The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (190 page)

“Whatever you need to do.”

We walked through the doors of the building and I wiped my hands down the sides of my suit. I didn't think I'd ever get used to the feel of the fabric, how constricting the pants and the shirt and the jacket felt against my skin. A group of girls approached from the other direction. They were tan, athletic girls, girls who'd traded their rashguards and bikini bottoms for strapless dresses and heels. They didn't look nearly as uncomfortable as me.

Gina noticed me staring at them and immediately got the wrong impression. “No hitting on any of the girls.”

I raised my eyebrows. “What about their moms?”

“No one!”

“I was kidding. Jesus. Relax already.”

She was still shaking her head when we walked into the banquet room. The back wall was a sheet of glass, the Pacific off in the distance, glistening in the late day sun. Round tables decorated with flowers and place settings filled the room. By my count, I saw about a hundred people huddled in small groups, laughing and talking. More college-aged girls in tight fitting dresses, surrounded by their dressed-up parents. A few boyfriends, most not looking nearly as uncomfortable as I felt in my monkey suit. A few heads turned toward us as we stepped through the doors, accompanied by widened eyes and a few whispers. When I'd first made it big on the surfing scene, my face splashed all over magazines and surfing sites, the attention had stopped me, confused me. After a little while, though, my chest had swelled and I'd felt like a big shot.

Now, I just smiled and nodded and didn't say anything.

A tall woman with bright blond hair approached us, a smile just as bright plastered on her face. She was older, probably pushing forty. She wore a black dress similar to Gina's but it didn't look nearly as good on her. She nodded at both of us, then extended her hand to me. “Mr. Handler. We're so happy to have you here tonight on such short notice. I'm Ellen Burgess, the head coach.”

I shook her hand. “Thanks. Call me Kellen.”

The smile increased and she looked at Gina. “Ms. Bellori, right?”

Gina nodded and they shook hands.

“Thank you so much for setting this up,” Ellen gushed to Gina. “We were so thrilled to get your call.”

I wondered what they'd had planned for the evening before Gina had called, before I'd been ordered to do a month's worth of appearances and community service. Maybe Ellen had been scheduled to deliver the dinner address. Maybe that was why she looked so happy to see me, because she'd been relieved of her duties for the evening.

“Kellen was thrilled to have the opportunity,” Gina said.

There was silence and I realized they were both staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Thank you.”

Ellen smiled again and gestured toward the room. “We have you seated at the coaches table. You'll be sitting with me, two other coaches and our assistant athletic director.”

I nodded.

“Dinner will start in about half an hour. After we're finished, I'll do a quick welcome and introduction and then you'll be up. Then we'll have some awards and things like that. The entire thing shouldn't be longer than three hours.”

Three hours? My stomach jumped.

“In the meantime, feel free to mingle, talk to our girls,” Ellen said. “I'm pretty sure they're going to make a beeline for you. Can't think of a time when we've had someone this big in the surfing world at one of our events. And please let me know if there's anything I can do.”

Gina thanked her and she headed off to the other end of the room.

I turned to Gina. “I need a drink,” I whispered.

“Water or tea?”

I nodded toward an older guy holding a glass of wine. “I'll have one of those. Or three.”

“Water or tea,” Gina repeated, her voice firm. “Those are your choices.”

“One drink,” I said. “Just to loosen me up. I have to give a goddamn speech, remember?”

“I remember,” she said, fighting a smile. “I helped you write it.”

“Please,” I said. I tried giving her a look to soften her up but it didn't work.

She shook her head so hard, her hair almost bounced out of her bun. “Nope.”

I sighed. “Fine. Water.” And then, under my breath, I said, “Hard ass.”

She laughed as she sauntered off. “You have no idea.” She stopped, then turned to look at me, her eyes narrowed. “Here come the girls. Best behavior.”

Before I could say anything, she was gone, weaving her way through the crowded room. Three girls headed straight for me, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and awe.

One girl, a blond wearing a strapless blue dress, approached first. “We just wanted to say hi,” she said. She wore blue eyeliner and nail polish, both the same color as her dress. I'd never seen a chick so color coordinated.

“Hey,” I said. “I'm Kellen.”

I shook her hand and then offered my hand to the other two girls, as well. They were more nervous than I'd originally thought, laughing and stammering as we chatted a little about surfing. None of them seem particularly interested in hitting on me, which took me a little by surprise. Not because I thought they would but because that was how most chicks reacted to me. But then I remembered where I met most girls – in bars and at competitions. Those girls were looking to hook up; these girls were just looking to talk.

With the ice broken, more girls wandered over. Soon, I was surrounded by a couple dozen girls, all of them asking me questions about surfing, not about what it was like to be famous. They wanted to know about where I'd surfed and where the best breaks were and what board I used for surfing the local breaks. Several asked me to sign their banquet programs. One mentioned she liked my tie.

At one point during our conversation, I scanned the room. Gina still hadn't come back with my water. I spotted her next to the cash bar set up in the corner, standing next to some guy, smiling and laughing. I felt a surge of irritation as I watched her talking animatedly, using her hands to emphasize something as she spoke. I didn't want her to talk to someone else like that. And I didn't like seeing it.

Ellen pushed her way through the crowd of girls surrounding me. “Time to take our seats,” she said, ushering the girls to their tables. I followed her to the coaches table at the front of the room and took a seat next to her. Gina appeared a minute later and handed me a glass of ice water.

“I didn't want to interrupt,” she said.

“I could have said the same thing.” I grabbed the glass and downed half of it. “I think I'm dehydrated.”

“No, you were talking a lot and you're nervous,” she said, her voice low so Ellen couldn't hear. “Just drink. But not too much. Wouldn't be good if you had to pee while you were giving your speech.”

“Who were you talking to?”

“What?”

“The dude.” I tried not to sound like some jealous asshole but I wasn't sure I was succeeding. Not that I had any reason to be jealous. But it didn't matter.

“Wyatt?” she asked and the name came out so casual, so familiar, that I clenched my jaw to keep from spewing out something I might regret later. “He's one of the assistant coaches. The guy I initially spoke with to get this set up.”

The irritation disappeared and I felt like an even bigger asshole. She was just doing her job, making sure she and I both came off looking good. And here I was, stewing like some miffed boyfriend.

If she noticed my attitude, she didn't say anything. Instead, she turned to Wyatt, who had just taken his seat at the table, and began making introductions. Wyatt and the other assistant, a bald guy named Beau, seemed genuinely happy to have me there. The administrator, a dark-haired woman dressed in a navy blue pantsuit, didn't appear to have a clue who I was, which was just fine with me.

A server arrived with our salads.

“So,” Wyatt said to me. I pegged him at about thirty. Brownish hair, friendly green eyes. “It's seriously cool that you're here. Girls were really stoked when they found out you'd be speaking tonight.”

“Thanks again for having me,” I said, drizzling dressing over the pile of greens on my plate.

He finished chewing his bite of salad. “I was a little surprised,” he said. “You had kind of a rough weekend.”

I set the dressing back on the table and fiddled with the napkin in my lap. “Yeah. Surfing was good, the rest wasn't.”

The administrator was seated next to Wyatt and she squinted at me. “Did something go wrong? I was told you won some big competition. I apologize for my ignorance.”

Before I could say anything, Gina stepped in for me. “Kellen is a target when he's out in public sometimes, like any person in the public eye. Nine times out of ten, people are friendly and just want to say hello. But that tenth person can sometimes be looking for trouble. The tenth person showed up this weekend.”

The administrator winced. “Ah, I see. Yes, I'm sure it can be difficult discerning who wants to be your friend for the right reasons.”

“Sometimes, yes,” I said, burying my fork in the salad.

Wyatt asked some more questions about The Open and fortunately didn't bring up anything more about the bar fight. He seemed knowledgeable enough about surfing and talking to him was easy. The administrator struck up a conversation with Ellen and Gina and, with their attention off of me, I relaxed a little.

Our salads were cleared and dinner was served, a plate with fried chicken, roasted potatoes and steamed vegetables. None of it looked appetizing but I also wasn’t hungry. I chalked it up to nerves. I ate a few bites of chicken and ended up pushing the rest of it around on my plate. There was more polite conversation about surfing, about their season, about San Diego, about beaches. If anyone noticed I was avoiding my food, they didn't say anything.

Twenty minutes later, we were waiting on coffee and dessert. I was the only one at the table to decline both.

Wyatt rested his elbows on the table and turned his attention back to me. “So, I've got a question for you.”

“Alright.”

“Is there any break you haven't gotten to surf yet? Any place you'd like to go?”

I thought back to what Gina had said in the car, about the traveling I'd done. I flashed through some of the more epic surfing trips and competitions I'd experienced. Mexico. Hawaii. South Africa. Thailand. “I don't think so. I've been pretty lucky. I've gotten to go pretty much everywhere.”

He nodded and his smiled faded. “Would you...do you think you would ever go back to Mavericks?”

My stomach knotted and I cleared my throat, but couldn't find any words. There was nothing there. I was frozen.

“What is Mavericks?” the administrator asked, looking around the table.

“It's a place near San Francisco,” Ellen explained. “It's a break with some of the largest waves on the planet each winter. Most people can't surf it; it's too dangerous.”

The administrator raised an eyebrow. “Oh, my.”

“I'm sorry,” Wyatt said, holding a hand. “Bad question. I apologize.”

I swallowed again, trying to cough up the words.

Gina reached out and rested her hand on my thigh. Even through the fabric, I could feel the warmth of her touch as she gently squeezed. If she'd done it an hour ago, I would have taken it a different way. Suggestive. Flirtatious. But I knew what she was doing; reaching out, making sure I knew she was there if I needed her, reassuring me that I could do this. I could get through the question and I could get through the rest of the night, too.

“It's okay,” I finally said. “It's okay. And, no. I don't plan to go back. There's...there's nothing for me there, man. I don't need to go back.”

Wyatt nodded, like he understood.

But, of course, he didn't. No one did. No one else was there that day. No one saw me goad Jay into making the drive up the coast. No one understood watching him go under. No one understood looking for him when he didn't come up. No one understood pulling his body out of the Boneyard.

Just me.

“Well,” Ellen said, standing. “I'm going to get this thing moving forward.” She smiled at each of us and made her way toward the podium at the front of the room.

Gina leaned over to me. “Focus,” she whispered. “You're fine. If you get stuck, just look at me. But you can do this and you'll be great.”

I nodded.

“Just focus,” she said. “Forget dinner.”

I knew what she was alluding to. She wanted me to get Jay out of my head. Easier said than done.

Ellen did what was probably a standard intro for banquets, thanking people for coming and thanking the committee that had arranged the evening's events. Then she cleared her throat and the lights dimmed and a large screen behind her lit up. With a picture of me. It was one I knew well—me in Indonesia last summer, hoisted on Matty's shoulders, the Billabong Pro trophy in my hands. Oakley shades on, my O'Neill rashguard featured prominently in the picture, all my sponsors front and center. And standing next to me, his arms thrown in the air in celebration, was Jay. My knee started bouncing and Gina reached out again to steady me. She leaned close and I felt her breath in my ear, could smell her shampoo, as she whispered, “Focus.”

I tried. I looked away from the screen and stared instead at the space behind it, the wall that looked out on to the disappearing sun and the ocean that was ablaze with color. I listened as Ellen talked about me. She hit all the high points – the accolades I'd earned, the rankings I'd held, the win that weekend in Huntington Beach – and then she said my name and people began to clap and I realized I was up.

Gina patted my thigh and I pushed myself out of the chair. I ran a hand over my tie, took a deep breath and walked to the podium. My legs felt wobbly, like I'd just spent an afternoon in the water. I shook hands with Ellen and she took her seat back at the table. I waited for her to sit down, then pulled the speech from my coat pocket and laid it on the podium. I looked up.

Every single eye in the room was on me. It suddenly looked like a thousand people rather than a hundred. They were quiet, expectant, waiting for me begin. I'd been in front of far bigger crowds, but I'd been in the water. This time, there was no ocean and I didn't have my board. I didn't have the one thing I was good at to fall back on. All I had were words.