by Zoe Dawson
When I reached his house, I walked up to the front door and hammered on it with my fist. His sister, Kite—as in flying a—opened the door. But her name actually referred to the bird of prey. And her twin’s name was Kestrel. I guess his parents had a thing for raptors.
I knew Kite was a volleyball player, quite a good one, following in her mother’s footsteps as Falcon had followed in his father’s. She was a junior in college and from the media attention Falcon got, I knew she was all-American. Kestrel had a thriving sports design business she started when she was young. Talent ran in this family.
Kite was beautiful, with long white-blond hair. But the only thing I could think of was her hair lacked a fiery spark, and her eyes weren’t green.
Still, her eyes lit up when she saw me. “I know you. Gunner Smith. You were amazing in my brother’s video.”
I wasn’t interested in small talk or hooking up with traitor Falcon’s jailbait little sister. “Is your brother here?” I demanded, my voice gruff.
She blinked at my tone and said, “Yes, he’s out back. Want me to—”
“I can find my way,” and I pushed past her and stalked through the tricked-out gourmet kitchen and out the open bank of patio doors, unaffected by the opulence of their home.
Falcon was standing on the pool diving board in his bathing suit, already soaking wet. A middle-aged woman, the spitting image of Kite, was clapping and hooting as he lined up and did a nice dive, cleanly cutting into the water.
Falcon surfaced and after clearing the water from his eyes, he saw me standing there. He swam to the edge of the pool and pulled himself out.
“Hey—” was all he got out before I went toe-to-toe with him.
“You sketchy punk,” I spat. The woman hurried over.
“Falcon?”
“It’s okay, Mom. This is Gunner. Could you give us a minute?”
She looked from me to Falcon, and I realized that they had recently been talking about me. That’s why her face smoothed out with recognition and sympathy. Then she reluctantly turned away and disappeared into the house.
“I can’t believe what a snake you are.”
He backed up and held up his hands. “Wait just a minute. I’ve been trying to reach you all day. My cell blew up.”
“I don’t care, Falcon. What you did was slimy.”
“Me? I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“You didn’t?” I said skeptically, not wanting to let my guard down again and certainly not ready to trust his word.
“If you calm down and untwist your panties, dude, I’ll tell you what I know. My dad called our lawyer when he found out.”
“No shit.” I took a breath.
“Dude, what happened to your face?”
“I fell,” I said.
His mouth tightened, and he ran his hand through his hair. “Look, I was just as surprised as you were. I swear, Gunner. I didn’t have anything to do with it.” I took a breath and let it out. “You look like hell. Have you even slept? Eaten?”
I shook my head.
“Come in the house and chill. I’ll get changed, and we can talk. All right, bro?”
I let the tension go. Falcon punched me in the shoulder, and I nodded. “All right.”
“Cool.”
I went inside just as the sun was making a spectacular end-of-the-day statement, sinking into the west with stunning purple and yellow streamers.
His mom was at the stove. She turned to look at me and for some reason my chest got so tight, I was glad that Falcon had headed for the stairs.
“Have a seat,” she said, and I climbed onto a stool at the marble countertop.
“I’m sorry about the way I acted when I came in, Mrs. Dane. I had my facts wrong.”
“I understand, Gunner. Falcon and his father had some choice words to say as well. Not that I condone that kind of talk in my house, but sometimes…you just have to pick your battles.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you hungry?”
My stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly.
She laughed softly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
She made me a ham sandwich with chips and a slice of pickle on the side. Setting both the plate and iced tea down in front of me, she smiled. “I have apple pie and some ice cream for dessert.” She touched my shoulder in the way only moms can. “Is there anything we can do to help?” She eyed my jaw, and my throat tightened. I knew what happened to women who tried to help me. I shook my head.
“Mom!” Kite’s voice sounded from the living room. “Time for our Monday shows.”
“Knock yourself out,” I said, smiling. She left, and I took my plate and walked back outside, slipping on the hoodie from around my waist to keep the chill off. I was polishing off the sandwich when Falcon, his hair wet and messy, sat down across from me.
“So, here’s the scoop. It seems that some videographer was setting up for a street-skater documentary and knew a lot of skaters rip it at the Wick. He thought it would be a gnarly idea to film us. He writes for Carve It.”
I groaned and dropped my head into my hand.
“We can’t sue him or coerce him into taking down the video,” Falcon said, grabbing one of my chips and popping it into his mouth.
“Why not?”
“My dad’s lawyer explained. Powell, you, and I can be considered celebrities. Because of that, our faces are trademarked. So it’s difficult to sue a filmmaker who isn’t using us, our names or images, for commercial purposes. The guy says the piece is artistic. Our lawyer thinks it would be a waste of time to take it to court. He’d win hands down because the way he edited the video sure looks artistic to me. On top of that he never mentions us by name.”
I huffed a laugh. “He doesn’t have to name us, and as long as he doesn’t say or write that we endorsed it, then he’s home free?” The video was going to stay out there whether I liked it or not.
“Exactly.”
“What does Powell think of this?” Not that I was particularly interested in anything that had to do with Charlie Powell, the douche, but I was wondering if his camp put up enough of a stink because he was a professional skateboarder and we weren’t. That might have some juice to get it taken down.
“You know Powell. He has an ego the size of California, dude. So he’s over the moon. Loves the publicity.” Damn, I hated fake people, and shallow, money-grubbing, limelight-chasing Powell defined superficial.
Falcon studied me. “You look like hell. Did your dad give you that bruise?”
I looked away. I usually shut down any interest or concern from anyone when it came to my personal life. But Falcon, he’d been solid up to now. I felt guilty that I had barged in here and accused him of selling me out when he’d been as caught off guard as I was. I owed him something.
“Yeah. I quit surfing, and he was pissed. I left, and I’m not going back.” I was shocked the minute the words left my mouth. I had no intention of telling anyone about my homelessness.
“Man, that blows. You can stay here until you sort things out.”
I rose, immediately uncomfortable with the offer of help. I wasn’t sure if I could fully trust Falcon. It was no big deal. I had money. I could go to a hotel. “I’m okay.”
“Gunner, I don’t expect anything from you. I’m simply offering you a port in the storm until you can hang ten again, dude.”
“That’s generous, man, but your mom…”
“Who do you think suggested it? My mom has a radar. No use fighting it.” He rose too.
“Where’s your car?”
“Back at the skate park.”
“Come on, we’ll get it, and you can pick up some new clothes and come back, take a shower, and change.” He headed for the house, and I struggled with my inclination to remain alone, isolated. But in the end, I followed him.
Thirty minutes later I emerged from my shower into the room that Falcon said I could use, all squeaky clean in my new clothes. I immediately heard their vo
ices. It sounded like Kestrel had come home. All five of them together. I had met Falcon’s dad briefly in the past. He was an older version of Falcon, and, man, he had aged well. Or maybe I was used to my dad’s bloodshot eyes and haggard morning-after-a-bender look. It was strange to be in this place…this home. So strange, but even as I stood in the shadows at the top of the stairs and heard the way Falcon, his sisters, mom, and dad squabbled with good-natured teasing over the game of Scrabble they were playing, it made my chest hurt. Did he even know what he had?
I crept silently back to the bedroom and carefully closed the door. I was exhausted and shredded inside, knowing what I had to do and resisting it with every fiber of my being. I knew I was being antisocial, but his whole family vibe overwhelmed me with emotions I couldn’t express. Hunger, envy, a sense of loss so strong it buckled my knees. I didn’t want anyone to see.
Even with the exhaustion, I couldn’t sleep. As soon as the house settled down and it was quiet, I slipped out of the door and went back outside. The wind had picked up and in the distance I could see how the ocean was swelling. Always seemed to be that way in Southern California.
“How did you find out about the video?” Falcon’s low voice brought me out of my thoughts. “You weren’t anywhere you could see it, and I know you weren’t checking your phone because I’ve been calling you all day.”
“I got an offer of representation today.”
“No shit! That’s fantastic.”
“It’s not for surfing, Falcon.”
“What’s it for then?” His eyes widened. “No way.”
I nodded.
His blue eyes went all stormy, narrowing. “Your old agent had the nerve—”
“No, not my old agent.” Although, I had checked through all the messages on my phone. Ten from Falcon, seventeen from my dad, and three from Ray Canton, my old agent. Falcon’s messages were urgent “call me” requests, my dad’s messages were drunk rantings and ramblings about how stupid I was mixed with threats against my mom and sister, and Ray’s were contrite and conciliatory. The prick.
“It was Helena Mavrick.”
“Holy shit. Dude! Mavrick Allstars? That is something cool going down.” He dropped into one of the patio chairs, and I folded down across from him. “What are the terms? What’s the deal?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“I thought you’d sold me out, and I was pissed.” And running scared.
He shoved my shoulder in the way friends do. There was that strange-ass feeling again. “You blew off old man Mavrick’s daughter? That’s sketchy, man. She’s all kinds of hot.”
The memory of her curves against mine, the smell of her bodywash all rain-scent sexy, mixed in with something achingly sweet and all woman, sent electric charges through my system.
Falcon tilted his head and sat forward. “You actually thinking about turning this down?”
He didn’t get it. I didn’t share my skating with anyone for a reason. I didn’t think of it as a sport or a way to make a living. It was the only thing that was really, truly mine. I didn’t want to invite people to criticize me, deal with the pressure of competing, or even worse, take the chance and goddamn fail. All of that scared me bone deep. But what scared me the most was I didn’t want to come to hate skateboarding as much as I hated surfing.
This isn’t over! I’ll make sure of that. My dad’s parting shot, though, made me want to just throw everything I had into making this something big. Show him that I didn’t need him. That I was something without him. But I faced Falcon and shrugged as if it didn’t bother me at all.
He shook his head. “Before you got this offer, what were you going to do? With your life?”
“School. Engineering.”
“Good goal. You could go to school and do great, I have no doubt. But you’re an athlete, Gunner. The physical defines us. Competing is in our blood. And, I will admit, I want to see the look on Powell’s face when you smoke him at skateboarding in competition in front of all of his fans.
“You can go to school anytime. Man, you can skate. Take it out for a spin. What do you have to lose here? Set the wheels free, see what you got in here.” He tapped my chest. “Surfing is where it’s at for me. I live, eat, breathe it. I say go for it. Don’t look back. Ride it, hard. Carve it, deep.”
It wasn’t about getting back at Powell. I could care less about that guy. But there was something deep inside me that wanted this. Wanted to make skating my life’s work. I didn’t want to sell out, but I also wanted what Lena was offering to me. The fucking world.
“Maybe you just need some time to think,” Falcon said, watching me. “I really believe you should snatch up this offer and see where it goes, but you have to be interested, ready to switch gears, and want this. It’s really up to you.”
That statement blew my mind. It dawned on me that the decision was mine. I could turn it down, I could walk away, but Lena’s words echoed in my head, were imprinted on my heart.
Now or never.
I hung at Falcon’s for about a week, waffling between taking the offer or looking into colleges, to see where I might be able to go. I pulled the video up on my phone and watched it again, thinking about that ride and how it had been nothing but pure joy. But riding this way and competing were two different things.
Could I share something so personal, so close to my heart, with everyone for money? Would that make me a sellout? Or, would that make me a professional? Would doing this warp my passion?
This had all happened so quickly. I’d never had options before. Now that I had broken away, it occurred to me that I had been craving something more, anything more than what I’d had.
Then Lena McHotstuff Mavrick happened, and I saw something I wanted.
—
I was down on the beach at Lowers. Falcon and I had been surfing. I had declined at first, but he was so charismatic and had helped me so much, I couldn’t refuse.
We had just finished up and were standing on the sand, staring at the water.
“You make up your mind yet?” Falcon asked.
His family had shielded me from most of the fallout of the video. But no one in my life had ever come to me and read me better than the girl with flaming red hair and a take-no-prisoner’s attitude that still made me smile.
I hadn’t said it out loud yet, but I knew I had my answer. It was now, not never. And part of my decision to pursue this wasn’t just about the skateboarding. That girl had gotten under my skin in just the short time I’d been with her, and I wanted to get closer to her, even as I told myself that it was stupid, that I would be safer on my own.
“If I’m going to start a new career tomorrow, then I’d better get some sleep,” I finally said.
“Awesome!” Falcon yelled, grabbing me around the neck and squeezing me—exactly how a friend would act when something good happened. I grinned, but pushed his arm off because it meant something and I wasn’t ready for that.
He and I walked back to the house, our surfboards tucked under our arms.
The next day, his mom made me breakfast and insisted I take some food for the road. Falcon told me to call him after the meeting. After saying goodbye to the Danes, I got into my car and pulled out the white card with McHotstuff’s name on it. I brought it to my nose, her tantalizing scent still on the paper. Then I headed for the highway and San Diego.
I wasn’t under any impression that my dad would just let me go. He was going to put up a fight. When he found out that I was going to take this contract with Mavrick Allstars and compete in skateboarding, hell was going to break loose.
I didn’t want to put Lena in the line of fire. I had no doubt she could hold her own. But I’d been protecting the women in my life all my life.
I pulled up to the StadiumView Tower where Mavrick Allstars had their offices. It was sleek glass and metal, overlooking the home of the San Diego Wildcats football team, San Diego Bay, and the Pacific Ocean.
On the tenth floor, the wide reception desk was empty and above it was a huge picture with a football player making what looked like a game-changing touchdown.
Mavrick Allstars was lettered in gold behind the desk and below the picture, along with the line, All Stars. All the time.
I stood there for a few minutes, but when no one came, I wandered past the desk, curious as to where everyone was. Once I was past the reception area, I immediately heard shouting; before I could backtrack, an office door flew open and a tall, dark-haired guy dressed in suede pants and a chocolate-brown silk shirt stormed out. I stared in awe. He looked too elegant to be Wayne “Road Block” Nixon, badass MMA fighter. But underneath his GQ poster-boy attire, he was ripped to the max. And he had made a splash recently for demolishing Seth “Killa” Rogers in Vegas only two weeks ago.
“Wayne, don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m right.” The muffled voice inside the office was feminine with a faint rough quality to it.
“Girl, you trippin’. I ain’t wearing no pink grappling gloves.”
A woman emerged from the office behind him. She was tall and had gypsy-wild black curly hair and gray eyes the color of storm clouds. A stone-cold fox. She saw me and her expression went speculative. She was dressed in a simple green dress, cinched with a slim black belt and these black suede wedges that made her taller than I was. The word Amazon came to mind.
“It’s a campaign for breast cancer awareness. Not a statement about your masculinity. It’s going to give you exposure.” She leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms. “And, you’ll be a hit with the ladies who’ll think you’re downright sexy in your ability to pull it off.”
He huffed as office doors opened up and down the hall. “My mom died from breast cancer, and I want to spread the word and raise money. But damn, with a name like Road Block, you expect me to do it in pink gloves, giiirl.”
“ ‘Knock cancer on its butt’ is your slogan and is tough-guy sexy, and I can tell you that your mom would be proud to see you not only promote awareness, but also raise money and contribute to the cure, no matter what color you are wearing. So stop being a sissy and come back in the office and let’s talk about it some more. We’re disturbing the peace.”
