Always Summer (13 page)

“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
going 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.

“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.