by Nikki Godwin
He leans back against the wooden shack that reads Fresh Fruit. The sign is decorated with painted watermelons and lemons. He shakes his hair out of his eyes, still damp from his early morning surf. Then he shields his eyes from the sun.
“I tried,” he says. “I really tried. I sat down with them, apologized for putting them through hell, and then I tried to explain – calmly – why I ran away.”
When we talked last summer about his great escape, it sounded like one giant scheme to defy his parents, but standing here now, listening to him speak about how they blocked his trust funds with stipulations of a law degree and age limit, I actually feel suffocated.
“I had no choice, Haley,” he says. “I would’ve been a thirty-year-old lawyer before I could even touch that money. I didn’t want to go to law school. I wanted to live a little, screw up a few times, you know?”
I can’t help laughing. “Well, I think you’ve got the screwing up part down,” I say.
Fortunately he smiles. “Lucky me,” he says. “They gave me an ultimatum.”
I glance around The Strip before speaking, but the morning breeze off of the ocean is our only company. I definitely don’t want Vin or anyone in his corner to overhear anything Colby tells me before I can strategize a game plan.
“What’d they say?” I ask, keeping my voice low. I step closer to Colby.
“You ready for this?” he asks. “They said they would put all of this behind them if I moved back to North Carolina, changed my name back, and stopped living this ‘absurd alternate life.’”
I skim the area like a paranoid junkie about to get her fix. “What’d you tell them?”
He sighs. “I told them I was a legal adult now, and they have no control over me. And I told them I’d really made something of myself and I’d chased after a big dream and made it my reality. I even offered to move them out here so they could be part of my life.”
Part of me wishes Vin would step outside and eavesdrop anyway. He’ll flip out when he hears that Colby’s parents have a lawyer and may go after the store, but I just wish he could hear what Colby has to say. He’s calm, collected, and is being a mature adult about the whole thing. This is the side of Colby that continually gives me hope.
“So they don’t want to be part of this?” I ask, making that assumption from their ultimatum.
“No,” Colby says. “They said if I didn’t go back, they planned to sue me for emotional damage plus reimbursement for all the money they put into search efforts, payment to their private investigator, and lawyer fees.”
Since he doesn’t make mention of Drenaline Surf or Shark, I decide not to bring it up. Not yet anyway. I don’t want to toss fuel onto the fire until I absolutely have to.
“It gets better,” Colby continues. “When I told them I wasn’t playing their games, my dad said, ‘Who in the hell do you think you are?’ I told him ‘Colby fucking Taylor’ and walked out.”
Yeah, definitely not adding fuel to that fire. I don’t blame him. I really and truly don’t. This is his life, his future, his career. He has to take a stand, even if it means pulling a lot of people into the flames with him.
“Okay, so they’re coming for you,” I say. “They had their lawyer with them last night at the press conference, so they’ve clearly thought this out. Let me go in and talk to Vin first. Just wait outside for a few minutes.”
He nods and remains against the fruit stand, eyes closed and face to the sunshine. I hope he stays in this zen mode when he finally goes inside and talks to Vin as well.
The front entrance of Drenaline Surf is locked, but Miles sees me through the glass and lets me in. I’m not sure what my opening line will be when I pull Vin into the back office and warn him of all the damage that’s about to unfold across the shores of Crescent Cove. I just need to think of that line before I reach Vin.
But all thoughts of Colby and drama dissolve for half a second when I remember why this meeting is even happening. He smiles at me from the other side of the checkout counter, standing next to Vin.
Logan Riley is pretty much everything I imagined him to be. Lighter brunette, decent tan, medium build, and a Crest commercial kind of smile. He’s got that marketable model look, like someone you could imagine in a Macy’s ad as easily as on the cover of Shaka Magazine. He’s the very opposite of Colby’s disheveled ‘just got out of bed and went surfing’ exterior. He’s put together. The surfer fangirls are going to die for him.
“Haley,” Vin says, motioning me toward them. “I want you to meet our newest Drenaline Surf surfer, Logan Riley.”
My legs are anchors dragging along the ocean floor as I try to walk across the room. Logan says something about how it’s nice to meet me and extends a hand over the counter. He was more attractive at a distance. Up close, his eyes have dark circles under them. Maybe he just needs more sleep, but I swear, he’s aged in my trip across the store.
I remind myself to keep smiling and ask Vin if I can have a minute. He nods and gestures toward the office, leaving Miles and Logan in the main room. I lean back and semi-sit on the desk, but Vin stands.
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately after he closes the door. “I’ve been swamped here, and I know that’s no excuse. It’s just tough here during the summer.”
When I try to interrupt, he holds up a hand to let me know he’s not through talking. I hate to tell him, but I really don’t give a damn about his distance right now. We have bigger things to worry about.
“Once we open a second store, it’s going to get crazier,” he continues. “I don’t want you to think I’m ignoring you on purpose or that I don’t want to talk to you or see you. It’s just that Drenaline Surf isn’t going to slow down any time soon.”
“Hey, it’s alright,” I say, pushing off of the desk. I run my hand down his arm and pull him toward me. “Shark would be proud of you. He’d be so proud of how much you’ve done for this store and to grow Drenaline Surf into something more. It’s totally okay.”
Vin pulls away and walks over to the desk, sits in the spinning chair, and shakes his head. That smirk from last summer when we first met sneaks onto his face.
“If Shark was here, he’d be the one dating you instead,” Vin says. He then hits ‘play’ on the answering machine to listen to the first of nine new messages.
I have no idea what that little remark was supposed to mean, but I decide to just let it go and take it as a compliment. If I’m worthy of Shark McAllister, then I can’t complain too much. The automated female voice announces the next new message, and another reporter mumbles through his message about an interview regarding Colby’s parents. Shoot! Colby’s parents! I need to have this conversation with Vin before Drenaline Surf opens today.
I wait impatiently as Vin scribbles down names and phone numbers onto a notepad. Miles knocks on the door and pokes his head inside between message six and seven. He whispers the word ‘training.’ Vin nods and waves him away with his hand. I follow Miles back into the store.
Miles grabs his surfboard from behind the front counter and says that he’s heading to the gym to meet Theo for a cardio session. As he pushes his way through Drenaline Surf’s entrance, Colby makes his grand entrance. My oxygen is ripped away the moment he steps inside.
Colby’s face is the exact what-the-hell expression I expected. He stands in front of the door, looking across the room at Logan as if he were a sea creature that somehow learned to survive on land.
“Taylor!” Vin barks from the office door. “You’re late. When I tell you to be here for a business meeting, it means be here on my time, not whatever magical surfer time zone you live in, got it?”
Vin crosses the room toward Colby, motioning Logan to follow. I open my mouth to speak, to let Vin know that Colby was here on time, but my words are instantly swallowed.
“This is Logan Riley,” Vin says. “You’ve probably heard of him. He’s as big on the east coast as you seem to be out here. Except he doesn’t come with a package of drama, lie
s, and secrets. What you see is actually what you get.”
Logan extends a hand toward Colby. “Looks like we’re both going to be surfing under the Drenaline Surf logo, huh?”
Colby shakes his head. “I don’t have time for this,” he says.
Vin folds his arms across his chest. “And I don’t have time for your attitude. If you can’t do your job and make Drenaline Surf look good, then it’s up to me to do my job and find someone who can.”
Colby glances from Vin to me and then shakes his head. He spins around and slams his palms against the glass door, forcing it open in a fast swing. As quickly as he’s outside and onto The Strip, I lunge forward to go after him. Vin’s arm catches me.
“Let him go,” Vin says. “It’s not worth it. He’s not your responsibility anyway. If he wants to act like a fool, let him. There are more important things going on than to worry with him.”
He asks Logan to wait just a minute for him, and I follow Vin back into the office.
“I need your help with something, if you have time,” Vin says.
As much as I want to chase after Colby, to reason with him or try to come up with a plan of action, I can’t deny the excitement bubbling in my heart right now. I wouldn’t even mind setting up the Drenaline Surf tent and unpacking T-shirts again if it means actually getting to have a conversation with my boyfriend. In the one day that I’ve been back, I feel like I’ve seen everyone more than I’ve seen Vin, and he’s the one I should be seeing the most.
“We’ve got this big sale coming up in honor of Logan’s sponsorship,” Vin says, digging through a box next to his desk. “I’m going to take him out today, show him around Crescent Cove, help him get settled in and all.”
Then he finds the stack of papers he’s been digging for. Flyers. Neon-colored paper kind of flyers. I think this is even worse than when I had to sell those tickets last summer to win a surfboard, which Kale ended up winning and the whole thing looked rigged.
“You think you could pass these out around The Strip or something and help spread the word for me?” Vin asks.
Oh, of course. I’d love to spend my day plastering this town with neon paper while you play Mr. Drenaline Surf and show Logan Riley all around town. I have nothing better to do with my life than pass out flyers to celebrate the guy who probably just set Hurricane Colby into full-blown storm mode.
“No problem,” I say instead. “Consider it done.”
“I feel like such a traitor,” I say as I hold up the bright pink flyer and analyze it in the living room. “Colby’s about to blow, Vin only talks to me when he needs help at work, and now I’m stuck with a stack of colored paper to hand out to tourists.”
A.J. laughs and jerks the flyer away from me. “You’re not a traitor. And I’ll help you, like I always do,” he says.
I sigh and lie back on the couch. “I so don’t want to waste the day handing out flyers on The Strip. Those people won’t even be here by the end of the week. They won’t care about a Drenaline Surf sale this weekend.”
“Hey, Alston’s going to a party tonight,” A.J. says.
I force myself to sit up, but A.J. continues his thought before I can question its relevance.
“We’ll take the flyers there,” he says. “It’s more of our target audience anyway, right? We can mix business with pleasure. It’s at some fancy beach mansion across town. Rich people, so obviously they have money to spend.”
I glance at the flyers and back at A.J. “Since when did you start thinking like a businessman?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Since I needed an excuse to get into this party.”
Chapter Six
Bikinis, beer, and bass thumps can only mean one thing – a party. A.J. crawls out of the backseat of Alston’s tiny sports car. The dark SUV that pulled up behind us empties a load of sunkissed teenage girls, one of whom shouts a racial slur at A.J. He flips her off, and I tug him closer to me to keep him out of trouble. I find it odd that no one ever mentions Alston’s ethnicity, but I guess being adopted by rich white people makes you white, even if you’re really Asian. At least that’s Alston’s case. Plus, he’s hot, so that works in his favor.
I lock arms with A.J., and he mumbles something about Hispanic boys always getting the short straw. Some guys exit the mansion as we enter, shouting something about more beer. Alston had suggested checking out the crowd before taking the flyers in, but this is definitely the audience for Drenaline Surf’s big celebration sale – rich kids looking for fun with money to blow.
The DJ blasts some rap song that repeats the phrase ‘big booty’ twenty times over. Bikini-clad girls grind against half-naked boys, and someone yells about spilling a beer. I’m not sure who’s throwing this party, but their parents would die if they knew their expensive Greek goddess statue was being fondled by a drunken teenage boy.
“Do people just show up drunk to Cove parties?” I ask, more to Alston than A.J. “There’s no way these people got drunk this fast.”
Alston follows my gaze toward Greece. “Oh, that kid?” he asks. “Yeah, he didn’t drink or party in high school. Probably his first time to ever have a beer, truth be told. So yeah, he probably did get drunk that fast.”
I follow Alston through the foyer, into a small dining room, and eventually into a massive party room. The DJ sits in the corner, and the music vibrates through the hardwood floors.
“Well, it’s about that time,” A.J. shouts to us over the music.
“What time?” I shout back.
“Time for a beer!” A.J. replies. He leans closer to my ear. “Let’s find the kitchen.”
Alston waves us on as he checks out the crowd. I dig my fingers into A.J.’s arm as not to lose him in the sea of partygoers. I hear the guy’s voice before I ever see his face. I should’ve known he’d be here.
Kale looks up from a cooler and shouts “Gonzalez!” when he sees A.J. He hands him a bottle of Corona before he spots me. Instead of his usual tackle hug, Kale stares, much like how Colby stared at Logan.
“What are you doing here?” Kale asks. “I really didn’t expect to see anyone I knew tonight, especially you.”
What is that supposed to mean? Just because I’m not half-naked and grinding on some guy doesn’t mean I can’t blend in at a party…does it?
“You do know whose party this is, right?” Kale asks, shifting his eyes from A.J. to me and back to A.J. again.
We shake our heads simultaneously before A.J. chugs a third of his beer. Kale tells us to follow him outside. We exit through another living area. Kale slides the patio door shut behind us. An in-ground pool glimmers up at us in the moonlight.
“Look, I only came for the free beer,” he says. “Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I hang out with these people or that I’m cool with them.”
I nod in understanding, even though I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to understand yet. I quickly explain that Vin wanted us to pass out flyers for Drenaline Surf’s sale and how A.J. thought the party would be better than the tourist areas, especially since Alston was already planning on coming here.
“And I’m guessing Alston didn’t fill you guys in? Or does he even know?” Kale asks, all cryptically. “This party is for Dominic. It’s his welcome back party.”
It dawns on me that I never really followed up with what happened to Dominic Richardson after Miles won the sponsorship with Drenaline Surf last summer. But one thing is certain – this is the last place we need to be passing out flyers for Drenaline Surf’s newest addition.
“Where’s he been?” I ask.
Kale sits next to the pool and kicks off his flip flops. He dangles his legs into the water, so I copy his actions and do the same. A.J. relaxes in a lounge chair behind us with his beer bottle.
“He went to school out of state. He left right after he lost to Miles last summer,” Kale says. “His dad walked out on them years ago, hooked up with some trophy wife, bought her some boobs and a mansion, and now he tries to pay his kids back, litera
lly. So Dominic had his choice of schools.”
“So why the party?” I ask. “He’s just coming home for the summer, right?”
Kale takes a swig from his beer can and sets it back down on the concrete. “Afraid not,” he says. “Dominic’s back for good. From what I heard, he partied a lot and flunked out. He probably just didn’t give a damn, really. So now his dad and stepmom are playing the pity card, saying how he was so depressed over losing the sponsorship that he just lost his way.”
“Bullshit!” A.J. calls out. “He would’ve partied his way right out of Drenaline Surf too. He was only in it for the perks. He doesn’t give a damn about the store or Shark or any of us.”
Kale holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m just relaying the info,” he says. “I’m not on Team Dominic. We don’t exactly have the best history, if you remember. But I’m a Hooligan now and he’s not, and I plan to keep it that way.”
“You’re official now?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from shooting up an octave like a Hooligan fangirl.
Kale nods. “I pretty much was anyway,” he says. “Dominic was the only one who ever added the word ‘honorary’ to it.”
A.J. stands up, peers inside through the patio door, and asks us where the ‘fuck up’ is anyway. With the little I know of Dominic, I imagine him to be one of those guys who shows up fashionably late and makes a dramatic entrance.
The three of us head back inside. Kale parts ways with us so he can slip out without being seen once Dominic arrives. A.J. pushes through the crowd until we find Alston talking with a group of guys in a Billabong versus Hurley debate. I want to chime in and vote for Hurley because John John Florence is sponsored by them, and Topher wants to be the next JJF, but Alston sees us and motions us away from the group before I can.
“Party sucks but this is the right crowd to promote the sale,” Alston says, leading us into another room away from the thumping music.
I shake my head. “We can’t,” I tell him. “We just found out who this party is for.”
