Chasing Forever Down

by Nikki Godwin

  Chapter Eighteen

  A rush of tourists and teenagers jostle me around as I push through them to reach the door of Drenaline Surf. I don’t know why I expected less right before a surf competition, but this place seems larger than life now. I totally feel the weight of the world that Vin is carrying on his shoulders.

  Kristin slams the register shut and scrunches her nose at me. It’s almost enough to make me bolt for the door. Almost. I don’t know what I did to offend her, but I think I’m guilty by association.

  “I need to see your boss,” I say. I stiffen my shoulders and stand up straight, hoping she’ll get the hint that I’m not backing down and I’m not scared of her or her bleached hair.

  “He’s busy,” she hisses back at me. Her arms fold across her chest. She’s not backing down either.

  Deep breath. “I get that,” I say. “But it’s important. It won’t take long.”

  I leave out the part that I need to see him for my own selfish reasons – to prove to myself he’s still that jerkoff who tried to sell me cheap hair dye in a spray can and he’s not this super cool guy who spilled his secrets across the sand last night.

  “He doesn’t have time to–” Kristin’s words are swallowed by the sugar cube rush diving over the counter to hug me.

  “Haley! What’s up?” Topher shouts in my ear.

  I squeeze him into a tight hug and say the only thing that I possibly can. “I need to see your brother.”

  Topher jerks his thumb toward the area behind the counter. “This way.”

  Linzi is with me in spirit. I’ve got her stupid fairy hop bounce and clown painted smile wrapped from ear to ear. However, I refrain from looking back over my shoulder at Kristin and giving her a “haha!” smile that Linzi would flash in a heartbeat.

  Topher pushes the office door open. Vin is drowning in invoices and boxes. He glances up over the mess, and his shoulders fall with relief that it’s just his brother and not the surf world CEOs coming to take over.

  “Brought a visitor,” Topher says. He pulls me into view, and Vin cracks a smile.

  I think my heart might’ve just melted. Or exploded. Or completely stopped pumping.

  Topher bails on me instantly, leaving me lingering underneath the office doorway, too scared to enter but too excited to truly hold myself back.

  “I could definitely use a ray of sunshine right about now,” Vin says. “Good timing.”

  I push the door closed behind me and walk over to the desk. “You look overwhelmed.”

  “Overwhelmed was about two hours ago. I’m outright lost now,” he says. He falls back in his chair, his eyes pleading for some sort of salvation to get him through the next few days.

  A strand of hair falls into my face, and I brush it back behind my ear before Vin can. “Do you need some help?” I ask.

  My thoughts flash to Solomon for a split second, his blue reflection bouncing around the guest room right now, and I pray his lucky light can reach me this far from the condo.

  I think the light found its way to Vin’s eyes instead though because they are bluer than I’ve ever seen them – melted icebergs and specks of Ocean Blast Energy – and I could drown happily inside of them.

  “You’re the best,” he says. He pushes off the chair and pulls me out the door behind him. He lets Topher know that he’s leaving him in charge, and we hit The Strip.

  Vin opens the doors on the back of the trailer that Jace hauled down into the sand. There are crates upon crates of T-shirts, and as boring as it may be, my and Vin’s afternoon task is to sort them out by color and size. Then box them again for the opening morning of the competition.

  I open each box as Vin drops it in the sand, lining them up under the Drenaline Surf tent, but this one rattles with the noise of metal cans. I dig into it instantly, and it’s a con artist’s dream – hair dye in a spray can. Or thirty cans.

  “Seriously?” I ask, holding up a can of Honey Gold. “This is the color you would’ve recommended for me?” I twist my hair around my finger and attempt to match my own highlights to the color of the lid.

  “Give me that,” Vin says, using his jackass voice yet again. He reaches over for it, but I jerk my arm back.

  “Why do you even have this stuff?” Now I remember why he wasn’t so awesome to begin with. I remember that initial meeting when he spit out the nickname Sunshine with much less affection and fed me that awful line about scratching the VIN number off of the cars he’d stolen. “You own Drenaline Surf,” I say more to myself than Vin. I shake the can at him. “Why do you need this?”

  He reaches for the can again, but I step back, keeping my grasp on Honey Gold.

  “Colby brought a box of that stuff back with him,” he says. “And he seriously thought he’d use it – all of it.”

  An array of colors pop from the box, their lids adorning names like Midnight Black and Tree Bark Brown. If that doesn’t scream ‘cheap,’ I don’t know what does.

  “He’s so stupid, Haley,” Vin continues. “He’s so paranoid about his parents finding him or someone blabbing his secrets. He’s getting more offers to surf in competitions, more appearances, and I told him there’s no way he’s surfing with this mess in his hair. He’d go in the water brunette and come out with his hair streaking down his face.”

  It feels so wrong to laugh, especially when Vin is so serious right now, but he’s painted this perfect picture of Colby rushing into the water with that Midnight Black emo boy look and emerging looking even more like a swamp creature than I did after the jet ski flip. He wouldn’t be the dreamy poster boy plastered on the billboard after that. Then again, maybe swamp surfers will be the next big thing thanks to him.

  “I’m glad you find humor in this,” Vin says. He drops another box from the trailer.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re ripping off tourists on The Strip.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe I just can’t let all my old habits die that easily.”

  I shake the can of Honey Gold. “Maybe we should rename this one Sunshine.”

  “Give me the can,” he demands.

  He lunges for me this time, and I’ll be damned if I don’t go down without a fight. I twist my arm back behind me, and his arms tighten around my waist. I pull in one direction while he goes the other way, and we’re soon a twisted seaweed kind of mess tumbling toward the sand. Honey Gold takes flight with the seagulls, and I hook both arms around Vin’s neck to brace myself. Luckily Crescent Cove’s sand makes for a soft landing. However, Vin’s bodyweight on top of me doesn’t.

  “Are you okay?” is the first thing out of his mouth.

  My arms remain hooked behind his neck, holding him closely to me, and all I can do is laugh and nod while I stare at the blue tent roof above us. He breathes a deep sigh of relief then buries his head into my shoulder.

  “God I hope no one saw that,” he mutters into my shirt.

  “That would kill your badass image,” I say.

  “I was never a badass,” he says. I feel his breath through my shirt, warm and shiver-worthy at the same time. He pushes himself up so I can see him. “That’s all a defense mechanism.”

  I let my arms relax but keep them around him. His heart beats through his chest, and I feel it against my body. Or maybe that’s my own heart.

  “Against what?” I ask.

  He pushes my hair back away from my face. “Letting someone get too close to me.”

  “How close?” The words come out a whisper, just loud enough for the two of us to hear before the ocean sweeps them away.

  I swear, his eyes are electric – a lightning storm dancing toward me with sparks of danger that captivate me into paralysis when I know damn well that I need to run for safety.

  “This close,” he whispers.

  The scent of his aftershave swallows me, and my hands move to the back of his neck, pulling him closer and closer – if that’s even possible – and I feel his brea
th against my mouth.

  “Ahem. Mr. Brooks,” a hollow voice says from somewhere outside of the universe of icebergs and Honey Gold.

  And as quickly as we landed in the sand, Vin is up and on his feet, standing face to face with the one and only jackass cop Pittman.

  “Officer,” Vin says.

  “Vin, I don’t think I have to remind you, but this is a family beach,” Pittman says.

  My faces flushes with a color that I’m sure is Scarlet Letter Red. I want to crawl into that trailer full of boxes and hide from the world. But I’m too scared to even move from the Platinum Blonde sand.

  “It’s not how it looked,” Vin explains.

  And while it’s not nearly as scandalous as it looked, part of me wants to attack him with cheap hair spray cans for brushing it off like it’s no big deal that he totally almost kissed me.

  “Look, I don’t care what it was or wasn’t,” Pittman snaps. “You don’t need me to tell you how bad it looks on a family beach, and you definitely don’t need me to tell you it’s not exactly good for business. You need to be a little more professional in public.”

  Vin braces his hands on the table between himself and the enemy. “I’ll look into that,” he says in that same tone he used the first time I met him. But this time I’m not so scared of him.

  Pittman looks down at me. “How old are you anyway?” he asks.

  “Eighteen,” I lie instantly. I will be in three and a half months. Close enough.

  He glances back at Vin, holds the evil eye stare for a moment longer than necessary, then heads on his way to patrol and dominate the rest of the beach. Vin reaches his hand down to me and pulls me up from the sand. I dust off my clothes, and while avoiding eye contact, he thanks me for lying about my age.

  Vin slides the last box into the trailer, closes the door, and reattaches the lock.

  “Here,” he says, holding out a lime green T-shirt like the ones we just stashed away.

  It’s the first time he’s really looked me in the eye since the Pittman incident hours ago. He’s talked about the swells and how it’s perfect competition weather. He rambled on about how Shark and Pittman were suspended for a week their senior year of high school because Shark beat the hell out of Pittman after a football game. But any real communication has been absent.

  “Is it not the right color?” he asks.

  “No, it’s great,” I say. “Lime green is actually my favorite color.” I take the shirt and trace the Drenaline Surf logo with my finger.

  “Yeah, that’s what A.J. told me,” Vin says. That’s the most he’s said directly to me in the past few hours. How did we go from an almost kiss to awkward T-shirt talk?

  He walks toward me, finally daring to re-enter my personal space. “Hey, I’ve gotta finish up some invoices at the store,” he says. “Is it cool if I come by after?”

  That silly Linzi smile sweeps my face. I don’t think it dissolves even after I’m back at the condo. Everything is as it should be there. The video game fest in the living room makes me smile.

  “Damn it, Strick, get out of the way!” A.J. yells from the couch. He jerks his arms one way then another, trying to navigate the racecar on the game he’s playing with Reed.

  “You’re the one hitting street signs,” Reed says. “Dude! You’re on the sidewalk!”

  A.J.’s car crashes into a wall – that was on the sidewalk, no less – and he looks over the couch. “You want to race, Haley?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “My coordination sucks on video games,” I say. I squeeze in between the two of them on the couch, and a rare mischievous smile sneaks onto Reed’s face.

  “So…long time, no see…Sunshine,” he says.

  “Don’t call me that,” I tell him.

  He fiddles around with the controller in his hand. “You let Vin call you that.”

  “I don’t let Vin do anything,” I correct him.

  I don’t know what he knows, but I don’t dare ask. He may not have heard anything and is just giving me a hard time. I won’t fall into the trap. So I change the subject.

  “Have you guys seen Linzi tonight?” I ask.

  They both instantly nod in the direction of the guest house. By Alston’s absence, I assume he’s with her.

  Linzi’s voice echoes off the walls. I freeze in the doorway, leave my flip flops on the porch, and gently shut the screen door behind me. Funny how I was worried about walking in to sweaty make out sessions or wild summer sex. But Linzi is mad. I’m not sure if I should interrupt. Her bedroom door squeaks when I hurry by, but they don’t seem to notice.

  “You knew I wasn’t staying,” she says. “You knew everything up front. I never lied about a damn thing!”

  “You can’t just show up like this though,” Alston argues through the wall. “Do you know what it’s like keeping all these secrets? I can’t date like a normal guy because I can’t let anyone know the truth. And you came here knowing it.”

  Linzi’s voice rises an octave. “You knew!”

  Reality slaps me across the face. This is all my fault. In forty-eight hours, as much as I hate it now, I won’t be able to bitch about Linzi and Alston’s constant make out sessions. A.J. won’t be around to make me laugh when everything is going wrong. I won’t have Reed there to smooth everything over when life is about to erupt. No more West Coast Hooligans or crescent-shaped cheese biscuits or Ocean Blast Energy drinks or iceberg eyes.

  And what was it for? What did any of us gain from this? Linzi and I are leaving, Colby still has his secrets and all of the playing cards, and we’re no better than him because we interrupted the lives of such amazing people just to walk out two weeks later. It’s not even Linzi’s fault.

  I dragged her across the country chasing after forever and a surfer. It’s all on me. Colby found me, I found Crescent Cove, and now it’s all going to shatter into a sea of broken hearts – mine, Vin’s, Linzi’s, Alston’s, A.J.’s, and everyone else who was dragged through the forever-chasing disaster I’ve created.

  Tears well up in my eyes, and there’s no moment of redemption for this. I get up, walk to the window, remove Solomon, and I even apologize to him for being dealt such a crappy card. No one should have to be a spirit guide for me when I’m playing the same awful chess game as the west coast surf star.

  But still, I hug the glass seahorse to my chest because he’s the only thing that’s been with me from the beginning. From Solomon Worthington to my suncatcher. And he’s the only thing I deserve to have left in the end. I squeeze him tightly in my hand, push through the screen door, retrieve my flip flops, and run toward the shoreline.

  The beach has grown silent. No laughter from the condos, no late night surfing adventures, no bonfires or volleyball games. Just the rolling waves and crashing whitecaps. So it’s impossible not to hear the roar of that motorcycle when Vin pulls up.

  He must’ve made the rounds once around the house because he finds me in record time. I know it’s him. His shoes thud in the sand. He’s the only person around here who wears tennis shoes on the beach.

  “You come here often?” he asks from behind me.

  I barely glance over my shoulder, mainly because I don’t want him to see my red eyes or tear-stained cheeks. He finds a seat in the sand behind me, stretches one leg out beside me, and pulls himself close to me. I relax and let my shoulder blades press against his chest.

  “Hey,” he whispers into my ear. “I was going to tell you…I really owe you an apology for how I acted, how I’ve been acting.”

  He settles his chin into the hollow of my shoulder. “I was just trying to look out for you. I’m not the hard ass guy you think I am. I’m so not that guy, and I don’t want you to think I am. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you or…” His voice trails off as the salty tears chase each other in a race to my chin.

  I’m not sure if he sees them, but I can’t fight the urge to sniffle. If my teardrops were a secret before, they’re widely k
nown now. I brush my cheek dry with the back of my hand, but I can’t look at him. I can’t face him.

  “Are you okay? Talk to me,” he says. He pushes my shoulder back, leaving me no choice but to let him watch my mascara flow down my skin.

  So I talk. Or try to. Most of the words come out a jumbled mess mixed with sniffles and tears and a touch of self-loathing. Even if he doesn’t make sense of it, he steadily wipes the tears off my cheeks and pushes my hair back every time it falls into my face.

  “It’s all my fault – everything – with Linzi and Alston and A.J. and you,” I ramble on. It’s like role reversal, me pouring my heart all over the sand and Vin listening this time. “And if Colby Taylor hadn’t come back to North–”

  “Are you kidding me?” Vin pushes away from me and scrambles to stand up. “Come on. We’re ending this right now. You can’t let it go. So you know what? I’m going to give you exactly what you came here for.”

  He treks back toward the condo, and I follow slowly, careful not to walk over his shoeprints because I want some sort of proof that he was here, that he came to find me tonight. He never looks back – not even once, not even after he’s revved up his bike.

  “Get on,” he hollers over the engine. He notices my hesitation. “We’re just going up the beach. It won’t kill you.”

  My stomach clenches itself, squeezing so tightly that I want to vomit. I think that’s my natural instinct trying to talk me out of this. But I’m too scared not to do what he says, too scared that I might screw this up even worse than I already have.

  I throw my leg over the seat and pull myself on behind Vin, grasping him with one hand and Solomon with the other. Streetlights and porch lights blur together into orange blobs in the night, whizzing past us in streaks. I watch them until we slow down, and the night comes into focus. My lungs take a trip to the land of temporary paralysis, and I forget to breathe when I see the numbers 2311 on the mailbox. I can still hear Alston screaming it into the phone that night. Twenty-Three Eleven. Dolphin Point. The flag on the mailbox is a red surfboard.

  Vin kills his bike, and guitar chords float around the side of the house. Dexter joins them and greets us, happily dragging that hot pink Frisbee with him. My knees go all wobbly, and I’m not sure I can stand up or walk or even think to maneuver like a normal human being.

  “Hey Taylor!” Vin calls out. “Brought someone to see you.”

  The acoustic guitar falls silent, and then he rounds the corner. Blonde. Chiseled. Shirtless. Tan. He’s something straight off of a billboard. And I’m standing in his sand, next to Vin’s motorcycle, with Dexter all too happy and so very clueless as to how badly this may end.

  Vin revs up the bike one more time, blinding me with that one headlight and leaving me here with nothing more than a million questions and a glass seahorse.

  “He’s all yours, Sunshine.”