by Zoe Dawson
He looked away and swallowed hard, his mask cracking a bit. “You are good at this, and I almost swallow that you believe every word coming out of that pretty mouth. But, I’m a realist. I’m a risk. I’m too old, and I’ve never competed.”
“There will be haters, there will be doubters, there will be nonbelievers, and there will be you proving them wrong. I can’t wait to see you prove them wrong.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” he said, his voice laced with bitterness.
“You asked what motivated me. Opportunity. The opportunity to give you a springboard to showcase your talent. To give you an arena to live up to your potential. Surfing is off the table. Something tells me that skating is a much different prospect. Closer to heart. Closer to home.”
Bingo. I saw it in his eyes; I was right. “I’m offering you a once-in-a-lifetime deal, and it comes with sponsorship.” The cool fractured a bit more for just a moment, and that’s when I saw it, the vulnerability, how much he wanted this. There was also a healthy dose of fear. “I have a feeling you’re scared about what comes next. I think you should run full force into this. Let it take you places. You know all about risk. Let it challenge you to be brave, to exercise both your heart and your mind as you carve your own path toward happiness. Spin wildly in the moment because you’ll never get another one quite like it. There is no next time, no second chance, no time out. Sometimes it’s just now or never. What’s it going to be, Gunner? Now or never?”
He reached up and pried my fingers out of his T-shirt. I hadn’t even realized I was clutching it. The bad boy was back as he looked down at me. “Nice speech. I give it an eight. Points deducted for too much passion. Next time, tone it down a notch and you’ll have it pat.” He brushed past me and went out the door. “Bye, gorgeous.”
—
“Dad!”
“Back here, sweetheart.”
I dropped my purse on his hall table and sighed. Gunner’s flippant remark as he had left ticked me off the whole way back to San Diego. But still, if he didn’t contact me, I would give it another shot. Max’s wishes aside, I could see the potential in him.
I walked through the living room into the kitchen. My dad’s house was just like him: dark, commanding, and minimalist. He really needed to get some color in here.
I spotted him out on the patio. Alone. That was strange. Usually, his girlfriend, Carrie Warner, was here after work. I wondered if she could do something about the décor of this house. She was a decorator after all, and the space was a downer.
I smiled when I saw that Dad was grilling.
“Hello, little girl. Where have you been? Hannah and Trista were closed-lipped about it today. Wine?” He grinned. My dad, Noah Mavrick, CEO and owner of Mavrick Allstars, was a tall, trim, athletic man, very active in the sports he loved. His hair was dark, going distinguished gray at the temples, and he had piercing blue eyes and handsome features. All of my coloring I got from my mom.
I couldn’t hold back my sigh. It blasted out of me like a gale-force wind.
“Uh-oh, I know that look.” He didn’t wait for my answer but picked up the wine bottle and poured some into a glass, a ruby-red Merlot. I lifted my hand, not fully over the hangover from all that tequila.
“A night on the town with the girls,” I said, smiling.
“Ah, gotcha. I have lemonade,” he said, grinning like he knew exactly what I was talking about. I nodded, acknowledging the glimmer of humor and sympathy in his eyes. “Let’s get one of these juicy cheeseburgers, baked beans, and some potato salad.”
“Where’s Carrie?” I asked, still surprised she wasn’t here. She and Dad had been nigh inseparable for as long as they had been seeing each other.
“Oh. She and I broke up yesterday.” His voice was subdued. I could tell he was upset. She was a good companion for him, supported him, and they very much enjoyed each other’s company. She was also younger than him, but that had never seemed to bother either of them.
“Oh, Dad. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right. She wanted more. Kids. And she deserved to have what she wanted. I’m just not in that place.”
I rubbed his back, and he smiled for my sake. Of course, I wanted the best for him and for him to find the love of his life now that my mom was long past gone. Carrie had been only one in a line of women over the years. Women who never seemed to suit him one way or the other. When I was younger, he never let me meet them, but once I got into high school, he let up on that. I never really got attached to any of them, but I did like Carrie.
I helped him load up the plates, and he ducked inside to grab a pitcher of lemonade out of the refrigerator. My dear, sweet father raised me after my mother died of cancer when I was seven. He built an international company while never depriving me of his presence. He nurtured me and gave me a love of competition and good, hard work. Taught me how to set goals and reach them. He was my rock, and love for him rushed all over me. We set everything down on the patio table, and he lit a candle, the small flame fluttering to life.
“Someone pissed you off, and you’re just working on your second wind before you get back in the ring and start slugging them into submission. Don’t tell me you’re giving that frat boy, Skippy, another chance?” He took an enormous bite of his cheeseburger, rolled his eyes in ecstasy, and chewed.
“Skip, Dad.” I laughed. “I only dated him a few times.” I nibbled on mine, the juice rolling off my chin. I grabbed a napkin and dabbed.
After a quick sip of his wine, he said, “Exactly what I thought, skip over him and onto someone else.”
“Dad,” I said, pushing his shoulder and laughing. “Poor Skip. No, it’s not him.”
“Who is it so I can alert the coroner?” He lifted his glass to mine, and we clinked.
I took a sip and gazed out at the view of San Diego as the sun sank into the bay, a glistening bowl in the distance. On the way across the country, I had done some extensive research on Gunner. But it was all related to his surfing; there was nothing about him as a skateboarder. I watched his surfing videos and saw that somehow his power, his energy was…diminished. He was a good surfer, no doubt, but based on the footage I had seen, I wouldn’t have offered representation.
But now that I had met him and found so much more than I bargained for, I was totally onboard with this. There wasn’t just something about his skating. There was something about him when he skated.
I saw it in him, his champion potential—tough, cool, firm, and sexy, a natural style all his own.
“Gunner Smith.” I was well aware my dad would have his own opinion on my plan to represent Gunner. I wasn’t disappointed.
“Smith…Smith,” he murmured. His brows scrunching up, he took another bite of his burger and chewed for a bit, and then his blue eyes went thoughtful. I saw when he made the connection. He frowned. “The surfer? Sweetheart…”
I’d seen that look before. It said that he was holding his judgment. Not that he was against it, just reserved. Which was okay. My dad didn’t have to believe in what I wanted to do 100 percent as long as I was sure about it. And I had never been more sure in my life.
I held up my hand. “I know what you’re going to say. He’s not right for Mavrick.”
“He’s got amazing raw potential, remarkable instincts, knows how to ride a wave, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s making good money where he is, though. I’m sure he could be top-seeded if he was motivated, even out-surf Falcon Dane if he put his mind to it. Sports are all about mind over matter. Gunner is championship material, but like I said, he doesn’t have the drive.”
It was no surprise that my dad nailed it. Ours was a multimillion-dollar company, all due to his skill at reading athletes and getting them the best deals. And he firmly believed everything was negotiable. “I would totally agree, but I don’t want to sign him for surfing. I can’t stand how poofy my hair gets around water.”
He shook his head, giving me an indulgent smile. “What then?” He picked up his em
pty plate and headed inside. I grabbed mine and followed him into the kitchen, where he turned on the water at the sink and started rinsing.
“Skateboarding.”
He paused and turned to look at me, the running water the only sound breaking the suddenly tense silence. “Skateboarding? How old is he, like twenty-five?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Helena—”
“Wait,” I said. I ran all the way into the foyer and grabbed my purse. I fumbled inside for my phone as I raced back. At the counter, I set it down and pulled up the video.
When Gunner did his vert move and hung suspended with the full moon as a backdrop, I could tell Dad was impressed by the way his eyes widened. After it finished, he pressed play again.
“I can see what you’re talking about,” he finally said. “He can ride and, Helena, you’re right on the money. That’s where that kid’s heart and soul lie.”
“Exactly.” I beamed.
My father laughed again. “You are nothing short of self-assured, my daughter. So what—he turned you down?”
“I’m only getting warmed up.”
“I see that video has gone viral.” He turned back to the sink, and I went out to the patio and gathered up the condiments and the rest of the food. “He will have options,” he said when I came back in.
“Doesn’t matter.” I was undaunted. “Those other people only want a piece of him. I want the whole package. They’re going to be cautious because he’s never competed before, and they will offer him less-than-optimum contracts. And I learned from the best not to hold back when I’m sure to my bones that a candidate could go all the way.”
“Helena, those people are right. He’s never competed in skateboarding, and he’s a bit old for it at this point.”
“There are plenty of skateboarders who are well into their thirties and some in their forties who are still going professionally. Many of them have changed skateboarding with their innovation. So, don’t be unfair.”
“I’m not being unfair. I’m playing devil’s advocate to see what your argument is.” Opening the fridge, I set the food inside, and he leaned against the sink, folding his arms. “The bottom line is most pro skaters start very young. Are you sure about him as a client? I have doubts about him as a candidate.”
I shut the fridge with a little more force than was necessary. “He’s an outlier. He’s been skateboarding his whole life. Because of his surfing career, he knows the stresses, the training, the sacrifice, and the commitment. It’s the same kind of skill set. I don’t have any doubts,” I said emphatically. “He is a bit older than the norm, but I believe in him. I think he could be a superstar. And lots of people change careers.”
“Sports are a bit different there,” he shot at me rapid fire. “There is a peak for most athletes.”
“And Gunner hasn’t met his,” I shot right back. “He never peaked in surfing.” Then I ended the debate. “I already have a sponsor.”
“You what? That’s fast work.” His eyes were alight.
“Dad, it’s Max. Gunner reminds him of Jeff.”
His brows rose. “Aw, hell, Helena. Do you think this is a good idea? He was devastated.”
“He sounded so good, so energized. I think it will be good for him.”
“You know Max and I go way back. He was my first client and believe me, he had his choice of agents. I would do anything for him.”
“Gunner is good. You can’t teach that kind of talent, Dad.”
“I saw that. I don’t disagree. It’s just that you don’t really know this guy or what he’s capable of.”
I crossed the kitchen and gave him a hug. “But that’s just the thing, I can feel it. He is going to be great. Big deals, popularity, commercials. Once he begins competing, I have no doubt he’ll win. A lot.”
“I do like your enthusiasm,” he said pointedly. “This is for Max.” He squeezed me in a bear hug. “No PR nightmares, right, kiddo?”
In all the time I can remember, there had only been one really terrible PR incident for Mavrick—but it was enough to almost take the company under. My dad, who had caused it, also weathered it very well, thanks to the athletes who had stood by him, most prominently Max.
When he let me go, I nodded, tamping down my disappointment. I really would have to keep my hands off of Gunner.
I put soap in the dishwasher and turned it on, avoiding his gaze.
“Do you think he’ll come around? Skaters can be rebellious.”
“Even better.”
Chapter 5
Gunner
I stuck my buds in my ears and turned up the volume of Scarecrow, a punk-rock band that I loved. When I needed music to get me stoked up to try complicated skating tricks, it was my go-to band. The song that came up made me laugh bitterly. “Destroyed by You.” Too fitting.
Lena flashed through my head; my body still ramped up from having her so close to me.
I pumped toward a curb and ollied up over it. My playlist was eclectic, and the next band, Crashing Schooner, was heavier, thicker, more soulful for riding, especially for dealing with the sometimes-crushing weight of the world. My chest got tight when “Sleeping Awake” came on.
I streaked through the streets.
Beautiful Helena Mavrick didn’t know what kind of tightrope I walked.
Everything about her unhooked, unlatched, and broke down all my barriers from the moment I laid eyes on her on that deck. It rattled me how she’d nailed me in that coffee shop, as if she’d seen inside me.
But I would be nothing but commercial property to her.
She had guts, real guts. My flippant remarks to her, my little sexual digs—yeah, they weren’t just about keeping her off guard. Even the ambiguous comment I’d made when I left her standing in that coffee shop doorway. I was hot for her and that clouded my judgment. I’d pulled out of her grasp and walked away, but everything shifted inside me, like after a volcanic eruption when the landscape is forever changed. Black and ruined. That’s how I was feeling just about now. I had been tortured by my dad and had lost my mom and sister. I had been duped by someone I admired. I didn’t share my skating with anyone, and I’d effectively given Falcon my trust when I showed Powell my stuff, and he had the nerve to tape me and put it out on the Net for everyone to see. Had he been working with Powell, that egomaniac? He would obviously love the limelight.
I had been blindsided by this babe and her declaration of support. Could I possibly believe what she had to say? My former agent had jumped ship the moment I hit a bad patch. How could I trust her to be true to her word?
She had refused to let me go and had chased me down.
“Gunner.”
“I have to go,” I rasped, feeling my attraction build like I was absorbing latent energy from blood, bones, and muscle every time she got near me. As if I was going to implode.
“Wait.”
I kept walking, rattled by what she had to say. I didn’t know how to respond. I was in too much turmoil to answer her with any coherency.
“Let me at least give you my card. I came here all the way from New York. I could have done this over the phone, but I wanted to meet you. Look into your eyes and strike a deal with you.”
I rounded on her as she pulled out the little white card, extending it as if she were handing me the golden ticket. I broke out in a cold sweat. Everything, all my foundations, was shifting. I didn’t want to have to explain to this beauty that my dad had ruled my world for so long and that I didn’t want to be under someone’s thumb again. And, skateboarding was my escape. I didn’t want to ruin that.
It was also so damned ironic. My dad hadn’t condoned my skateboarding. He was too worried I would get injured, and it would knock me out of competition for surfing, but after a heated argument where he’d hurt me enough to keep me out of competition and school for a week, he relented. I needed skateboarding. It was like air to me, and the fact that Falcon had suckered me into doing a video for him without my permission burned.
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Everything had turned topsy-turvy in two seconds flat. The amount of time it took to do an ollie.
It scared the crap out of me.
I didn’t share my skating with anyone. I should never have broken that rule.
I couldn’t talk to Hottie McHotstuff until I had time to absorb the information she’d just drop-loaded into my brain.
“Don’t waste any more time on me. Have a safe trip back to New York.” I had said it coldly, running on adrenaline, rage, and no sleep.
“I don’t live in New York; I was there to recruit. I work in San Diego at corporate headquarters. It’s all on the card. And I don’t consider this a waste of time. Please, when you make a decision, or you need to talk about anything, call me.” She opened her mouth, but I couldn’t hear anymore above the buzzing in my ears. I slapped down my board and jumped on.
I spun and for a moment took in her stance. The kind that told me she was one of those babes who didn’t like taking no for an answer.
That wasn’t a newsflash to me. Yeah, I didn’t need a newsboy shouting at me to read all about it. I read her, and it was enough to make me come apart at the seams.
She was offering me the world. Right here, right now, but all I could do was run. I shot her a grin, cool as a freaking cucumber.
“Take it, Gunner. Don’t let this opportunity pass you by.”
I took the card and shoved it into my pants pocket and pushed off, leaving her standing there.
—
Falcon Dane lived in North San Clemente, an upscale neighborhood with huge mansions, swimming pools, a gated community, and views of the ocean and city spread out below. I hopped the fence and skated on undeterred by the possibility of getting arrested for trespassing.
