“It does right now,” Toff muttered.
He closed his eyes and braced himself for the upcoming humiliation. He’d keep his eyes shut until he was in the ambulance and pretend this was all a bad dream. As the lifeguards lifted him onto the stretcher, he winced. He hated being a wimp, but damn, this hurt.
Suck it up, he told himself. You’ll be back in the water in a couple of days.
…
Brayden crashed into the kitchen, panting like he’d just run a marathon, Goldilocks at his heels. “Amy! Amy! Toff’s hurt!”
Amy froze in place, clutching the salad bowl with both hands.
“He was attacked by a shark!” Brayden exclaimed, clutching his stomach, still out of breath. “There was a lot of blood.”
The wooden salad bowl clattered to the floor, lettuce and chopped veggies flying everywhere. Goldi ran to the food, unfazed by Brayden’s announcement.
“Slow down, Brayden,” Dad said sharply, rushing into the kitchen from the family room, followed by Mom. “Start over.”
“Amy? Sweetie?” Mom sat at the table, her worried gaze bouncing between Amy and Brayden. “Come sit down.”
Amy shuffled to the table and collapsed into a chair. Toff hurt, Toff hurt, Toff hurt. The words clanged in her ears like angry, dissonant chimes.
“There was an ambulance and blood and lifeguards and…” Brayden’s words jumbled together. A head-to-toe shiver rocked her to the core. She grabbed a paper napkin, tearing it to shreds.
Shark. Blood. Ambulance. Omigod omigod omigod.
Where was her phone? She needed to call Viv. Dallas. Somebody. Her mom put a stilling hand on Amy’s trembling fingers.
“We’ll find out what happened,” Mom said, tilting her chin at Dad, who nodded and left the room, phone to his ear. How did she stay so calm? Mom never panicked, no matter what.
Brayden flopped into a kitchen chair, finally out of words. His face was ghost white, his freckles popping out like ink on paper.
“D-did you see it happen?” Amy stuttered.
Brayden shook his head. “There’s a bunch of videos on Snapchat.”
Videos? Omigod.
“Brayden, give me your phone right now,” Mom demanded. “I don’t want you watching—”
Dad poked his head around the doorframe, still on the phone. “He’s okay,” Dad whispered. “Already home from the hospital.”
Home? How could that be?
“No shark.” Dad glared at Brayden. “Surfing accident.”
“He’s home?” Amy asked, her voice sounding far away. “Are you sure?”
Dad nodded, and relief slid over Amy like a warm blanket chasing away the shivers. Brayden darted anxious looks between her and Mom.
“Come here, Bray,” Amy demanded. Brayden dragged his feet, head down like he was in trouble. She didn’t know whether to yell at him or hug him. He deserved both. Amy pulled him into a hug. A really tight hug with an extra squish of you-make-me-crazy.
“You almost gave me a heart attack,” she said, squeezing him tight. “You can’t go around spreading crazy rumors—”
Mom put a hand on Amy’s shoulder. “Thank God Toff’s okay. That’s what matters.”
Amy released her hold on Brayden. Mom was right.
“I should call Viv,” Amy said, jumping up from her chair. “Toff’s practically her brother.”
Mom made a shooing motion, and Amy sprinted down the hall to her bedroom where she’d left her phone. Viv answered on the first ring.
“He’s okay,” Viv said, out of breath. “My mom’s at his house now.”
“Why aren’t you there?”
“I told Mom I’d woman the store. She wanted to be with Toff and his dad.” Viv gulped for air. “I guess Paul was freaked out at the hospital.”
“I’ll bet,” Amy said. She was going to be freaked out for hours, and she and Toff weren’t even related. “Have you talked to him?”
Viv snorted. “I tried, but he’s all doped up on painkillers. He kept asking for Oreos and beer; then Paul took his phone away.”
Relieved, Amy collapsed onto her bed. That sounded like normal Toff. “How bad is the injury? What happened?”
“I’m not sure how it happened. A crash, I guess, and his board fin sliced his stomach.”
Amy cringed, trying not to picture it.
“My mom says the cut’s all stitched up, and he doesn’t have a concussion. He’ll recover.”
“Thank God,” Amy breathed.
“He can’t surf until he gets his stitches out, though.” Viv sighed. “He’s going to be a giant pain in the butt if he can’t get in the water.”
Amy considered that, trying to imagine not being able to do her favorite hobby. “Like if someone told us we couldn’t read for two weeks,” she said. “We’d go crazy.”
Brayden peeked around the bedroom door. “Is Toff okay?”
Amy nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. Brayden headed for her bookshelves and grabbed her beloved Yara Greyjoy Funko Pop and her Spider-Man. Amy gave him a thumbs-down, but he ignored her.
“Are you going to visit him tomorrow?” Amy asked Viv. Brayden nodded enthusiastically, pointing to himself.
Oh no. Brayden was not visiting Toff, not on her watch. She shook her head, scowling. Brayden pretended to rip off Spider-Man’s head.
“Maybe,” Viv said. “His dad wants him to rest, so he’s banning visitors for a few days, but Mom said I was ‘an exception to the rule’ because they’re about to Brady Bunch us.”
“You should make Toff cookies!” Brayden said way too loudly. “He’s your boyfriend!”
Amy threw a skein of yarn at his head. Shut up! she mouthed.
“What did Brayden say?” Viv asked, her voice sharp. “Did he just say Toff was your boyfriend?”
“Uh, no.” Amy chucked another skein of yarn at her brother and motioned for him to leave. He stuck out his tongue, tossed the Pops on her bed, and left, slamming the door behind him.
“Amy? It sounded like he said—”
“He did.” Amy groaned, flopping back on her pillows. “I was going to tell you—”
“That Toff’s your boyfriend? I thought that was fake!” Viv huffed into the phone. “Is this why he’s coaching you?”
“No. He’s my coach, that’s all.” Why were they even having this conversation? Because of her stupid brother. Argh.
“Then why did Brayden call him your boyfriend?” Viv demanded.
“I was going to tell you, but—”
“You were going to tell me that he is your boyfriend?” Viv sounded like she wanted to climb through Amy’s phone and shake her.
“No! That he’s not. But he pretended he was with Brayden.”
“Why did he do that?” Viv sounded suspicious.
“I don’t know. Just messing around, I guess. You know how he is.” She sighed. Now that he was hurt, Amy wondered if she should let him off the hook with the coaching deal. Probably. He’d need to focus on recovering, not helping her win a contest.
In the background, Amy heard laughter and voices. “I’ve gotta go,” Viv said. “Customers.”
“Okay.”
“We’re not finished, you and me.” By the tone of her voice, Amy knew Viv was in sassy mode, with her hand on her hip. “There’s more to this. I can tell. You need to tell me exactly what’s going on.”
The call disconnected, and Amy yelled into her pillow. She was going to kill Brayden.
She squeezed her eyes shut, imagining Toff bleeding on the beach. Riding in an ambulance. Getting stitches. Banned from the water. She thought about the fun they’d had with the bookface photos—their “vibe.”
How he’d apologized by watching her favorite movie with her. How she was starting to develop her own tiny bit of swagger. How good it felt to stand up to him and see
that spark of admiration in his eyes.
Amy swallowed, staring at the ceiling. She was so relieved he’d be okay. She wondered what she could do for him, if anything.
He’d been there for her, with the kniffiti rescue, agreeing to coach her, and their silly bookface photos. She wondered how she could be there for him or if he’d even want her to be.
Because suddenly, she really wanted to be.
…
“What happened out there?” Dad demanded. “You’ve been dropped in on plenty of times.”
Lying on the couch, Toff met his dad’s eyes, which were the same blue as his but with crinkles around the corners from years of sunshine and laughter. That’s what Viv’s mom had said after a couple of glasses of wine at dinner a few weeks ago. Toff had taken one look at her and Dad making goo-goo eyes and fled the scene.
Right now, he was just relieved to be out of the hospital. He hated them, since they brought back bad memories of his mom. At least he didn’t have a concussion, and his ribs were bruised, not cracked. He had fifteen stitches covered by a large bandage. Nasty black bruises ringed the bandage like an ugly picture frame.
“Come on, Dad,” Toff protested. “I’m not perfect. That jackass dropped in out of the sky. I tried to avoid him, but it happened too fast.” He shrugged. “Maybe I got distracted.” That part was the truth, at least. Yeah, he’d been in the zone, but he’d been thinking about Mom right before he charged the wave.
Dad frowned, and Toff read his expression easily. Getting distracted was an amateur move, and Toff was no amateur.
“Shit happens out there,” Toff said defensively.
“Right. But not to you.”
Why was his dad acting like this? He was usually the most chill guy around. He knew that accidents could happen to anyone. He hardly ever got upset with Toff, laughing off most of his “antics,” as he called them.
“I’ll be fine.” Toff shrugged. “Back in the water in a few days.”
“Didn’t you hear what the ER doc said? Two weeks on land, buddy.” Dad’s forehead wrinkles deepened. “You have to rest, especially if you want to seal the deal on a scholarship for college.”
College was the last thing he wanted to talk about, since it would just lead to more arguing about whether or not he’d go pro or go to college after he graduated next year.
Toff had been scouted by most of the SoCal colleges with surf teams, and he knew he’d have multiple offers as long as he slayed this fall’s school comp season. To do that, he needed to be in top form, which he was. Or had been until now.
“I called Grant,” Dad said. “He and the Ace crew send their best. He doesn’t want you to worry about missing the Surf for Sea Life event next Saturday.”
Damn. Toff had been so distracted by his injury, he hadn’t thought about AceWare, his local sponsor, and next week’s fund-raising comp. Grant and AceWare had sponsored him, hoping Toff would hit the pro circuit after he graduated high school instead of going to college.
He knew surfers aiming to qualify for the pro tour who’d dropped out of high school. They took online classes or did independent study while they traveled the world, surfing in qualifying events to rack up points toward earning a spot on the pro tour for the following year.
That’s what he wanted to do, but unfortunately, Dad had been adamantly opposed ever since Coach Diggs first proposed the pro idea when Toff turned fifteen and big sponsors started contacting them. It killed Toff to watch some of his friends already on the circuit, where he wanted to be.
“My son’s going to college,” Dad had told Coach Diggs. “I’m not letting him make the same mistakes I did.”
Toff didn’t think Dad had made a mistake by going pro when he was seventeen. He’d traveled the world for years, winning big, partying with friends he still saw when they came through town to surf. He’d met Mom in Australia while competing. How could that be a mistake?
Dad had pulled out all the stops in the middle of their fiercest argument, the summer between freshman and sophomore year.
“Your mom and I promised each other that if you turned out to be a surfing rock star, which you are, dammit, you’d at least finish high school.”
Dad had gone straight for Toff’s gut and his heart, busting out Mom’s scrapbook. She’d updated it until the year she got sick. It was packed full of photos of the three of them. Most of the photos were taken on beaches, like the one framed on their coffee table, of four-year-old Toff and his first boogie board, clutching his favorite stuffie, a penguin.
Toff closed his eyes, the throb of a killer headache nudging at his skull. He hated that he was letting down his sponsor and missing out on a fund-raiser he cared about.
“So now what?” He opened one eye, dreading the answer.
“Rest, especially this first week. Not much activity at all until your stitches are removed.” Dad reached behind his neck to tighten his long gray-blond ponytail. “Depending on how long it takes your ribs to heal, you can probably surf again in July.”
“July?” Toff sat up abruptly, sucking in a breath at the sharp pain, but his dad gently pushed him back down. “I can’t wait that long. I’ll die.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “You might die if you’re dumb enough to get on your board while you’re still hurt.” He gave Toff his harshest look, the one he used for giant screwups. “I mean it, kid. You’ve gotta take it easy.”
Toff grumbled. “That’s code for ‘have no life.’”
“You do have a life, thank God.” Dad scowled down at him. “This could’ve been a lot worse.”
Toff closed his eyes. He didn’t want a lecture. He wanted to sleep.
“You hungry?” Dad asked, his voice gruff. “Thirsty?”
Toff shook his head. “Sleepy. Go away.”
“Fine,” Dad grumbled, “I’ll leave.” But he grabbed a worn blanket from the footstool and draped it over Toff, tucking it around him like Toff was five years old. Toff pressed his face into the pillow so his dad wouldn’t see his smile. Dad flicked off the lamp, leaving the room with a heavy sigh.
Toff blew out a breath and flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling in the darkened room. What a crappy day. At the hospital, Dad had gone into freak-out mode, which had freaked out Toff. Dad never overreacted.
Fortunately, Rose had shown up and calmed Dad down, staying with them through the X-rays, sutures, and doctor lectures. Toff wished Rose had stuck around after they got home to distract his dad, but she’d said they needed space.
Space was the last thing they needed.
He’d been lucky, surfing as long as he had with only minor injuries. He’d had a few small gashes, cuts from rocks and coral, lots of bumps and bruises, and a sprained wrist.
Today’s was the worst so far. Maybe that was why Dad freaked. That, and the doc saying the fin had almost sliced his liver.
Toff didn’t want to think about that. He needed a distraction. He let his thoughts wander back to Amy, since that’s where they wanted to go. Was it the pain meds? Or was it just because of her?
His head felt fuzzy, floaty. Must be the meds. The pain in his torso had subsided to a dull throb. He closed his eyes, letting himself float. His thoughts blurred and tilted, a kaleidoscope of images swirling in his mind. Images and other sensory input, too—like a girl’s soft hand tugging at his, dragging him across the beach, then letting go. In his dream, he chased the laughing girl, whose red curls bounced as she ran just out of reach of his grasping hands.
Right before sleep overtook him, he caught up to the mystery girl, grasping her hand and spinning her around. His chest flared with heat, with recognition. Before he could say her name out loud, she wiggled out of his grip and ran off, laughing.
His last thought before drifting into oblivion was that he needed to catch her before she disappeared forever.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Viv: 911! 911!
Amy: Are you okay? I’m still asleep. It’s 5:30 a.m.!
Viv: Wake up!! HeartRacer loves your OTP post! They’re shipping you and Toff!
Amy: What??
Viv: Check your IG!!
Amy: Oooomiiiiiigooooodddd
…
Check out @RedheadRecs’ adorable Insta feed! Super swoony shout-out to this second challenge contest entry! Can you say chemistry? Now that’s an #OTP! We hope this relationship is fact, not fiction! #BookFaceFriday #BonnieandClyde
P.S. We love that original P&P cover!
…
Amy lay in her bed staring at her phone, still not believing what she saw. After Viv’s emergency text woke her up way too early, she’d filled a plate with macarons, then crawled back into bed. Dad had made good on his babysitting bribe, thank goodness, because she needed major sugar to process what was happening.
Overnight, she’d gained more than five hundred new Instagram followers, which was amazing by her standards. Her account was small, nothing like the big-time bookstagrammers she admired, whose posts easily garnered thousands of likes.
Amy took another bite of macaron. Yum. She hoped Dad had hidden a stash of these where Brayden couldn’t find them. Savoring the pastry, she scrolled through the photos. Coach Toff had been right. She wanted buzz? Thanks to his “outtake” photos, she had it and then some.
The day after his accident, she’d decided to trust her gut and choose the photos without him, since he was mostly sleeping and in a lot of pain, according to Viv. Besides, this was her contest entry, not Toff’s.
She and Viv had reviewed the photos together, impressed at what a great job Dallas had done. He’d captured her and Toff laughing, arguing, and doing a whole lot of side-eyeing and smirking. No surprise, Toff was, um, exceptionally photogenic. More important, the photos were funny and flirty but harmless.
Or so she’d thought, until they came to the last batch of photos—the couple of poses for the Summer Sweethearts book.
“If I didn’t know better,” Viv had said, gaping at the photos, “I’d think you two were…together. Like, really together.” She’d waggled her eyebrows, and Amy had blushed, unable to tear her gaze from the photos.
The Bookworm Crush Page 12
