Rough Waters (16 page)

Topher returns with breakfast burritos, per
Miles’s request, and a vanilla frappe.

“This is your usual coffee, right?” he asks,
handing me the cup.

“You can’t call a vanilla frappe ‘coffee,’”
Miles says. “That’s like a damn vanilla milkshake.”

Topher shoves the food at Miles. “Dude, if
she wants to call it coffee, it’s coffee.”

Miles shakes his head. “Why are you siding
with a chick over me? Bromance comes before everything else,
Brooks,” he says.

Topher sits in the chair across from us and
opens a bottle of Ocean Blast Energy. He takes the longest gulp
ever before he answers.

“You side with Emily over me every time, even
when I’m right,” he says.

“Emily’s my
girlfriend
,” Miles
emphasizes.

“And Haley’s my…brother’s…girlfriend.” Topher
looks into the blue liquid in his bottle like he’s waiting for
something to swim up out of it and choke him.

Miles fake coughs. “How much longer is that
charade going to last?” he asks, turning toward me instead of
Topher.

Topher mumbles the word ‘seriously’ and walks
back to his room. Miles asks where he’s going, and he says he has
to get ready for today. I wonder if breakfast with the Hooligans is
always this tense and uncomfortable.

“Haley,” Miles says, using his serious tone.
“There are tons of surfboards in the ocean, and you’re just sitting
on the shoreline wasting away. I think it’s time to get in the
water and paddle out, if you get my drift.”

“Thank you for your advice, Dr. Garrett,” I
say. “You can just bill me for this session.”

With that, I follow Topher’s lead and exit to
my room, vanilla frappe in hand. I may be ready to walk out the
door for this tournament, but I’m so far from ready for what today
is going to bring.

The shoreline and sand are sprinkled with
bikinis, board shorts, and anxious surfers waiting for their
moments to shine in the water and possibly be noticed by someone
who can make their dreams a reality. I glance over my shoulder to
make sure Miles isn’t too far behind. Even though he’s told us
repeatedly to go on without him, I don’t feel right about leaving
the boy on crutches to make it through the sand alone.

“I wonder if your brother has looked at the
lineup for today,” I say, shielding my eyes to see Topher.

He shrugs and gnaws into his apple while we
wait for Miles to hobble along and catch up to us. I should’ve made
the breakfast run instead this morning. Then Miles wouldn’t have
had time to confront me about Vin, and Topher wouldn’t be eating
breakfast while dragging his surfboards through the sand.

I scope out the competitors’ areas as we walk
by. Colby waves from the first tent and motions us toward him. Vin
isn’t anywhere in the vicinity. Topher and Miles follow me toward
the infamous surfer.

“You didn’t even give him time to eat?” Colby
asks, nodding toward Topher. “It’s competition day. Breakfast is
the most important meal of the day.”

Oh God. I hope he doesn’t get all ‘your body
is a temple’ on me. I don’t know why Colby hasn’t been picked up by
some water company or fitness training center. He’d be a better
poster boy for them than he is Drenaline Surf. He really lives that
lifestyle, minus his Wall of Shame moment.

“Food of champions,” Topher says, tossing his
apple core into a nearby trash can. “That’s why I’m surfing today
and breakfast-burritos-on-crutches isn’t.”

Miles steals Colby’s chair while Colby and I
quickly run through any major questions he may get asked, but he’s
done his homework. He answers them just as Vin has coached him to
answer. He’s too well-rehearsed. Anyone could see through his act,
which only makes him less relatable and more unlikable.

“You can’t answer like this,” I tell him.
“You sound coached, in a bad way – like someone fed lines to you
that aren’t even phrases you’d use. It’s obvious that you’re saying
what you’ve been forced to say, and people will only hate you
more.”

Topher nods in agreement. “You sound like a
robot,” he says. “Everyone knows you’re in a mess right now. They
want the truth, not whatever my brother told you to say.”

“I can’t tell them the truth,” Colby says,
glancing over at me.

He’s right. No one can know about the lawsuit
or that Drenaline Surf may be served with legal papers next.

“You’re right,” I say. “But let’s do this.
I’m going to give Topher the questions we discussed, and you answer
them as truthfully as you can to him. If you can’t say it to
Topher, you can’t say it to the public. And for the hell of it,
pretend like Topher isn’t mad at Vin, so you can’t say anything bad
about him either.”

Topher laughs and the two of them walk
further out of earshot to revamp Colby’s answers. Since Topher
doesn’t know about the lawsuit, Colby can alter his answers
carefully but still be himself and hopefully be more likable. And
unlike Vin, I trust Topher not to let anyone say anything that
could hurt Drenaline Surf, which is why I know Colby’s in good
hands.

An hour later, Miles finishes up his second
interview of lies regarding his injury and how he was ‘practicing
new maneuvers and wiped out, slamming his leg into his board.’ I
almost believe him myself, and I know that he actually just surfed
stupidly and slammed into Horn Island’s rocks. Vin would be
impressed, though, and that’s what matters at this point.

We find our way back over to the competitors’
area. Colby shakes his wet hair around and slides Topher’s boards
out from behind his own, where Topher has been hiding them all
morning. From what I’ve gathered, Vin hasn’t stopped by to check in
on Colby. He’s too wrapped up in the façade of Logan Riley, the
fresh new face of Drenaline Surf. I could vomit.

“Go suit up,” Colby tells Topher. “Maybe
you’ll already have paddled out by the time Vin realizes you’re in
this heat.”

Miles laughs. “Yeah, you’re home free once
you’re in the water because you know he sure as fuck isn’t going to
paddle out after you.”

“He’d let me drown before he’d paddle out,”
Topher mumbles. He grabs his competition jersey and a bottle of
Ocean Blast Energy, and he pulls his T-shirt over his head. I
glance away so Miles won’t have any reason to make things more
awkward than he already has today.

Colby leans in toward me. “My interview is in
fifteen minutes,” he says. “I won’t screw this up, I promise. Stay
here with Topher. He’ll need you to be there for him more than I
will. When he comes out of the water, Vin is going to flip out. I
swear, I’ll watch my words.”

I don’t even hesitate. “Okay, go over to tent
three,” I say. “You’re meeting with Bridget Parker from SurfTube.
She’s a tiny little blonde, and she’s wearing four-inch heels. You
can’t miss her.”

Colby nods. “Got it. I won’t let you
down.”

I send a prayer to all of Kale’s Hawaiian
gods that Colby doesn’t.

My nerves crawl through my body, like an
octopus spreading all eight tentacles around a treasure chest and
stealing it from pirates. The air horn sounds, and Topher rushes
into the water with Todd Copeland and Brendan Ridenour.

Miles grabs his crutches and says we should
go closer to the shoreline to get a better view. I sort of hope we
can blend in with the spectators and Vin won’t be able to find us
as easily. Then again, I’m roaming the beach with the only
dreadlocked blonde on crutches, so we stick out like a sapphire in
a chest of rubies.

The upside of Miles and his crutches is that
he’s well-known in the Cali surf scene, so plenty of people are
more than willing to let him squeeze through closer to the
shoreline. It only costs him a few autographs and selfies. For
those who don’t know him, the crutches take on a charm of their
own.

“Hey! Drenaline Surf!” a guy shouts.

Miles and I both pull our eyes from Topher
and the water to see who is shouting about our employer. Clover
waves from behind his digital camera and motions for us to come
stand with him. Miles doesn’t object.

“Topher is fucking killing it,” Clover says,
looking back out at the water. “You need to let me send him this
footage. It’ll be better than that stuff he has on YouTube.”

Miles and I stand silently, nodding along and
smiling at Clover’s over-the-top enthusiasm.

“It’s okay to talk,” Clover says. “I kill the
audio and add music, so it’ll be sponsor-worthy. I know Drenaline
Surf can’t post videos with me saying shit like ‘Topher’s fucking
killing it.’”

Apparently, Clover keeps up with the
California surf scene better than the rest of us. He rambles off
stats on the other two guys, gives us a breakdown of how Topher
should start working on an air game because it’s the future of
surfing, and then asks Miles what maneuver he was attempting when
he broke his leg. I sort of want to hire this guy – filmmaker slash
surf analyst. Too bad I don’t have the power to do so. I may not
even have a PR job once this heat is over and Vin locates us.

As the heat winds down and Topher sits with a
strong lead, Miles and I walk back up toward the competitors’ area.
Clover waits by the water’s edge to capture the moment when Topher
comes out of the water.

“Fuck,” Miles mumbles. “Your boyfriend’s
waiting.”

Vin stands under the tent with Logan. His
lips move, probably coaching Logan to find his zen place before a
heat, but his eyes never leave his little brother. I may need
Miles’s crutches to hold me up once I hear what Vin has to say. I’m
pretty sure my legs will give out on me since I’m already
shaky.

Once we’re under the shade of the tent, Vin
cuts his eyes to me. “How did he afford that entry fee?” he asks, a
bit too calmly.

I debate lying, but I can’t think up a good
story fast enough. “A.J.’s charges were dropped, and the city
reimbursed him and Reed, so they gave Topher his money back,” I
say.

Vin looks back at the water as the air horn
sounds and Topher advances to the third round of the Sunrise Valley
Tournament.

“Who brought the money up here? He’s been
working, and I know he hasn’t been out of town,” Vin says.

“Alston and I did yesterday,” I say, finding
a bit of strength in my voice.

The worst Vin can do is fire me from
Drenaline Surf, and Colby Taylor will riot if he does. Scratch that
– Vin doesn’t give a damn what Colby does, and he doesn’t know the
kind of power Colby has right now. So yeah, I’ll probably just get
fired, and that’ll be that.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about this?” Vin
asks, looking back at me. “He’s my brother, and you knew damn well
how I felt about letting him surf here. It wasn’t your place to do
this.”

Miles grabs onto my shoulder to balance
himself. “Maybe she didn’t talk to you about it because you don’t
have any fucking time for anyone but Logan,” he says.

Oh Miles. Why did you have to do that? The
sand’s about to hit the fan.

Vin shakes his head and smirks like he always
does when he’s about to be an arrogant asshole. I want to grab
Miles’s crutch and use it as a sword to defend us because Vin’s
about to draw.

“Where’s Taylor?” he asks instead. He glances
around dramatically and then looks down at me. “Wait, that
interview, correct? The one you were supposed to go with him to so
you could monitor what he says?”

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.”

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.”