by Nikki Godwin
Yep. There’s my pink slip.
“If you’re going to beg me to give you a job, then you need to actually do it,” Vin says. Then he looks at Miles. “I’m taking you to your next interview. If Haley wants to babysit my brother instead of Drenaline Surf’s actual surfers, then Topher can add her to his payroll. Fortunately, Logan can handle himself because he has some common sense and maturity. Let’s go.”
Miles shoots me pleading eyes, but there’s nothing I can do. A range of emotions surges through my veins – anger, hurt, more anger, a tiny bit of pride for being brave enough to say what I wanted to say, and a feeling that I’m sure is more anger.
The fiery rage burns my skin more than the California sunshine. I blink my eyes a few times to stop any tears that want to jump ship. I refuse to break down and cry at the Sunrise Valley Tournament because my boyfriend is an asshole who pretty much just fired me without actually saying so.
“Haley!” Topher shouts.
I spin around and throw my arms around him, wet jersey and all. He says something about how awesome that was and that his adrenaline is pumping. I don’t let go of him because I don’t want him to see the emotions in my eyes.
“I’m soaking you,” he says, pulling away. “Whoa. What’s wrong? You’re not smiling. What happened? Did Vin say something to you? I’ll hit him, I swear. Are you okay?”
I’m thankful that his non-stop string of questions makes me laugh. “One question at a time,” I say.
“What happened?” Topher asks, summing up everything he wants to know in two words.
As soon as I open my mouth to give him the rundown of his brother’s wrath, a man walks over to us, arm extended with a business card in hand.
“Excuse me,” he says. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m Greg Carson with Liquid Spirit, and I wanted to talk to you about a sponsorship. Do you have an agent or manager with you?”
Topher’s eyes widen, and he throws an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close to him. “Um, yeah,” he says. “This is Haley Sullivan. I don’t make any decisions without her.”
Chapter Seventeen
Colby sets up a username on the Xbox while Alston digs through his stack of cases for the original Zombie Sanctuary game. This is seriously what my daily routine has become. At least Colby is here today. He always has too much on his mind to sit in silence.
“I still can’t believe Logan won,” Colby gripes as he enters his name on the screen. “I mean, anyone would’ve been okay with me. Even some kook I don’t know. But Logan? He just made every last one of us look bad – me, Miles, Topher. Fuck.”
If anyone knows how awful Logan’s win was, it’s me. I drove back to Crescent Cove with two highly pissed off Hooligans. After Topher’s round three elimination and Colby’s exit in round five, Logan was the last man standing…all the way to the finals. To add salt to the wound, he eliminated Kieran Caples in the quarter finals. Miles, Topher, and I watched the heat with Clover, who had a few choice words for Logan.
“Did Vin really fire you?” Colby asks. “I asked him if you were going with me to my photo shoot tomorrow, and he said you weren’t on the payroll anymore.”
“He never technically said the words ‘you’re fired,’ but I got that impression. A.J. brought home my Sunrise Valley paycheck last night, so that pretty much sealed the deal,” I say.
Colby shakes his head and puts his game controller on the coffee table. “Please tell me this means you’ve finally dumped his sorry ass,” he says.
Alston abandons his video games and glances over his shoulder for my answer.
“Well, I never technically said the words ‘we’re over,’ but I figure he got that impression,” I say. “At least I hope he did.”
The doorbell rings, and Alston rushes to get it. He comes back with a thick envelope addressed to Topher Brooks “c/o Haley Sullivan.” The sender is Liquid Spirit.
“Open it,” Alston says. “It has your name on it, and Topher pretty much hired you as his manager. Legally you can open all of his mail now.”
I roll my eyes at Alston’s nosiness, grab my cell phone, and text Topher. Unfortunately, his reply is exactly what Alston said to do – open it.
Colby hovers over my shoulder, as anxious as Alston, and reads the contract much quicker than I do. Then he grabs the contract from my hands.
“Damn,” he says, skimming the page. “That’s a better sign-on deal than I got with Drenaline Surf. I mean, I know Shark was just starting out and all, but damn. These guys are willing to put some serious money behind Topher.”
Alston laughs and walks back toward his stack of games to continue searching for his long lost disk. He doesn’t even ask how much money Liquid Spirit is offering.
“He wouldn’t sign that contract for ten million dollars,” Alston says. “Topher is going to surf for Drenaline or no one. That’s just how he rolls.”
An hour later, I stretch out on my bed and reexamine Liquid Spirit’s contract. I’m not a legal expert, but the terms actually seem worth it – sign-on bonus, paid entry fees, and travel expenses paid for all interviews, photo shoots, and events. Their travel budget is beyond anything Drenaline Surf could offer. They already have affiliates at Shaka Magazine and SurfTube. Even as an up and coming company, they have some serious investors. Drenaline Surf is still a “mom and pop” kind of surf shop compared to these guys.
Part of me almost wants Topher to sign it just to throw it in Vin’s face, to prove that he doesn’t need his brother to make it as a pro surfer. I want him to show Vin that he can play in the big leagues. But deep down, I want him on that Drenaline Surf roster just like he wants it for himself. I want him to represent Shark’s store and Shark’s legacy. Above all, I just want Topher to have his Drenaline Surf dream come true.
What sucks, though, is that I want to be part of it. I want to be there in the mix of the Drenaline Surf atmosphere and everything it stands for. Instead, I’m going to end up having to take college classes this fall, get a boring business degree to make my parents happy, and then hope I can find a job somewhere. I’d have been happier working PR for Shark’s store. I’d have been right there in the middle of a company, doing something businesslike, just as my parents want for me, but I’d have been doing it my way, on my own terms.
A knock on the guest house’s door distracts me from college worries and Topher’s contract. I walk to my bedroom door and glance into the mini-foyer. Colby waves at me through the screen door. He jingles his truck keys. I wave him inside.
“I figured you were a safer bet to leave my keys with than A.J.,” he says. “Alston said he’d go feed Dexter for me. A.J. has a house key, but in case you need it, it’s this one.” He points to a silver key next to his Drenaline Surf keychain.
We walk into my bedroom, and I secure his keys in my bag. Colby walks over to the bay window and spins Solomon around. He laughs to himself.
“A.J. broke my window for this thing,” he says. “Obviously it was important.”
“I bought it last summer,” I say, walking over to the window. “I named him Solomon.”
“Worthington,” Colby says. “You know, for the longest time, I regretted going back to North Carolina that night. I always wondered if that’s what tipped my parents off. But even with the lawsuit and Wall of Shame, it was worth it to have someone believe in me again. You’re like my new Shark.”
The sunset pours through the glass, dashing through Solomon’s blue colors and creating a purple hue against Colby’s hand. He lets the suncatcher go, and Solomon sways in the window.
“We’ll get through this,” I say. “You can fight your parents. You were eighteen. You ran away. It happens every day.”
“But they found me,” he says, walking across the room. “When my mom threatened me, she used the phrase, ‘when we got wind that you may be alive out here.’ Someone tipped them off. I think it was someone who’s linked to Drenaline Surf somehow. I just don’t know who yet.”
I sit in the bay windo
w and stare out at Colby’s truck. If someone wanted to ruin him, leaking his secret to his parents would be the key. The media can’t keep a secret, and the source would’ve been outted. But his parents? They’re money-hungry and pissed off. Telling them would create the drama and media frenzy, just as it did.
“Do you think they threatened to sue Drenaline Surf as a cover up?” I ask.
Colby shrugs. “I hope it’s a cover up,” he says. “I’d throw my career away before I’d let them ruin Shark’s name. I’m normally not one to back down, especially to them, but Shark’s legacy is more important. But for now, I trust no one. Drenaline Surf isn’t even safe anymore.”
“You trust no one, but you’re leaving me with your truck and access to your house?” I ask. “A.J. has a key too, you know. If you’re wanting to keep us out, you’re not doing the best job.”
Colby laughs. “I trust you,” he says. “And A.J. had my back when no one else would. I know it was because I was his cash flow, but for that, I know he’d never leak my secrets.”
Not long after Reed gets back from dropping Colby off at Drenaline Surf, the roar of a truck engine sounds in our driveway. I peek through the kitchen blinds. Jace and Theo make their way toward the front door of the condo.
Theo bursts through the kitchen without even knocking. “We come with good news. Where the fuck is Gonzalez?” he says.
“Upstairs,” Reed says, pointing to the staircase.
Theo invites himself up, screaming for A.J. Jace lingers in the kitchen, a bit more reserved than his roommate.
“So,” Reed says. “What’s the good news?”
Jace smiles. “I talked to someone who works for the city to see what they were going to do with all the stuff from A.J.’s carnival grounds. They were going to trash it, so I asked if we could have some of it for ‘local businesses and landmarks.’ They actually bought into it.”
A.J. shouts the words “hell fucking yes!” upstairs, so I assume Theo just delivered the same news to him.
“But there’s one problem,” Jace says. He leans against our kitchen counter and already looks defeated. “The city is clearing out the area tomorrow for a groundbreaking ceremony, so anything we want, we have to get tonight. We don’t have the manpower or the storage for it.”
“There’s room in the boat storage at the store,” Reed says. “Dad is having the yachts repainted, so we can use it for now.”
“And I have Colby’s truck,” I add. “I can make some calls. We can get people to help us. If you’ll call the Hooligans, I can handle the rest.”
Jace calls Topher as I head back toward the guest house. I dig through my bag until I find the cigarette receipt. I hope Clover has a lot of friends.
Chapter Eighteen
Two pickup trucks pull into the empty parking lot behind Strickland’s Boating. The bass thumps loudly from one of them. A guy hangs out the window of the other truck, screaming what I think is, “We have arrived!” Clover gets out of the bass-thumping truck.
If I didn’t have A.J. Gonzalez standing next to me, I’d probably be scared out of my freaking mind to have these guys all coming at me at once. Clover laughs as one of the other guys whoops and hollers like an idiot.
“You made it,” I say to Clover as he nears us. I wasn’t sure if anyone could really help us on a Wednesday night with such short notice.
He nods. “Pretty easy to find. So, uh, this stuff we’re going to pick up, we’re stealing it, right? Like this is illegal?” he asks, his dark hair shielding his face in the glow of the streetlamp.
“Um, no,” A.J. says. “The city said we could have the stuff if we got it out of there tonight, which is why we needed fast help.”
“Ohhhh,” Clover says. He eases in closer, so only we can hear him. “Don’t tell the other guys. Kieran wouldn’t do anything illegal. Neither would Payday, but those other fools only came because they thought we were breaking the law.”
A.J. shoots me a look, and it takes every fiber of my being not to laugh. A.J. may be Crescent Cove’s resident criminal, but Clover’s friends might actually put him to shame. I don’t want to ask and validate that theory.
As Clover’s friends move toward our group, A.J. says we’ll play along and pretend we’re stealing. I just hope that doesn’t leak back around Crescent Cove because A.J. doesn’t need another inaccurate arrest, especially now that he’s Drenaline Surf’s manager.
A.J. takes on the leadership role and explains our mission – lifting the goods and bringing them back here to ‘hide’ in Reed’s dad’s storage unit at the boating store. One guy laughs like a wild animal and says this is ‘so fucking awesome.’ He wears a blazer jacket, which is beyond weird considering it’s the middle of summer.
I lean in closer to Clover. “Who are these guys?” I whisper.
He motions me back a few steps, out of earshot. He points to Kieran, his best friend and the one least likely to ever get in trouble. Clover says he wants to be a professional surfer and that Kieran also looks up to Topher the way Topher looks up to John John Florence, which basically makes my heart overflow with happiness.
“That guy in the jacket, that’s Terry,” he says. “He’s only here for a few days. He, uh, you know, had some business deals to secure out here. He’s a…supplier, if you get my drift.”
The blazer makes sense then. I don’t even want to know what he has stashed inside of it. He’s like a jeweler, just opens the showcase and shows you every size he has for purchase. I hope to the sea spirits that he leaves that jacket on.
“And Payday is the pretty boy – a trust fund kid,” he explains, pointing to a clean cut brunette. “He only smokes weed, but he knows all the rich kids who want the harder stuff. He brings in the clientele, and in return, he gets his stuff free. His real name is Payton Davenport, hence the Pay and day...well, the day part really doesn’t work. But he’s literally Rico’s payday.”
He goes on to tell me that Rico, the Hispanic boy with tattoos – their A.J. basically – is Sunrise Valley’s notorious drug dealer, who buys from Terry and provides for Payday and his friends.
“He wanted some cool secret name,” Clover explains as we walk back toward the vehicles. “We were brainstorming, and Mahli – this chick I’m friends with – suggested Skunk because he used to have this white patch in his hair. He was pissed. He grew his hair back out and decided to just be Rico.”
“And what about that other guy?” I ask, pointing to a shirtless skinny guy with scraggly hair.
“Honestly, I have no fucking clue who he is,” Clover says. “I think he was buying from Rico when I asked for help, and he just jumped in the truck with them.”
In that case, we’re better off not knowing the guy. A.J. tells the others to follow Jace’s truck to the carnival grounds. A.J. steals Colby’s truck keys from me and says he’s driving. I don’t even have it in me to object tonight.
A.J. puts his foot through the “condemned property” sign the moment we step onto his carnival grounds. Jace clears his throat from behind and reminds A.J. that this isn’t actually an illegal activity. A.J. does a damn good job of keeping up the appearance, though.
I go with Jace and Topher while A.J. leads the other guys toward the carousel to start taking apart our life-sized sea creatures. Clover follows behind me.
“Hey,” he whispers. “I have a question.”
I hang back and walk side-by-side with A.J.’s long lost brother. When Clover is in the moment, he’s confident in his words, but when he’s being shady, he angles his head downward and to the side, just like A.J. does when he doesn’t want anyone else to hear him. I swear, these two are so similar that it actually borderlines scary.
“You think we could set up some kind of surf thing between your boy and Kieran?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “You could talk Brooks into hanging out with him or surfing together sometime, right?” Clover stops and steps in front of me. “Aren’t you like his manager or girlfriend or something?”
�
��None of the above,” I say, stepping around him. “You should talk to Topher about it. I don’t think he’d say no.”
Clover doesn’t follow along as I hurry to catch up with Jace and Topher. He heads back to where Kieran is with Rico and Terry. I hate to send Topher into drug-dealing territory, but surfing with this Kieran guy may actually help him step out of his usual Horn Island routine.
“Hey,” I say, reaching out to Topher’s shoulder. “Let me help Jace with this. I need you to do me a favor.”
Once Topher joins Kieran and Clover at the carousel, I assist Jace by handing him whatever tools he asks for to detach the dragon from its ship. For the most part, I really just hold the flashlight for him while he works.
“I asked them not to throw this out,” he explains. “I can’t stop them, and there’s no way to haul it, but I know how much it means to A.J. If I can get it off of the actual ship, maybe they’ll leave it out here until I can find someone to move it.”
I doubt we can find anyone with a big enough truck to move the dragon that’s been attached to the side of the ship all these years, but deep down in my bones, I hope Jace finds someone to save it.
Two hours and a few trips back to Strickland’s Boating, we’ve moved most of A.J.’s carnival – well, what we could actually take. We may not have the most manpower, but I’m impressed with how much we’ve accomplished. Miles oversees as Topher and Kale work to unhinge the life-sized Solomon from the carousel. I’m pretty sure the other Hooligans are silently cursing Emily for bringing Miles out here, knowing he’s worthless to this mission with those stupid crutches.
I stand back, about as useless as Miles, and watch the guys move Solomon into the back of Colby’s truck. I pretty much want to take this one back home with me. Jace already staked his claim on the carousel’s octopus, although I have no idea what he’ll do with it.
