Always Summer (11 page)

“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.

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 on.

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.

I hate that he has to play this part for us.
He’s such a puppet, and I’m sure everyone can see it, but they
can’t prove it. I’m thankful for that.

“But I’m super stoked to be part of this,”
he continues. “I never had the opportunity to meet Shark
McAllister, but I believe in his vision. That’s why I wanted to
surf for Drenaline Surf rather than a huge corporation. I wanted to
be in a place that really focused on the heart of surfing, and I
can’t think of anywhere better than here to be.”

Should I just turn in my resignation letter?
This guy is better at PR than I am, and he didn’t even have ‘master
manipulator’ Vin Brooks to train him. Once the SurfTube guy has
moved on to the next tent, I pull Logan aside.

“Were you a PR rep in another life?” I
ask.

His face falls grim. “I’m so sorry,” he
says. “Did I overstep?”

“No,” I say quickly. “You were just very
much on point, like you’d been trained to say exactly the right
thing in the moment.”

He laughs. “I was on the debate team in high
school. I had to learn to think on my feet. It’s one of my few
natural talents,” he says.

Colby Taylor is such a fraud. That whole
company is full of incest with their inner-circle dating. Isn’t
that Theo guy an alcoholic?

Logan’s eyes meet mine upon hearing the
remarks. I send him off to prepare for his heat. Then I glance at
our neighbor’s tent. The Liquid Spirit guys hover around the edge,
staring over at our staff like they’re waiting for someone to make
a move. They’re close enough to make us uncomfortable but not close
enough that we can complain to the beach security. It’s like
there’s a literal line drawn in the sand, and they’re toeing the
edge.

I walk around the table of merch and find
Jace. Something has to give. I can’t keep the Hooligans at bay too
long. It’ll only take a few more jabs before Miles is hopping on
his one good foot toward them to shove a literal boot up their
asses.

“This is getting out of hand,” I whisper.
“They’re going above and beyond to provoke us.”

A.J. walks up next to me, just arriving at
the tent, to see what’s going on. And that’s when the next insult
comes our way.

“Look at the freaks they’ve got working for
them,” a guy shouts out. “Isn’t that the guy who stays in
jail?”

Jace shakes his head, letting A.J. know not
to react. I’m surprised at how calm my crazy Mexican roommate is.
It’s like he’s not even offended. He’s probably heard it more times
than I realize, though.

“I wish I still had my crutches,” Miles
says, pushing himself up off the chair. “I might not can walk, but
I could beat the fuck out of some Liquid Spirit sons of bitches
with those things.”

“Sit down,” Jace orders. “No one is beating
anyone with anything, and you need to watch your mouth. You’re
representing Shark McAllister and Drenaline Surf.”

Miles laughs. “And Shark would’ve already
busted that motherfucker’s face wide open.”

Jace tilts his head and squeezes the back of
his neck. You can tell that he hates to smile at Miles’s comment,
but he does.

“I like to think that Shark was on the path
of growing up,” Jace says. “He was still professional, and that’s
what we need to be. I’m posting myself up over here, between you
guys and Liquid Spirit, so if you’re going to jump someone’s ass,
you’re going to have to get through me first.”

Jace settles into his spot, still under our
tent, with his back turned to Liquid Spirit. He folds his arms over
his chest and stands like a bouncer at a club who refuses to let
you in the door. He seems taller, and he’s already six-foot-three.
He’s never looked dangerous before, but that close-to-his-scalp
haircut and rugged jawline seem more defined now, more
militant.

I can’t believe they hired Shark
McAllister’s drunkass murderer.

And that’s when it happens.

Jace spins around, and his fist meets the
guy’s face.

This definitely wasn’t part of my training.
Once the initial fist is thrown, an eruption of chaos and
disturbance overflows from the Drenaline Surf/Liquid Spirit battle,
like a volcano spewing the hottest of lavas over the sands. Jace
pulls back, instantly realizing that he lost his cool, but it’s too
late now. The damage has been done.

Miles inserts himself into the madness,
using his elbow like it’s a lethal weapon, all while managing to
balance on his one good foot. Kale darts past me in such a blur
that his dark hair and perfect tan almost look like a CGI
wolf-shift from a paranormal film.

Theo grabs Jace’s shoulders, pulling him
back from the madness. But there’s a glimmer in Theo’s eyes that
scares me because I know he’s flirting with that dangerous line
between stopping the madness and joining the fight.

It’s absolute pandemonium that I can’t even
think of stopping. Those few seconds between pushing and shoving,
upturned tables, and flying fists and the eventual arrival of beach
security feel like lingering moments of eternity.

Given, they got here quickly. Colby and
Logan didn’t even make it back to our tent in time to see any of it
go down.

“What the fuck just happened?” A.J. asks,
pushing through the onlookers who’ve been screaming ‘FIGHT!’ this
entire time.