Always Summer (12 page)

“Jace punched a guy,” I say, my voice shaky.
“We’re so fucked.”

“Whoa. Wha…What?
Jace
?” A.J. asks as
security guards push themselves in between our two tents.

Jace grabs Miles and pulls him back, but he
can’t stop Miles from popping off at the mouth. The boy just keeps
shouting.

Logan calms Kale down while Topher isolates
Miles from the rest of the beach. At least about half of our
Drenaline Surf team was somewhat composed. Then again, I doubt that
makes any kind of difference because our boss threw the first
punch.

The security team takes statements from
Liquid Spirit first. Greg Carson hovers over every surfer and staff
member as they speak, like he’s overseeing the statements to make
sure we’re made to be the bad guys in this situation.

I keep my back turned to the crowd around
the tents, hoping not to get caught in the crossfire. A girl from
SurfTube is a few feet away, covering the story about a ‘chaotic
fight that broke out’ between two rival surf companies. This just
gets better and better. All of that great footage of Logan talking
about surf lessons and giving back probably got deleted from the
hard drives to make room for this crap.

“I can’t believe I did that,” Jace says,
sitting on a box of Drenaline Surf merchandise. “I absolutely
fucked us over. After all that preaching I did…”

This was truly the last thing I expected to
happen today. I was prepared for gossip and smart remarks. I was
ready for the lies and attempts to provoke us. I was more than
ready to break Miles’s other leg the moment he started hobbling
toward someone ready to fight.

“What happens now?” Jace asks, looking up
from the sand toward me.

“Well, we will probably be disqualified,” I
tell him. “We may even be banned from certain events in the future.
They’ll probably force us to leave the beach. And the usual media
circus will have the ultimate tabloid party at our expense.”

That’s the worst that I can dream up,
anyway. It’s typical. I refuse to let myself dwell on the
consequences of today. It’s crazy how I went from super hopeful
this morning to feeling like the world just crashed down on us.
Today was supposed to bring us back to the heart of surfing. Now I
might as well pack up our tent.

A security officer comes over to our tent
and speaks with Jace first. I stick closely to them, to make sure
I’m fully aware of what is said so it can’t bite us later. I didn’t
even learn that trick from PR. I learned it from Colby Taylor.

“I just need you to be honest with me,” the
security officer says. “I’m getting statements from the other
parties involved that you threw the first punch. Is this
correct?”

Jace exhales, defeated. “Yes, that is
correct.”

“Because you initiated the fight, we’ve been
asked by the Beach Marshal and event organizers that your team be
disqualified from competing and all persons working for your
company be escorted off the beach immediately,” the security
officer explains.

They allow us long enough to pack up all of
our Drenaline Surf merch and bring the tent down, which may be even
more embarrassing than watching Jace throw punches at another surf
company. It’s like the ultimate walk of shame bringing down that
big blue tarp while people crowd around to watch like we’re taking
someone to an execution.

Jace keeps his sunglasses over his eyes,
refusing to speak to anyone other than telling us where to load
things in the back of his vehicle. I think he’s kicking his own ass
harder than Liquid Spirit could have even if they’d stood a
chance.

“Let’s just get this stuff back to the
store,” Jace says. “We’ll unload in the back parking lot and just
stack the boxes against the office wall. I’ll handle the inventory
side of it and restock later.”

The security team follows us as we make our
way back to the vehicles. I actually hear the clicking of camera
lenses, capturing our disgrace to plaster across the internet, the
gossip sites, the surf forums, and tomorrow’s Crescent Cove
tabloids.

I assign A.J. to Topher and Kale. Then I
direct Logan and Colby to keep a firm grasp on Miles. I can’t watch
all of them and maintain a professional image when I want to slip
beneath the waves and float away. Luckily, half of our team is
level-headed at the moment, while the other half are, well,
Hooligans.

My ‘just keep walking’ mentality fades away
quickly, though, the instant I see the blue lights in the distance.
And those lights can only mean one thing – Pittman. I turn back to
A.J., but I know he hasn’t done anything to provoke the law. He
wasn’t even involved in the fight. There’s no way this asshole cop
is pinning this on him. I won’t let him.

Pittman leans back against the patrol car,
casually waiting as we approach the parking lot. Something about
him reminds me of Vin. Maybe it’s the dark hair and that piercing
glare in his eyes. Or maybe it’s the arrogance. He is winter meets
warmth, sort of like biting into a gooey chocolate bar but
realizing there are shards of glass inside. That’s the vibe I get
from A.J.’s favorite officer.

“Jace Hudson,” he says, pushing himself off
of the car and easing toward us.

“Alex,” Jace says, no hint of emotion in his
voice.

Alex? I guess I just never thought of
Pittman actually having a first name. It’s weird. It makes him more
human, and I’m not quite sure I want to think of him as an actual
person.

“I hate to do this to you,” Pittman says,
looking away from Jace. “Liquid Spirit is pressing charges, and we
have to take you in. I asked them to let me do it.”

Jace shakes his head and chokes out a dry
laugh. I can’t find any humor in this, but I think he’s just truly
over it. All of it.

“Can you give me a minute to get some things
in order?” Jace asks.

“Of course,” Pittman says.

Jace turns to me and pulls his wallet from
his back pocket. “You’re going to have to go to the ATM to get bail
money,” he informs me. “I’ll write down the PIN for you. Take my
cell phone with you. Call Joe and tell him that I may have to
borrow money from the safe if my bail is more than the ATM lets you
withdraw. I can pay him back tomorrow.”

He gives me his truck keys and asks me not
to leave him in jail for too long. Then he walks back over to
Pittman.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Jace
says.

Pittman shakes his head. “I’m not cuffing
you,” he says. “I have more respect for you than that. I know you.
These assholes are just doing this because they can. Just get in
the car. The hell with policy.”

I watch until Jace is secure in the back of
the patrol car, amidst the camera flashes. Then I head to his truck
so I can get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. The
Crescent Cove police do a pretty good job of keeping the media
sharks at a distance, but I know those zoom lenses are in high
usage right now. This is the money shot for them. Jace in the back
of a patrol car. I never thought I’d see the day. The only way it’d
be more shocking would be if it was Reed rather than Jace.

“Haley!” I spin around when I don’t
recognize the voice. I fear it’s a media fiend wanting a press
statement, but it’s Pittman. He walks toward me, ignoring the
cameras that are following him from the required distance.

“There’s a bank a block over from the
station. It’ll be easier to get to than the one near Drenaline
Surf,” he says. “I’m going to take my time on his paperwork and
keep him in booking until you can get there. I’m not letting him
see the inside of a jail cell. You can follow me out if you’d
like.”

I simply nod because I don’t know what else
to do. I don’t want any favors from him, and I sure as hell don’t
trust him after what all he’s done to A.J., but right now, I don’t
really have any other choice. I can’t let Jace sit at the station
any longer than he has to. So I get in his truck, I crank up, and I
follow Pittman away from the premises.

Reed’s Jeep sits in the parking lot of the
police station when I arrive. He immediately darts out of the
driver’s seat and jogs toward Jace’s truck when he sees me.

“What happened? I’ve been seeing all kinds
of stuff on the news,” Reed says.

I lock Jace’s truck and glance around the
parking lot. The last time I was here, Reed was with me. We were
collecting A.J., Topher, and that same blue Jeep. That was just a
month ago. How does it feel like it was another lifetime? I sort of
wish my biggest problem was Topher joyriding to blow off steam from
fighting with his brother.

“Someone referred to Theo as Shark’s
‘drunkass murderer’ and Jace lost it,” I say. “After all those
lectures about professionalism, he threw the first punch.”

Reed laughs, and I want throw a punch at him
for even thinking for half a second that anything could be funny
about this.

“You can take the boy out of the surf gang,
but you’ll never take the Hooligan out of Jace,” Reed says. “I
mean, he
is
one of them. And Theo’s his boy.”

And just like Jace did before his arrest, I
laugh. The same exhausted, ‘over it’ kind of laugh. But in my case,
it’s so I won’t completely break down here in the police station’s
parking lot. If I gave in to everything I’m feeling inside, I’d be
an asphalt puddle right now, melting into the blackness under my
flip-flops.

“How did you even know to come out here?” I
ask.

Reed smiles. “A.J.,” he says. “He called me
and said he didn’t want you to have to deal with this alone and I
was a better candidate to show up at the jail than he was. He’s
handling things at Drenaline Surf right now. Alston and Emily are
there too, so he’s got help.”

I wish Pittman could hear all of this. A.J.
isn’t the guy he makes him out to be. But maybe Pittman isn’t the
asshole cop I’ve always made him out to be. He broke protocol in
front of a ton of cameras today out of respect for Jace and
allowing him to keep some of his dignity.

Reed walks into the station with me and
makes small talk with the chief of police. They quickly discuss
business and how Mr. Strickland has been before Reed tells him that
we need to post bail for Jace Hudson.

While Reed handles the monetary side of
things, another deputy takes me back to an office where Pittman
sits at a desk pretending to fill out paperwork. Jace sits in the
chair opposite the desk. It’s a far cry from the day I came to pick
up A.J. and Topher.

“Reed’s posting your bail,” I say, once the
escorting deputy walks away. “A.J.’s handling the drama at the
store. Joe is going to meet us there. He’s okay, though.”

Jace looks at his shoes for a few seconds,
nodding along, clearly thinking about having to face Joe and try to
explain what happened today. I’ve already given him the quick
version, and he was more than understanding. He knows what Theo has
been through. He seems to care more than anyone else, like he knows
it’s deeper than a usual depression or guilt trip. There’s no way
he could be mad at Jace for defending Theo.

Pittman looks at me. “Do you need an escort
back to the store?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No one followed me,” I
tell him. “And Reed met me out here, so we’re not alone.”

I don’t know why I even say it because Reed
Strickland isn’t exactly bodyguard material. We all learned that
last summer when I realized he couldn’t hide Colby to save his own
life.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jace says, pushing
his chair back and standing. Then he halts and turns back to
Pittman. He pulls a business card from his wallet. “Thanks for all
you did today. If you need anything, here’s my card. I’m obviously
not at Strings and Starlight anymore, but my cell phone is listed
on there. Let me know if you need help, seriously.”

Pittman thanks him, they shake hands, and
then Jace walks out with Reed and me like he wasn’t just booked
into jail. I guess Crescent Cove does whatever Crescent Cove wants
– as long as you’re not A.J. Gonzalez.

Emily stares at the drive-in menu for longer
than necessary, especially when I know she’s going to end up
getting a plain grilled chicken sandwich and a grape slush. If
she’s feeling a little rebellious, she may get a small order of
tater tots as well.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” she
asks, glancing over her shoulder at me. She stretches her arm out
of her window but waits before pressing the button to order.

“I’m sure,” I tell her yet again. “I don’t
think I can stomach anything else today. No food. No drama. No more
police station visits. I’m good.”

As predicted, she goes for the plain grilled
chicken sandwich. She upgrades her grape slush to a large but skips
the tater tot rebellion. She digs through her car for loose change
to pay the exact amount. She’s eyeball-deep in her cup holder when
she says it.

“Would you ever consider moving in with
Topher? Like getting an apartment with him or something?” she
asks.

Oh God. Please don’t tell me he’s working
through Emily to feel me out. I know he doesn’t really like living
at Colby’s house, and he doesn’t want to move into Shark’s old
place, but I can’t move in with Topher. We’ve just started dating,
and that’s a huge leap, and I love where I live. I don’t want to
leave my roommates. We’re sort of perfect in our arrangement.

“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.