change!" the nurse yelled.

  "Two seventy, CLEAR!"

  "The pulse is weak, but her rhythm's normal."

  "We need to intubate and stabilizer her now! God damn it. Where in the hell is the neurosurgeon? This girl needs her head closed. She's starting to bleed out!" He replaced the blood-soaked bandage on her head.

  "Start a line of saline and B positive. We have to get this bleeding under control!"

  "Doctor, the neurosurgeon's on line one."

  "Get your ass down here! I have a critical head trauma on my table with a four inch laceration that is bleeding out on the left side! Either you come down and sew her head or I'm doing it my goddamn self. This girl's going to die if we don't get her stabilized!" he yelled into the phone.

  ~ ~ ~

  Two Weeks Later

  "Hi, Mrs. Eden. I'm Rory's doctor," the neurosurgeon said. He was tall and lanky and his scrub top looked a little too big.

  "Is she getting any better?" An attractive, slender blond woman replied with a heavy Australian accent.

  "She's showing some signs of muscular activity and her neurological waves are functioning very close to normal. We're still not sure if there is any significant brain damage from the loss of blood and lack of oxygen," he answered.

  "When will I be able to take her back to California?"

  "As her physician, I cannot advise that she be moved at this time. She's still in a comatose state and not breathing completely on her own. When and if she wakes up, Rory is going to need around the clock care and eventually a large amount physical therapy."

  "What exactly are you saying doctor?" I'm not stupid, you dickhead!

  "Well, Mrs. Eden, you know I have been honest with you from the beginning."

  "I shouldn't have to inform you again that my last name is Zane, not Eden."

  "Yes, my apologies, Ms Zane. Her body is in shock. Rory's brain shut down from the trauma of the injury and lack of oxygen. In turn, the rest of her organs slowly followed until nothing was functioning. This is often the case with severe head trauma or drowning. A number of patients regain control of their bodies and fully recover. Like I have said before, she could come out of this coma and be just as normal as she was before the accident, but then there is a possibility that your daughter may never wake up at all," he paused.

  "When she does wake up, she could be in a vegetative state for the rest of her life. Also, there is always a third possibility, Rory could wake up with only minor neurological damage. In that case she may need to learn how to walk, talk, and eat again, but there is a good chance she would recover completely."

  ~ ~ ~

  Six Weeks After The Accident

  "Doctor, my daughter has been in a coma for over a month now. Bloody hell! Tell me something other than you're waiting for her to wake up."

  "Ms. Zane, you have to be patient with this. We have done everything we can do at this point. It really is up to Rory now. She is a very strong young woman, mentally and physically. Her body was put through a major ordeal. She's very lucky to still be alive."

  "I sit here next to this bed and talk to her every day and she has never moved a muscle. She has a tube in her throat breathing for her and a tube in her side feeding her. Tell me, could you sit here and watch your child like this? I don't know how much more of it I can take."

  ~ ~ ~

  Six Weeks & A Day After The Accident

  "Doctor! Nurse! Hello, anybody, she's opened her eyes. She's awake!" Rory's mother ran into the hallway screaming.

  The doctor raced into the room. "Rory, can you hear me? Squeeze my finger if you can hear me," he said, grabbing her hand.

  "Can she hear you, doctor? Please tell me, is she okay?"

  "Ms. Zane, I need you to wait out in the hall and I'll come see you in a few
minutes. Rory, blink your eyes if you can hear me," the doctor spoke without looking up.

  "Damn it, she's not registering what I'm saying. Rory, can you see me? Blink your eyes if you can see me." The doctor shined a pen light near her eyes, checking her pupils.

  "Her eyes aren't moving at all," the nurse said.

  "She's confused. Her brain doesn't know where she is or what's going on. We need to pull the tube out." He listened to her chest quickly, then pulled the tube from her throat.

  Rory coughed and gasped for second as he listened to her lungs again. "Her respirations and heartbeat are normal," he said, making notes in her chart. "Rory, I'm your doctor and I'm here to help you. Don’t try to talk. We'll work on that later. I need you to blink your eyes if you can hear me." He waited as she slowly closed her light blue eyes and opened them once again. "Excellent, now blink again if you can see me." He watched her blink once more.

  "Good, that's very good. Now, can you squeeze my finger?" He watched her fingers move slightly, unable to close around his. "That's okay, your muscles haven't been working in a while, but you're doing very well. One more thing and I'll leave you alone. Wiggle your toes for me." He stared at her feet. "Alright, it looks like our only form of communication right now is blinking, so let's try once for yes and twice for no. I'm going to step out of the room, but I'll be right back."

  "Ms. Zane, everything looks good," he said, walking up to the woman who was leaning against the wall with a blank look on her face. "She's blinking her eyes, so she can see and hear me and she seems to understand what I'm saying. Her body hasn't been moving on its own and she's stiff, so she can't wiggle her toes yet. However, she did move her fingers a little bit. I'll know more in a day or two after we run some tests, but this is a very good sign."

  Chapter One

  December (four years after the accident)

  The alarm clock buzzed loudly at four a.m., sending Rory into a fit. Ripping at the covers on her king-sized bed, she reached out in the dark, fumbling for it on the nightstand to shut off the noise. Laying her head back down, she closed her eyes tightly one last time, before climbing out of the bed, stretching her arms high above her head and yawning at the thought of a new day. Just once I'd like to sleep in. God, I'm not asking for the whole day, just an hour or two without interruption. No dreams, no deadlines, no worries, no alarm clock!

  Ten minutes later, she was downstairs, dressed in warm-up pants and a sports bra and lacing up her Nike sneakers. She threw on a small wind breaker, before heading through the French doors, across the deck, past the pool, and out onto the sandy beach that she called her backyard. Her white, two-story modern-style beach house, sat oceanfront at the end of a small winding driveway in a high class part of Long Beach, California. Her property was just over two acres, which was rather small for the area, yet gigantic to her, a woman who lived alone and preferred it. Most of her property was actually the private beach behind her house.

  She jogged for a few miles, and then slowed to a walk, peering out into the moonlit waves. It was at that moment that she took off in a sprint, running as hard and as fast as she could before turning around to head back home. She never changed her pace until she was directly behind her house. She came to a jolting stop, and then walked across the deck, around the pool and through the French doors.

  The steaming shower slowly erased the morning irritation, along with the sand and salt air from Rory's golden tanned skin and muscular frame. She towel dried her short, ash-blond hair before styling it in a slightly messy, yet still moderately sophisticated look. The long scar on the left side of her head had faded somewhat, but was still visible through her light hair. She'd kept the white terry cloth robe wrapped around her as she walked downstairs to the kitchen, opening the stainless steel door of the refrigerator. Her baby blue eyes glanced around at the lack of food on the shelves. Grabbing the jug of orange juice, she poured the last of its contents into the largest glass she could find. She then smeared a small amount of cream cheese on a plain bagel and sat silently at the breakfast bar on the side of the island in the center of the kitchen. She'd skipped her morning Tai Chi routine hoping an extra couple of miles added to her run would help calm her.

  At six o'clock she was dressed casually in khaki pants, a white polo shirt emblazoned with a logo of a surfboard and a snowboard crisscrossing embroidered above her right breast and brown slip-on canvas shoes that looked like a cross between boat shoes and an old man's house shoes. She pulled a light blue hoodie on over her head, with the same logo printed across the front, and grabbed a worn brown leather briefcase from the study on her way out.

  ~ ~ ~

  The sun had yet to show its first signs of rising as the midnight blue Audi R8 Spyder, backed slowly out of the two car garage. Rory shifted gears and turned the sports car, heading down the winding driveway with the convertible top down and an old Melissa Etheridge CD blaring from the speakers. She pushed the console button as she neared the eight foot tall iron gates.

  Twenty five miles along the interstate and thirty minutes of traffic later, she arrived in the parking garage of the three-story, steel framed building in Los Angeles that she referred to as her 'home away from home'. Eden Boards, LLC. was what the large block style lettering spelled on all four sides of the building, as well as above the large doors at the main floor entrance. Rory stepped out of her car with her briefcase and cell phone as she pushed the auto-lock button on her key ring and walked through the main entrance of her million dollar corporation, a worldwide surf and snowboard design and manufacturing company.

  The security guard, front desk receptionist, and a few of the staff members that worked on the second floor in the research and design department, were the only employees to ever arrive as early as Rory.

  As Rory stepped off the elevator on the third floor, her charismatic, short skirt wearing, secretary, Alexandra Walker, stopped her.

  "Good morning, Rory. Martie has arrived early today."

  Rory spoke with a slight Australian accent. "Is that right? She must have something up her sleeve to beat me into the office. Thanks, Alex."

  Rory walked into her ridiculously large office, laying her briefcase down on the large black metal desk next to the flat screen computer monitor. Along the wall to the left, was a massive bookcase that matched her desk with closed cabinets at both ends. The other wall had been covered with framed photos and magazine covers. A floor to ceiling window ran along the wall behind the desk. Rory sat down in her leather chair and turned on her computer monitor. Before she could log in to check her e-mail folder, she heard a half knock at the door. She looked up to see one of the most beautiful, yet extremely eccentric, people she'd ever met, walk in.

  Martina Cruz had been Rory's best friend of over ten years, as well as the vice president of the company. She was nearly the same height as Rory, but with long, wavy black hair just passed her shoulders, olive colored skin, and chocolate brown eyes as bright as her smile. She was dressed similarly in attire. The company dress code was casual, but slightly business casual with a surfer flare.

  "Martie, I see you've decided to come to work on time this morning. What could have possibly brought you in here before the sun came up? No, wait don't tell me, let me guess? You're having a mid life crisis at twenty seven? Or hmm…."

  "Rory, come on, don't do this to yourself. It's been four years. I'm here for you. I know that you know what today is. Don't lie to me and damn it, stop lying to yourself. I can see it in your eyes."

  "Martie, I've told you a hundred times, I'm over it. I've been over it for a long time. Can we please move on? I have deadlines to make and we have a meeting with some of the designers this morning. There is no time in my schedule to discuss the past or relive an anniversary. I'm alive and well. Let's move on."

  "You want it like that, then fine! I'm here to offer support for you and you shut me away as usual. I love you, I always have and I always will. You're my best friend. Damn it, Rory, my life ended that day too. Can't y
ou see that?"

  "Martie, that's enough! I'm busy and unless you have company information to discuss with me, this conversation is over!"

  Martie walked out of the office shaking her head. She closed the door, pausing for a long minute, before returning to her own office at the end of the hall. I see it in you, Rory. You have to face it. One day you will surf again, I know you will. You're so God damn stubborn. I thought I had lost you four years ago today. Don't you think it hurts me too? I thought you were going to die. One day, my friend, you will wake up and realize your life is not over and you're not alone. Not at all.

  ~ ~ ~

  Rory sat back in her chair with her eyes tightly closed. Just once I'd like to get through this day without the pain and hurt. Damn you, Martie, for starting in on me first thing in the morning. Let it go, I did. She sat up, pressing the intercom button on the phone.

  "Yes, Rory."

  "Alex, let me know when the snow team gets here. I need to meet with them in Conference Room A at nine o'clock."

  "Yes ma'am, I'll send down a message. Shall I send Martie a message to attend the meeting as well?"

  "By all means, Alex, she is my vice president. I would expect her to be at all of my meetings. Thanks."

  Rory turned off the intercom and sat back, reading her incoming mail. She was halfway through the messages, when she noticed a suspicious email address from a company she had never heard of. All of the incoming email and other computer shared information were always heavily screened for viruses and other security measures on their server. Even so, she still deleted the message without ever opening it. Her entire company was run on her computer. If a virus were to ever get inside it could ruin her. Of course, there was always snail mail which was why she had an incoming and outgoing box on the corner of her desk. Most of the envelopes in that box were to and from large companies or were regarding surf and snowboard expo events and competitions. She'd finally cleared out her inbox and sent out everything that she'd needed to. Just as she was about to preview the documents for a proposal on a new line of products, the intercom buzzed.