by Nikki Godwin
“No, it’s waaaay too soon,” I tell her, shaking my head for extra emphasis. “I need to be where I am. I’m good living with A.J., Alston, and Reed for the time being. I like having the guest house for me. Moving in with Topher would be too much too soon.”
Emily laughs but doesn’t have a chance to elaborate. She pays for her food and guzzles her grape slush like she hasn’t had any hydration in a week. Once it’s secured in her cup holder, she looks toward me.
“I wasn’t asking about you and Topher in particular,” she says. “Well, not really. I guess it was an example. Miles keeps mentioning how we should get an apartment, and I’m not sure if it’s too soon or if it’ll be all I hope it’ll be.”
“You’ll need a second job,” I tell her. “Not for rent or bills or anything. Just to feed the boy.”
In between bites of her sandwich, she explains how Miles doesn’t want to move back home and how he didn’t really think out the whole ‘move in with Colby’ thing.
“Don’t get me wrong. He loves the free surf spot and Colby’s flat screen, but I’m so sick of hearing about organic food. Miles is freaking obsessed with it. It’s all he ever talks about – how he can’t understand how Colby survives or he’ll call me and read the ingredients off and freak out that people actually eat whatever it is he’s holding,” Emily says. “I just want to go back to life when he loved pickles and breakfast burritos and didn’t know that organic cereal exists.”
As much as I’d love to assure her that Colby is in fact human and sometimes eats carb-loaded pastas and French fries, I don’t because I know she’ll tell Miles, and it’s too funny to give him the satisfaction of knowing. That’s a loop Miles can’t be in.
“So I found this rental house in Horn Island,” she says, drifting away from organic cereal. “I really like it. It needs some work, but they’re willing to do rent-to-own, so I still have time to decide if this is my forever plan.”
Emily talks about how she wants a turquoise kitchen with white cabinets. She also wants a white picket fence, or maybe a purple one, but she’s not sure she can convince Miles to even let her have a picket fence at all.
“It’s by the beach, though, so Miles could surf every day, even if it’s not Hooligan territory,” she says. “Or he could drive out to the rocks. It’s this perfect little spot between the cove and the land of Hooligans. I haven’t told him yet, though, because he’ll do it just because I’m onboard with it. I don’t want things to completely change if we move in together, you know?”
It’s weird that Emily is the one needing convincing instead of Miles. He seems more like the uncertain type, the one who would hesitate about taking such a big step. Emily seems much more free-spirited.
“Why is he the one who’s pushing for this?” I ask, out of sheer curiosity.
“Ever since he moved out of his mom’s house, I think he’s felt like somewhat of a nomad. I know he’s only moved into Colby’s house, but it’s Colby’s house. It’s not home,” Emily explains, in between bites. “He’s always had this stability, even in Horn Island, that he can’t seem to find now. I think he just wants something more solid, something to make him feel safe.”
Miles had been so excited to move out of his mom’s house and be on his own. But I understand the need for stability. I haven’t had any since I got back to the California, and I can’t help but hope this will all eventually slow down and feel like a normal life. There’s enough excitement in the sport of surfing to keep me on edge. I don’t need added drama.
Emily sighs and twirls the straw to the best of her ability in its crushed ice. “Okay, I have another question, and I want you to be real with me,” she says. “Would you feel weird if Miles and I asked Topher to room with us?”
“Are you serious? Why would I be mad? I live with three guys,” I tell her.
I’m not sure if she thinks I’d be jealous or offended or left out. Or maybe she’s afraid people will talk or it could create a bad image for all of us. I don’t know what she’s concerned about, but I think it’s probably a better idea than Miles and Topher living with Colby. The fact that they are still on edge about his intentions and questioning his truthfulness bothers me – even if I understand why and honestly can’t blame them.
“You’re sure it’s not weird?” she asks again.
I nod. “Positive,” I assure her.
She exhales. “Good. Miles likes having Topher around, and I think it helps Topher since Vin left, and he doesn’t have to be– shit. I’m sorry. Awkward. Moving along.”
It amazes me how people forget that Vin and I dated. Maybe it’s because they didn’t see us together for the majority of our relationship. I was in North Carolina and he was in California, and we had most of our relationship over phone calls, text messages, and a few scattered visits from him when my parents were cool enough to let it happen.
It actually really sucks that we fell apart after I moved out here. By then, my parents were out of the equation. We had all the freedom to see each other. We had every tool to make that relationship work properly.
But then I wouldn’t be with Topher. Topher’s the one who dreams of something bigger, who doesn’t worry with all the mundane details of day-to-day life. That’s the kind of person I need next to me. I need someone to balance me out. I need someone who understands the urge to rush off to the west coast because of some chewed gum and a paper star. I need forever chasers, and forever is something Vin couldn’t foresee.
Not much is said as Emily crumples up her bag and drives around to a trash bin to toss it away. She fumbles through the radio stations, mentions liking this one song, hating another one, and screams at a car that just flew past her doing at least eighty miles-per-hour on the highway.
“Do you think Jace will be weird tonight?” she asks. “You know, since the arrest?”
He will most definitely be weird tonight. It’s been a few hours, so he’s had time to let the adrenaline rush wear off, but the only problem with that is now he’ll be more concerned and worried about the aftermath. He’s probably sitting in his office right now trying to think of how we’ll handle the media once this blows up overnight. It’s already hit SurfTube and the internet, but Crescent Cove’s local gossip tabloid is at press right this moment. It’ll be plastered up and down The Strip in the morning, decorating the newsstands right outside of Drenaline Surf.
“Jace can handle it,” I say instead. I glance out the window to see dusk settling in above the ocean, wiping away the remnants of color among the clouds. “He’s level-headed. He will find a way to downplay it or maybe just ignore it.”
When we arrive at Drenaline Surf, I unlock the front door. Boxes are strewn around the main showroom, some overflowing on the floor. This is all we have to show for the competition today – merch that was crammed into boxes haphazardly and brought back to the store to go unsold.
Kale and Logan are already here. Logan looks up from a box of T-shirts and acknowledges us with a half-smile. Then he scribbles something down on the inventory form on his clipboard.
“Hopefully we didn’t lose too much,” Jace says from the office doorway. “Just grab a box and a control sheet. That’s all I know to do.”
Emily and I join in, documenting shirt sizes and colors so Jace can compare them to the list of items that left the store today. In the madness of punches and elbows today, it’s been rumored that Liquid Spirit lost a lot of items due to thieves grabbing and running in the commotion. They don’t seem to mind. Greg Carson even laughed on camera saying that it’s free advertisement and ‘maybe they’ll like our products to enough to actually purchase them next time.’
It’s easy for a corporation like Liquid Spirit to lose a few shirts and blocks of surf wax. We don’t have that luxury. Every single T-shirt matters. Every surf leash, every board, every pair of sunglasses. Those are the things that keep this store afloat. That’s what keeps our surfers in events. That’s what lets Shark’s dream continue, and it’s hard as hell to keep goin
g in a world that’s all about the take and never about the give.
Fortunately, we have people like Kale and Logan who are so entirely grateful for their sponsorships that they spend their evening counting shirts for Jace when Kale could’ve been having an awesome beach luau at his house or Logan could’ve been…doing whatever it is that Logan does when he’s alone.
Jace tells us to holler if we need him and shuts himself away in the back office. He doesn’t seem to want to make eye contact with anyone tonight. I hope he’s not in there banging his head against the wall for what happened today.
I grab a box from behind the counter and settle in next to Logan on the floor.
“You gave up your awesome Saturday night plans for this?” I ask, hoping he’ll give me some insight as to what the hell he does around here.
“Playing online word games isn’t as much fun as you’d think,” Logan says, looking at the tag inside a blue Drenaline Surf shirt. “There are only so many words that rhyme with ‘made.’”
“Shade, glade, fade, wade,” Kale rambles off from across the room.
I wish I had never asked because Kale spends the next hour rambling off rhyming words for any random word he can grab from our conversations. At times, it’s hilarious, but Kale’s enthusiasm can be overbearing after a while, especially after the kind of day we’ve had.
It’s shortly after nine o’clock when Logan calls it a night. He says something about meeting a trainer in the morning for a work out session, but I don’t bother with getting details. It does strike me as odd that only one of our Drenaline Surf surfers has a trainer. I guess that’s what Logan’s been doing since he hasn’t been invited to hang out with anyone. He’s been prepping to become a better surfer.
Then Emily asks the question that I refuse to ask myself. “Who meets with a trainer on a Sunday morning?”
Oh, why did she have to bring that to the surface? No one meets with a trainer on Sunday mornings, that’s who. If he wanted to quit counting shirts or just go home and crash, he could’ve said so.
Kale laughs. “He just said that so he could go home and play online,” he says. “He probably reads stuff about himself and then plays online poker or something to blow off steam. Word games? Really? C’mon. You guys didn’t buy that, did you?”
For half a second, yes. But Kale is right. Word games and Sunday training sessions? I feel like such an idiot for thinking Logan may actually be this great guy and a good representative of Drenaline Surf.
“No way,” Emily says. “Word games? I knew he was bullshitting the moment he said that. I’m still on the fence about him.”
Suddenly, I am too. I can’t imagine him trying to harm Drenaline Surf, but he fed me the perfect story about having never met Shark but believing in his vision. He played into the ‘I want to be like Colby Taylor’ game, which is sadly a way to connect with me, even if I hate admitting it. Did Logan play me for a fool? Was that all just a beautifully tanned poker face that I fell for?
And it clicks – poker.
The clipboard falls from my hands, and Emily and Kale jump at the sound.
“Sorry,” I say, snatching it up from the floor. “What you said – online poker. Do you think Logan is gambling?”
Kale shrugs and shakes his head, like he isn’t even sure where I’m coming from digging into his random offhand remark. Sometimes this boy is so dense.
“Think about it,” I say. “If he’s gambling, he needs money. He needs fast money. He’s probably blown through the sign-on bonus for his contract. He’s only won that one event since he’s been signed. Do you think he’s selling stories to the tabloids? What if Colby’s parents are paying him off for info about their son?”
My brain may actually burst. Here I was blaming Dominic – with reason – for digging our graves. I even thought Greg Carson was heartbroken over losing Topher to us. This may have been an inside job all along, just like Colby said he thought it was.
“Haley, do you hear yourself?” Kale asks, cracking a silly smile. “We could turn this around on any of us. You and Colby could be painted as guilty as easily as Logan just because you’re not from here. Hell, I’m not even from here. You’re starting to think like those crazy gossip columnists you’ve been reading.”
I laugh it off because I don’t want Kale or Emily to know just how deep I’ve drowned in the PR nightmare that is Drenaline Surf. But if I’m going to get ahead of these media pricks, I have to think like them. Maybe then, I’ll be one step closer to figuring out who is pulling us under.
Chapter Sixteen
“Sixteen shirts, eight things of surf wax, and three surf leashes,” I recount to Jace the next morning. I place the inventory control forms on his desk. “That’s what we lost.”
“That along with four entry fees, my bail money, and those little things I used to call my reputation and dignity,” Jace says.
He unfolds the front page of the Cove Gazette to show me the damage. It’s in black and white, which I think actually makes it look harsher than it already does.
“I officially have a mug shot,” Jace declares. “Can I just hang myself on the Wall of Shame next to Colby’s coffee table meltdown?”
I haven’t actually looked at that wall since the day Vin taped Colby’s tabletop disaster to it. He seems to have added to it along the way, before his big departure. There’s an article about Colby’s parents with a photograph of Mrs. Burks. It’s from the day of her arrival. She’s on the beach with that large sunhat, hand over her heart, jaw dropped. How unbelievable staged.
“Personally, I think you’ve earned your spot,” I say, reaching over for the tape dispenser.
Jace laughs, which eases some of the nervousness I felt when I woke up this morning. He’s brushing this off. He’s moving forward. That’s the attitude we need right now.
“I bet Shark never imagined my mug shot would be on the wall of Drenaline Surf when he started posting photographs on the wall in the board room,” Jace says.
A swell of nostalgia washes into the office, taking Jace on an epic ride along a wave called memory lane. I need to spend more time up here, taking in the little things. That first day in the store, I was so excited to find that picture of Colby and Shark in the midst of surf injuries and beach parties on the wall. I want to go back to that moment, just to feel that way again.
“We’ve gotta fix this mess,” Jace says, pulling me away from the memory. “Can you talk to the other guys about Logan’s idea? We need to get this surf lessons thing up and going pretty quickly. We need some good publicity, and we desperately need to drive some business in here.”
“I’ll handle it,” I assure him.
It’s only a few hours after lunch, but that doesn’t mean anything to Miles Garrett. When I asked him and Emily to tag along with Topher and me for the afternoon, I didn’t bother to tell them about my hidden agenda – also known as ‘get the Hooligans onboard with Logan’s idea to make Drenaline Surf look good.’ All I had to say was ‘burritos’ and ‘hang out.’
Topher sits in my driver’s seat, with Miles behind him and Emily behind me. Even though Emily and I were right here at the drive-in last night, it didn’t stop her from wanting to come back today. She only orders a grape slush this time, though. Miles, on the other hand, orders four breakfast burritos (at three o’clock in the afternoon), and Topher orders a cheeseburger. This is why they can’t stand living with Colby Taylor.
“So, I need some surfer feedback,” I say, angling toward Topher so he and Miles can both see me. “We’ve been trying to come up with something that would bring in new business, make Drenaline Surf look good, and get our surfers involved without making you stand behind the cash register.”
Miles groans. “I’m just ready to be back in the water,” he says.
“Exactly,” I agree, hoping I can lead him into this. “What do you think about giving surf lessons?” I ask.
Before they can answer, our food is delivered. This will work to my advantage because the
y won’t be talking. As soon as Topher pays and the car-hop disappears, I give them the pitch I’ve been working on all day.
“Think about it. You get out of the store, into the ocean, get to surf during business hours, and you get a commission off any lessons you give,” I say. “And you can do it once a week or whatever works with your schedule. Nothing is set in stone.”
Topher tilts his head like a confused puppy, but I know that far away look that’s in his eyes. He’s thinking about it. He’s playing it out in his head. Right now, he’s out there in those crystal blue waters of Crescent Cove.
“I’m in,” he says, far too easily.
“That was much simpler than I expected,” I admit to him.
He smiles a classic Topher Brooks kind of smile. “I was just thinking about what it was like when I was a kid. Just a grom, frothing to get out there and catch my first wave,” he says, still smiling. “Sometimes, when I get in the water, I remember that first day with Shark, him telling me when to pop up. It was the best feeling. He’d want me to do this.”
I glance over at Miles. He shrugs and says something that sounds like ‘sure’ but it’s hard to tell when he’s teeth-deep in a burrito. Topher starts telling us about the first time he surfed in Horn Island, down by the pier, years before it collapsed. It was the day of his first wipe out, and he laughs when he says that he told Shark he was never surfing again afterward.
He begins to say something else but stops when he feels a shadow looming over him. I duck my head down near my car’s radio to see the person who just walked up to my car. I don’t recognize him. Apparently, neither does Topher.
My boyfriend cracks the window, just barely. “Can we help you?” he asks.
“Are you Topher Brooks?” the guy asks. “The guy who surfs for Drenaline Surf?”
