Always Summer

by Nikki Godwin

  “You’re right,” I say, looking up at him. “I’m going to ignore this one and hope it just goes away. Eventually people will get bored with this, right? I mean, there’s only so much you can say about a company before people just get tired of hearing it.”

  “Exactly,” Topher says. He reaches across the desk and signs the rest of his paperwork. “There. You’re done.”

  I think Topher is about to say something else when Jace walks into the office and halts all conversation. It’s after hours, but he asks us to join him in the main room before we go.

  Emily, Miles, Kale, Theo, Colby, and Logan are all gathered around the front counter when we walk into the showroom of Drenaline Surf. I slide around the counter and stand next to Emily. Topher remains at my side.

  “I just wanted to have a quick word with you guys about this weekend,” Jace says, standing opposite of all of us. “We’re going to Sunrise Valley, and every surfer on our roster is set to compete, except the injured. The media is going to be watching us with a close eye. People are going to try to provoke us. Liquid Spirit will be there.”

  Miles leans forward against the counter, and I realize he’s crutch-less. I’d completely forgotten that he got his cast off this morning. I lean back to see that he’s in a boot. That’s a good sign. Hopefully he’ll be back in the water in a few weeks. I know he’s driving Emily and Topher crazy waiting to get back out there.

  Jace continues. “As hard as it may be, we need to all just keep our mouths shut, focus on professionalism, and be the bigger people. They want us to lose our cool. They’re waiting for the thing to write about us. So take these next few days to clear your minds, breathe easy, and just focus on surfing.”

  It’s close to midnight in our living room when I’m telling A.J. about Jace’s surfer meeting. Reed lounges in the chair across from us, his legs draped over the side. It’s rare that we’re all here and awake at the same time, so if it takes a midnight rendezvous to see my roommates, I’ll deal with the sleep deprivation later. But we’re still one man down. Alston hasn’t rolled in yet.

  “And then they pulled the tarp back and it was my fucking dragon,” A.J. says, slinging his arm out in Reed’s direction. “Like the one on my arm. The one from the carnival. Fucking bitches may have taken my land, but I got to keep my dragon.”

  Reed laughs and mumbles something about how he can’t believe A.J. actually cursed out an old lady.

  “I kinda wish I was at the other store now,” A.J. says. “At least then I could look at it every day when I go to work.”

  “Then look at your arm every morning,” Reed says. He chucks a pillow at A.J.

  The screen door in the kitchen opens. It’s quiet, like Alston is trying to sneak in, but he catches our stare the moment he’s inside.

  “Late night?” Reed asks, pulling his legs back over the side of the chair. He sits upright and looks into the kitchen.

  Alston shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. I was out. No big deal.”

  “On a Thursday night?” Reed asks. “Where is there in the cove to go out on a Thursday?”

  What happened to the whole ‘you can party any time’ theory that everyone has been preaching to me? I thought you could party any damn time in California.

  Alston grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator, takes a long gulp, and then twists the lid back on. He stares at us over the countertop.

  “What are you now? My mom?” he asks Reed. “I was out, okay? You want to know where I was? Fine. I’ll fucking tell you. I was at Tropics. Okay?”

  Reed and A.J. are completely silent while I rack my brain to figure out where Tropics is. Is that a store? It can’t be a store. Even around here, stores shut down at a normal hour. I don’t think I’ve seen Tropics yet. It has to be on the other side of downtown.

  Alston grabs the water bottle and walks into the living room. “Now, are we all okay or is there going to be a problem?” he asks, holding his arms out.

  “No, we’re good,” A.J. says. Simultaneously, Reed shakes his head and says, “No problem.”

  “Good,” Alston says. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

  With that, he drags himself upstairs like any other night, leaving me alone with Reed and A.J. in the living room. I wait until I hear Alston’s bedroom door click shut before I say anything.

  “Okay, what the hell is Tropics?” I ask, still keeping my voice low.

  Reed swaps a glance with A.J., almost asking who should answer this question. A.J. shrugs his shoulders, like he’s unsure how to answer that question.

  “It’s a night club…bar…place,” A.J. says. “I’ve never been. Not really my type of place.”

  I glance to Reed, looking for elaboration.

  Reed inhales and nods. “Yeah, what A.J. said,” he says. “It’s a bar, but…it’s a gay bar.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I wait on the bar stool with a soy latte sitting in front of me next to a bag of cheese biscuits from the bakery. It was hell getting up before dawn to get dressed for the day and then making a trip to grab breakfast, but when Alston strolls downstairs, expecting everyone else to still be sleeping, it’s worth seeing the surprise on his face.

  “Morning,” he says, easing up to the counter. He points at the latte. “Is that mine?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I hum. “I grabbed breakfast too, if you want biscuits.”

  He slides onto the seat next to me and laughs. “You’re worse than I am,” he says. He takes a sip of coffee. “Is this your way to buttering me up?”

  I can smell his pineapple shampoo from here. At least he’s close enough to latch my claws into if he tries to run.

  I shrug. “Is it working?”

  It better be working because this boy owes me answers. As much as he likes to insert himself into my personal business, it’s time for him to get a taste of his own medicine. I bite into my biscuit to try and play casual, but Alston sees through me more than I like. He knows I’m waiting for him to initiate the conversation, and he’s not going to give me the pleasure.

  “Look, you’re always in my personal business, so you owe me answers about yours,” I tell him. “Start talking.”

  He stands, grabs his coffee, and then slips his phone into his pocket. “Do you want to ride to work with me?” he asks. “We can talk about it on the way.”

  I grab my biscuit and vanilla frappe, pick up my bag on the way to the door, and hurry to his passenger seat. I’ll find another way back home if I have to.

  He cranks his car and turns the radio down. “Where do you want me to start?” he asks. “I figure A.J. and Reed told you what Tropics is, and you can pretty much figure out why I go there, so what are your questions?”

  I sip my milkshake-like drink, trying to figure out how I even begin to ask questions. Alston is supposed to be this big playboy who loves the ladies and can’t settle down with just one of them. That was his reputation last summer when I met him. He was flirty and hot and batted his eyes at every girl on The Strip. He was showing off his tattoo and looking for any reason to go shirtless.

  “You made out with my friend last summer,” I say. “My female friend. For like, two weeks. What the hell? I’m so confused.”

  Alston grabs his sunglasses and puts them on. I wonder if it’s really to block the morning sun or if he just doesn’t want me to see the look in his eyes when he answers that question.

  “I’m sorry about Linzi,” he begins, staring ahead at the street. “I wasn’t completely sure. I mean, I figured I was, but I thought, hey, this girl is pretty and she’s fun, and if I like her, maybe I do like girls too. I really tried to like her. She was safe. She was leaving, and you guys were temporary. Well, you were supposed to be, anyway.”

  Oh, if Linzi knew, she’d castrate him. I haven’t talked to her since moving here, but she’s Facebook official with some guy she met during a summer course at community college. She posts a lot of pictures of them together, so I’m pretty sure she’s not dwelling on Alston
or the fact that I moved to California, but still. She’d be mad. She loves talking about the gorgeous Asian boy she had a fling with during a magical time in Cali.

  “I wasn’t trying to use her,” Alston says again. “I really thought you guys would leave, like everyone else, and it’d never matter. I didn’t want to test my sexuality with a local who I’d have to see again. And really, no one else can tolerate A.J., but when you did, I knew I’d have to entertain your friend for at least a week, so…I’m sorry.”

  I put my cup in the cup holder and turn to face him. “So your whole playboy thing was just a ruse?” I ask. “You just figured you could pretend to be a playboy, so you wouldn’t have to admit why you didn’t have a girlfriend.”

  He nods, like it’s not even a big deal. And I guess, in a sense, it really isn’t. Linzi was a two-week fling with no potential of lasting. He knew that all along.

  “Hold up,” I say, remembering Linzi’s final moments in the cove. “What about that big fight you guys had? The one where you were all ‘you can’t just come into my life and leave’ and all that?”

  Alston exhales and glances out his window before turning into the parking lot behind Drenaline Surf. He parks his car, but he doesn’t kill the engine.

  “It was for show,” he says, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. “See, this is why I didn’t want you to know. I knew you’d have these questions, and it just makes me look like the biggest asshat in the world.”

  “No,” I say, reaching over and putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not mad. I’m closer to you than I am to Linzi these days. She’s moved on. She’s fine. But are you okay?”

  There goes that question again. Are any of us actually okay anymore?

  Alston half-shrugs, which is even more hopeless than an actual shrug. Then he leans back against the seat.

  “I wish I could just be open about it, but you can’t here,” he says. He turns his head toward me but doesn’t move his body. “This sport doesn’t allow it, and I don’t want to cause Drenaline Surf to lose any business.”

  I shake my head. “This is California. People are all about free love and being who you are,” I remind him. I can’t believe he even thinks it’s an issue. “You can totally be you.”

  He reaches over and pops open his door. He grabs his coffee, takes a sip, and shakes his head. Then he steps outside and waits for me to follow. I meet him at the trunk of his car.

  “Surfing is the most homophobic sport out there,” he tells me. His voice remains low, and he glances around to make sure no one is close enough to hear him. “Do you see any gay surfers? I mean, there’s this one guy in Los Angeles who surfs the qualifying series, and he’s blasted for dyeing his hair neon colors. He’s not even openly gay, if he’s even gay at all. You just can’t do it in our sport.”

  He leans back against the trunk of his car and plays cool when Jace pulls into the parking lot. “Can we just leave this in our household until it needs to be public?” he asks.

  I nod my head. “Just us,” I tell him.

  Deep within me, I pray that whoever is leaking info about Drenaline Surf doesn’t get on to this secret.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Saturday morning, Drenaline Surf is a madhouse. We hadn’t even planned on being in town, much less being slammed with business, but the surf event that was supposed to happen in Sunrise Valley has been moved to our beach.

  “So is the dude okay?” Topher asks, looking up at me from a box of T-shirts.

  “I’m not sure. They haven’t updated the public since he went in as critical last night,” I tell him. “They’ve closed the beach.”

  Part of me doesn’t even want Topher to surf today – or any of our guys for that matter. We all know that shark attacks happen, and surfers risk it every time they venture into the ocean. It’s their natural habitat, not ours. But in the back of everyone’s minds, it’s something that happens on other beaches, in other cities, far away from anyone we know or love.

  “Shouldn’t you be down the beach putting on a jersey and getting psyched up to surf?” I ask, pulling the box of shirts away from him. “It’s competition day.”

  “I know, but it’s so busy here. They need help,” Topher says. “I still love the store. It needs me right now.”

  I put the box aside and give him a tight hug. “You’re precious,” I say, trying not to laugh because he’s so serious right now. “Emily, Alston, and Kerianne are handling it up front. They’ve got this. Go surf.”

  “Fine,” he mumbles. He presses a quick kiss to my forehead before leaving through Drenaline Surf’s back door.

  I follow behind and peek outside, just to make sure he’s getting ready. He walks over to his truck and pulls a board from the back. Miles lingers around in his boot while Topher waxes the board. I close the door and sift through the papers on Jace’s desk to find today’s itinerary. Everything is off course now that the event has moved here.

  But even among the chaos outside, Crescent Cove feels magical today. The vendors are smiling along The Strip. Tourists are hanging out on the beach, amazed to see an actual surf competition. People from all over this part of California are hanging out on our sand, waiting to watch some epic waves go down in the next few hours.

  The air smells of grilled hot dogs, and the waves are washing in a perfect breeze. For the first time in weeks, I feel alive out here, like I’m back where I was last summer, waiting for a magical moment to happen. Of course, back then I was waiting to find Colby, and things were kind of messy, but there was a sense of hope. There was still a dream to chase. I was on my way – and today feels like that again.

  I stop on the sidewalk and take a deep breath of Pacific Ocean air before I head down to the Drenaline Surf tent to handle reporters and keep my surfers on schedule. Different surf companies are set up along the beach under tents of their own. Their surfers hang out, taking photographs with young groms who want to grow up and be surf stars just like their idols. Some guys are signing caps and surfboards. Some are out in the water for a quick warm up before the competition starts. The entire beach is buzzing with surf community energy.

  As I make my way to the Drenaline Surf tent, I notice the hellish crowd of surf paparazzi at the tent next to ours. My stomach twists without even seeing the logo because I know it’s Liquid Spirit. Who in the living hell thought it’d be smart to put them next to us?

  I slow down, hoping to catch a piece of whatever is happening. I’d rather be prepared than walk into this blindly.

  “…in hopes of expanding. Right now, we’re adding local talent to our register, but we’re actively seeking surfers from across the country. By the end of next year, we’re hoping to be a global company with talent representing the surf world internationally.”

  I haven’t seen the voice behind the statement, but I’m pretty sure it’s Greg Carson. I skim the crowd, but I don’t want to be too obvious. I’d know him if I saw him, but just the same, he’d know me as well. I still have that envelope he sent Topher hanging out in a box in my bedroom closet. I guess I should’ve declined the contract, but a bigger fish was frying at that moment.

  That international line is going to kill us, though. We couldn’t go global even if we wanted to. Drenaline Surf isn’t that big, and we don’t have any corporate giants trying to team up with us. If we hadn’t landed the deal with Ocean Blast Energy back when Vin was making deals, we probably couldn’t get them now. Luckily, they adore Topher, and even with the drama, they think Colby is amazing. I’m definitely pitching Logan to them soon. He’s magazine-cover material.

  “This sucks,” Miles says as soon as I step under the tent. “I’m like the only one who isn’t surfing today.”

  He slings himself down onto a chair. Selling Drenaline Surf T-shirts and last minute surf wax isn’t his idea of a good competition. I know he’s mad because he was out of the last one with a broken leg – and his replacement won the event – but I can’t let him in the water with that freaking boot o
n.

  No one wants to see you surf anyway.

  I spin around, but I don’t know which Liquid Spirit idiot said it. Topher is at my side immediately, staring them down like he could ram a surfboard through them.

  “Step back,” I say through my teeth. I turn and face him. “I know Miles is your best friend and you want to defend him, but you’ve gotta keep it together today.”

  Topher turns his back to the enemy’s tent. “They piss me off,” he says.

  “And they’re going to all day long,” I remind him. “That’s what they feed on. They want to get under your skin so you’ll do something you’ll regret.”

  He takes a deep breath. “I know. I’m going to down some Ocean Blast and wax my backup boards,” he says.

  He walks away before I can attempt any kind of comfort. He’s like his brother in that sense. He wants to handle things his own way, in his own time. But I have to let him walk on this one.

  At least we don’t surf for a cult. I don’t know why Colby gets all the magazine interviews when Logan out surfs him any day of the week. Why is Logan even surfing for them anyway?

  I force a fake smile and try to tune out all the smartass comments being shouted our way. I let Jace’s words of wisdom rush through my brain like a waterfall rinsing away the negativity. They’re trying to provoke us. They want a scene. I’m able to drown them out when a guy with SurfTube asks if we have any upcoming projects, aside from the board shop. Logan is quick to come to my aid.

  “We don’t have an official schedule yet, but I’ve talked to Haley about maybe setting up a program where we can offer surf lessons to young groms or just people on vacation looking for an awesome experience with the ocean,” Logan says, all smiles while he speaks.

  “I’m a firm believer in giving back to the community, and the surf community has been so welcoming and inspiring ever since I moved out here,” Logan lies.