Always Summer Page 6

  “I know I should ignore the tabloids and gossip sites,” Logan says as we stroll along. “I have a terrible habit of Googling myself, but most of what I see are things I wish I hadn’t. Even with all that’s happened, Colby still has a huge following. People like Miles because he’s edgy, and your boyfriend is crazy popular online.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that,” I lie.

  But the truth is, I totally know it. During those sixty-three hours after the awkward kiss-and-run incident, I searched Topher’s name online a few too many times. I wanted to see what people were saying about his sponsorship. I wanted to read the surf forums and see who was excited about it, who thought he deserved it.

  Instead, I found a ton of girls who thought he was hot, who were bummed that he had photos posted of himself with Emily and me, and who basically wanted to be his surf girlfriend. It was all about Topher Brooks, not Drenaline Surf. No one cared about Shark’s legacy and how he was like Topher’s second brother. No one cared that Vin was gone and Topher was a wreck over it, even if he tried to hide it. It was all about Topher, in a sense that wasn’t even Topher as we all know him.

  Topher had just landed his dream surf deal with his dream sponsor yet the only thing that mattered was that he was swoonworthy? Poor Alston had to sit through my hours of panic that people only saw Topher as a hot guy and not a professional surfer. I’m not sure if it was the possible girlfriend who was panicking or the PR girl panicking. I’ll stick with the PR girl.

  “I just don’t want to be that guy, you know?” Logan says, pulling me back in. “I want to be known for surfing, not being an outcast. I want to do what Drenaline Surf was meant to do – continue Shark’s dream. I know I never met the guy, but I felt like I did, you know?”

  He gives me the detailed story about his journey to sponsorship, the story that Vin never elaborated on. Logan’s dream to move to the west coast is what triggered his search of surf companies in California.

  “I figured maybe I could transfer out here with a job, but none of the Florida stores had chains out here. I think they are all just too small. They can’t compete in this area,” he says. “I was browsing websites when I saw Drenaline Surf’s site. I didn’t think much of it at first. Just another surf site. But then I clicked on the ‘about us’ section and saw Shark’s picture and read the story about him. It just hit me.”

  He tells me about his initial e-mail to Vin and how nervous he was sending it. He inquired about job positions and if Drenaline Surf was hiring.

  “I’m not sure if he was honored or just freaked out by the whole thing,” Logan says. He looks out across the water, like he can see the memories playing out on a large screen in front of him. “He was chill, though. He asked about who I was, what my ambitions were, why I wanted to move to California. So I was honest with him. I wanted to be a pro surfer, and I needed a surf-rich environment. But Drenaline Surf felt right compared to the bigger stores. I felt like it was based on something real.”

  Shortly after, Vin flew out to Florida to meet him, checked out some of his surf clips, spent a few days talking with him, and ultimately decided to sign him. Logan didn’t even know until Vin flew him out to Crescent Cove. I crack a smile that I knew before Logan did. I was in that loop.

  “But it was different after I got here,” Logan says. “It wasn’t a warm welcome to the Drenaline Surf family. Not even close. I mean, I won the Sunrise Valley Tournament, and I don’t think one person congratulated me on it.”

  That’s a day I’d personally like to forget.

  “In my defense, I was fired from my job and broke up with my boyfriend that day,” I say, even though it’s a cop out. I wasn’t happy that Logan won, either.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, that day kind of sucked for everyone,” he says. “There was so much drama with Vin and Topher and then Colby’s parents. I don’t know why I expected anyone to care that I won.”

  My heart sinks into my stomach like an anchor, except it doesn’t stay planted. Instead, it sort of drags around in my gut, carving pain and sorrow into my being so I can’t forget this moment later. We’ve really screwed this guy over. He came out here with big dreams and a lot of hope, and we’ve steadily been crushing every single moment of it, as hard as we can. It’s not like anyone’s invited him to hang out or tried to get to know him. I haven’t even talked to him once about his career plans, even though I know exactly what Topher, Miles, and Colby all want individually.

  “We screwed up,” I admit, pushing my hair back behind my shoulders. “But we’re going to fix this. Who do you want to be? Tell me what you want, and let’s make it happen.”

  He forces his sunglasses up into his hair. “I want to be Colby Taylor,” he says, causing my jaw to drop to the ocean bottom. “Without the drama, obviously.”

  “Say that again,” I say.

  He laughs. “He has a huge following. People are excited to watch him surf. And aside from the mess with his parents, he seems to be well-liked. Ocean Blast Energy likes him. Shaka Magazine praises him. People turn up to see him surf, drama or not,” he says. “I want that. I want to excite people. I want to be one of those surfers you either love or love to hate. And you know, I want to give back to the community and stuff.”

  He reminds me of a beauty pageant contestant – highlighted hair and a perfect tan, camera-worthy smile, and what seems to be a genuine personality. Of course, then they like to throw in that line about world peace or ending world hunger.

  “And how do you plan on giving back?” I prompt him. I wait for a few stammers or half-answers, but he surprises me.

  “I’ve always wanted to work with the sea animal conservation, like saving sea turtles. They’re my favorite animal, and there are more of them here than in Florida,” he explains. “I like all that environmental, go-green kind of stuff. I don’t eat as clean as Colby does, but I have more in common with him than he realizes. Oh, and surf lessons. I’ve love to give surf lessons.”

  Surf lessons. How freaking genius! That’s something Drenaline Surf hasn’t offered in the past. It’d give people an experience rather than an item they bought on vacation. They’ll remember the brand. They’ll remember the surfers. It’s priceless – for a price.

  “If we started up a program, like if we could team up with some of the tourist venues or trip planners, would you be willing to help with a strategy for how to manage surf lessons? Like help head the program?” I ask.

  “Are you kidding? I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Logan says, his eyes wide and surprised more than excited. “Tell me when and where. I’m in.”

  Chapter Nine

  “This is fucking horse shit,” A.J. shouts, slamming the oven shut. “I’m not doing it. I’m not fucking doing it, and he can fire me, and I’m done. I don’t care. I want Vin back.”

  None of us react because A.J. has been saying the same thing for the last half hour. Reed pushes him aside to check the boiling noodles, and Alston makes a remark about not letting the garlic bread burn. But A.J. isn’t really here tonight.

  “Haley, you have to do something about it,” A.J. demands. He leans against the countertop of the kitchen bar, staring across at me. “I can’t call them. Jace is crazy.”

  I don’t dare tell him, but I can see both sides of the issue. A.J. is Drenaline Surf’s store manager. He needs to be the professional I know he can be and just make the call. But on the flip side, he’s my best friend and his safe haven was destroyed to make way for a hotel. I totally understand his unwillingness to call them and make business deals.

  “They’re the only ones willing to partner with us right now,” I tell him. “With all of tabloid crap, people are skeptical. They don’t want to promise something we can’t deliver, and seeing Miles on crutches and Colby’s parents on TV really puts a few dents in the plan.”

  Alston takes the bread out of the oven while Reed douses the noodles with spaghetti sauce. They humor me with their ease of continuing dinner without a second thought to A.J.’s outburst in
the kitchen, right in between them.

  A.J. shakes his head. “They tore down my carnival,” he says, a hint of desperation in his voice. “That place was my home. And now there’s a big ass white hotel there with a zillion fucking flower beds because they’re the Florence Gardens Inn. They took my house of mirrors for flower gardens.”

  But Florence Gardens Inn is the newest establishment in Crescent Cove. They’re looking to build business. They want epic deals that hotel guests can’t ignore. Why stay at the Crescent Inn when you can get a package deal with specials from Drenaline Surf and Strickland’s Boating? I mean, I’d stay there…without telling A.J.

  “Dude, I’ll call if you’ll shut up,” Alston says. He bites into a piece of bread that he’s impatiently waited for. “I’m pretending to be you, though.”

  “You still have to go to the meeting,” I tell A.J. “If they agree to meet with us and sign a contract, you’re going to fake it like the rest of us.”

  I may just manage the surfers’ careers, but I refuse to let A.J. fail out of holding a grudge. I don’t like it either, because of A.J., but Vin gave him an opportunity to lose the stereotype and make something of himself, and I’ll be damned if he fails.

  The next morning, Alston has formally arranged for a meeting with Florence Gardens Inn. Unfortunately, he’s not going with us because he’s under the command of Emily and her super training skills. Hopefully, between Jace and me, A.J. can be somewhat reined in.

  I watch Alston ring up the next sale while Emily digs around in the inventory for new surfboard leashes. They seem to have it under control. I wonder if I can slip A.J. away for a while to prep him for the meeting tomorrow. Maybe we can grab Reed for lunch and have him play the part of the hotel manager. A.J. needs a practice run so desperately.

  I turn to A.J. to suggest a trial run, but the bell dings over the door, drawing my attention back to the center of the room. Topher has newspapers in his hand. Miles is booking it on his crutches to keep up with Topher’s pace. I’m actually impressed at his speed.

  “So, we sort of have more problems,” Topher says, actually laughing through it. “It’s crazy. Like totally ridiculous.”

  He slides the newspaper over the counter. A photo of us from the seahorse celebration is on the front page. I catch the words ‘cult’ and ‘public relations’ before I shove the paper away. My hands literally shake with nervousness about what’s being said. I can’t even read it.

  “I can’t,” I say, stepping back toward A.J., who braces my unsteadiness. “What is this?”

  Alston grabs the paper before Emily can and skims the article. “It says Drenaline Surf is an incest-ridden cult,” he says.

  He doesn’t crack a smile. If anything, he looks disgusted and confused.

  “It talks about how you dated Vin and now you’re with Topher,” Alston continues. “And that you work for Drenaline Surf, ‘keeping it in the family’ as they put it. It mentions Emily and Miles too. People are actually calling you guys Haler.”

  Haler? What the hell is a Haler?

  “Dude, we have a ship name,” Topher says. He’s excited about this. How in the hell is there any way he can be excited? This is more damage. Does he not care that Drenaline Surf is being dragged down even more every time one of these things goes to press?

  Miles shakes his head. “Haler is fucking stupid,” he says. “It’s like an inhaler or…some other stupid shit. Like a redneck saying ‘halo’ or something. You know, like some angel has its haler on crooked.”

  Miles’s attempt at a southern accent is horrendous and thankfully hilarious. I guess it could’ve been worse. We could’ve been Tophey.

  “What would we be?” Emily asks, propping her elbow on the counter and resting her chin on her fist. “Emiles? Em-uh-less…or E-miles? Em-iles? Ugh. Forget it. We suck. We can’t compete with Haler.”

  Alston clears his throat. “It’s bad, you guys. They mentioned Topher and Miles being best friends since forever ago. And that Haley and Emily hang out together. It’s only a matter of time before they bring up the fact that A.J. and I are your roommates.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. They’ll pick us off, one by one. The only one who may be safe is Reed because he doesn’t work here, but his parents gave Shark this lot to build on. Mr. Strickland helped Colby get a top-notch attorney. Reed drives Shark’s old Jeep. And he lives with us. The connections are bound to come out sooner or later.

  After taking a deep breath, I move forward and squeeze in between Emily and Alston. Pictures from my Instagram account are on the page. There’s a photo of Emily and Miles as well. She Snapchatted it to me about a week or so ago before she posted it to her Facebook account as well.

  “Make your accounts private,” I tell her. “Now.”

  I grab my own phone from my pocket and immediately start updating my privacy settings. While I log in and hide my life, I lecture Miles and Topher about what they can and cannot post. No more girlfriend pictures. No more party pictures. Be professional. Be surf-related.

  I can’t believe I’m actually having to PR my own relationship. And my friends’ relationship. This is outright ridiculous.

  “Heeey…” Alston says, dragging out the word. “There’s a name on here. Carson? Do you know a Carson?”

  My mind rolls through its internal book of contacts, but I can’t place it. It sounds somewhat familiar, but it’s just not coming to me.

  “G. Carson? Does that help?” Alston asks.

  Topher inhales sharply. “Greg Carson!” he says too loudly. “He’s the Liquid Spirit guy who wanted to sign me.”

  That’s it. That’s exactly how I know the name. We met him in Sunrise Valley. He offered one hell of a deal for Topher – a deal we never followed up on.

  I lean closer to the newspaper. “Is he quoted in this? Did he say something about us?”

  “No,” Alston says, shaking his head. He points to the byline. “He wrote the article.”

  Chapter Ten

  Miles yells at Topher to ‘Go left! No – right! Left, fucking left!’ while I reread Greg Carson’s slander for the hundredth time. Alston laughs hysterically when Topher’s racecar crashes into a light pole and spins in circles. Miles curses, and Topher asks for a rematch. Obviously, video games are still most important in this household.

  Reed sits next to me, glancing at my phone every few seconds to see if I’m still on this same site. I can’t help it. It’s like I can’t look away. I feel like, maybe, if I read it enough, I’ll find some hidden clue as to why Liquid Spirit would do this to us.

  “Haley, let it go,” Reed says, waving his hand in front of my phone. “You can quote that article by now. New sentences aren’t going to magically appear.”

  I close the article and put my phone down. “I just want to know their motive,” I tell him. “If we can get ahead of them, we can stop them.”

  Reed looks at me with sympathetic eyes and a half-smile. I know he thinks I’m crazy. I sort of want to shake him and scream at him. He doesn’t work at Drenaline Surf. He’s not the one who is supposed to make their image look good, no matter what. I feel like I’m failing Shark and I’m failing Joe and I’m failing the store. I’m failing its surfers and its legacy. I’m just failing.

  There’s a rattle on the window pane of the kitchen door. Kale invites himself in, with Emily not far behind him. I’m glad to see them. We need some cheerfulness around here. Kale jumps into the video game fest with Topher and Alston while Miles breaks away to see his girlfriend.

  I stay right where I am, planted next to Reed and a few feet away from A.J., who hasn’t said a word through all of this.

  “Alright,” Reed says, giving in. “Let’s talk motive. Why would Liquid Spirit come after Drenaline Surf?”

  “Me!” Topher shouts. He turns around and smiles all too happily. It makes me laugh.

  But all of this for Topher? Why drag Colby’s parents into it? Why sue him? So much of it doesn’t make sense. Liquid Spirit doesn’t need the
money. They proved that when they built the most massive surf shop in California.

  “Okay, Topher is an option,” I admit. “Maybe they’re scorned, but they don’t need the money. Topher would be a pride thing. Who would sell them information?”

  The room is quiet for a moment, aside from the sounds of screeching tires and revving engines on the TV screen. Then Kale says it.

  “Dominic.”

  The puzzle pieces begin to fit. He has all the motive in the world. He didn’t get signed by Drenaline Surf. He was somewhat kicked out of the Hooligans. He flunked out of college. He arrived back shortly around the time Colby’s parents showed up, and it was his party that Colby went to and ended up on the Wall of Shame because of. He even invited Colby there to ‘get his mind off of things.’ It could easily have been a colossal ploy to start unraveling Drenaline Surf, surf leash by surf leash.

  “Where is he now?” I ask, hoping someone actually knows so I can track him down, kick his ass first, and ask questions later.

  “I heard he’s in Indonesia,” Miles says from across the room. He hobbles away from Emily to fill us in. “His dad sent him on a surf trip to get more experience, surf all the massive waves of the world. Fucking lucky bastard.”

  Kale nods. “I heard something about that. He was in Hawaii too, which pisses me off. That asshole doesn’t deserve to surf my home breaks,” he says. Then he shakes his head, actually mad about it, which is unlike Kale’s easygoing nature. “My cousins sent me pictures from the last swell that came in. Amazing waves. I can’t believe he may have been out there surfing it instead of me.”

  I toy around with Dominic’s motive. Does he just want to bring us down because he’s not part of us anymore? I can’t see him caring that much. His dad can send him around the world to surf anywhere. He can get noticed at any given moment. Vin even said that Dominic was a great surfer, so he could easily grab sponsorships. Maybe that’s what he’s after – a Liquid Spirit sponsorship. The more he tells them about us, the closer he gets to signing the deal. He has the right connections here to find out what’s happening at Drenaline Surf. Crescent Cove isn’t that big. It’s still an ‘everybody talks’ kind of town.