I motioned with my hand for him to come inside. He did, shutting the door behind him and standing right in front of it.
I cleared my throat and made sure he was looking at me. “I’m really, really sorry.”
“Uh, what?”
I held my hands out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get a chance to grab you after the meeting the other day, but I wanted to apologize for keeping the details of my relationship with Serena from you. And, more importantly, hiding the whistleblower situation. It was reckless. It was stupid. And it put you in danger.”
Falco nodded but stayed quiet, as usual.
“I know I’ve been a shitty partner this past year,” I added. “Hopefully your next partner cares the way that you do. Works hard and takes their job seriously, like you do. You deserve it.”
Falco glanced down then said, “I appreciate it. I like you, Cope.” He paused. “I do not like working with you.”
I smiled at his honesty. “That’s fair. I’ve been an asshole. But I like you too. If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure I’m about to get fired in a minute.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, you’re getting fired. Probably for the best, though.”
I let out a long sigh. “I think you’re right.”
My desk phone rang—Marilyn’s receptionist instructing me she was ready for our meeting. I stood, rounded my desk, and followed Falco outside my office.
“You can still call me if you ever need help,” I said. “I mean that.”
I turned toward the elevators, assuming the conversation was done. But he said my name, drawing my attention.
“You should have told me that our client was your wife,” he said.
“I should have,” I replied.
He glanced down at my wedding ring, and I followed his gaze, feeling the usual bolt of joy that happened whenever I got to remember Serena and I were together again.
“Congratulations, though.”
“Um, what?” I asked.
“Congratulations,” he said. “On getting back together with her.” At my shocked face, he lifted a shoulder and said, “I’m a romantic.”
And then he left, walking stiffly back down the hallway on his way to his next assignment. With a confused smile, I made my way to Marilyn’s office, feeling slightly lighter even though I was dreading this conversation the most.
I knocked on the open door.
“Come in,” she said. She wore an inscrutable expression and a navy-blue power suit.
I sat down gingerly and winced as my hips screamed in pain. Although three days had passed, my body had not let me forget swimming through giant waves, fighting off two men, then having passionate sex with my wife on an outcropping of rocks. Technically, per doctor’s orders, we were meant to be resting in bed. We’d stayed in bed.
Nothing we did there was restful. Serena and I had reached for each other every night and every morning, having sex that put our honeymoon to shame.
Marilyn sat down across from me with a look filled with delicate disappointment.
“Good morning,” I said.
She arched her brow and opened a file. “Good morning. Now that I’ve been fully briefed on the actual situation at Aerial and the secret relationship with your wife, Serena Swift, shall I read off some of the protocols you so carelessly abandoned?”
I grimaced. Nodded. This was the atonement part, and I needed to accept what I’d done.
She flipped through papers and said, “You did not inform your superiors that you had a previous romantic relationship with the client. Romantic as in, was married to just four years ago. You repeatedly lied to your partner and kept pertinent details from him that compromised his own personal safety. And, while your best friend from college was fully briefed on an active whistleblower situation, you ultimately failed to inform anyone here of what was going on.” She stared at me. “Does that about cover it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Do not yes, ma’am me, Copeland,” she said. “You cannot interject respect this late in the game. And I’m sure you’re aware that I called you here this morning to inform you that you are fired.”
The words landed heavily in the room—and hit me harder than I expected.
“I am aware that I am being fired,” I said. “I take responsibility for all of it. There is no excuse except my own stupidity.”
She let me hang there for a minute, simmering in my own discomfort. Then she stood up, rounded the desk, and perched on the corner right by me. “Your actions affected this company, our many clients, and my reputation. You left me no choice—you understand that, right?”
I felt like absolute shit. “I do.”
She examined me for a second before crossing her arms. “Explain to me again why you thought keeping the whistleblower information from me was a smart idea?”
I weighed my words carefully. “It was not a choice I made lightly. At the time, Quentin and I were extremely cautious of how vengeful Aerial could be and unsure of how far their reach extended. We were getting threats, being followed. They clearly wanted to scare us. We’d both seen whistleblower situations end in a much more dangerous and violent fashion. At the time, with the information that I had, I believed I was protecting you and Falco. I wouldn’t make that choice again knowing what I do now, but that was my reasoning.”
“This is a firm of highly trained private security officials with years of experience diffusing situations like the one you found yourself in,” she said. “But you thought you and your friend could do a better job?”
My face got hot. “It was short-sighted and the wrong decision to make.”
The elephant in the room, of course, was the truth of what we hadn’t addressed: my distraction and preoccupation with Serena, which colored every single thought and choice I made during those intense, heady days.
As if reading my thoughts, Marilyn pointed at my left hand. “I’d ask if you considered yourself professionally compromised by your past relationship with Ms. Swift, but the wedding ring you can’t stop touching answers that question for me.”
I winced, rubbed my forehead. “I was extremely compromised the whole time.”
She sighed with deep frustration. “I can’t fault you for thinking you were protecting us in the end, for making some rash decisions in the heat of the moment without the full picture. The issue is that your beliefs always outweigh your ability to make the smart and right decision. As evidenced by the chain of mistakes you made. Mistakes that could have gotten you and others around you hurt if you hadn’t gotten so lucky.”
“You are absolutely right,” I agreed. “I’m sorry for all of it. For breaking the rules, for putting people at risk, for disrespecting you and this company. Your mentorship has meant a lot to me these past four years, and I am truly sorry for insulting a work relationship I value. I know an apology doesn’t mean anything without action behind it, so if there’s something else I can do, please say the word.”
Marilyn glanced down at her hands with a rare moment of indecision. She peeked at the door, which was closed, and then sat in the chair right next to mine. She had never done that before—she was either behind a desk or perched above me but never at my level.
“There is something that you can do,” she said. She pulled at a loose thread on her jacket before looking up at me. “I am not one for overly emotional sentiment, but I’m going to share something with you I don’t tell many people.”
The look in her eyes elicited a strange response in my chest.
“I know you’ve met my husband many times. I love him very much. But five years before we got together, I had a boyfriend who I also loved very much. He died, in a car accident.” She said the words flatly, but I recognized that tone. I used that tone. “To say it was a shock is a gross understatement. It was random. It had no grander meaning. And it destroyed me.”
It was like a fist, closing around my throat. I spent an inordinate amount of time obsessing over my final moments with my father. They were
pedestrian and, thankfully, happy. He was walking down our driveway barefoot, holding his board over his head and smiling at me.
When I get back, we’ll do pancakes okay? Love you, bud.
I’d said love you too. I didn’t do what I should have done—beg him to come back.
Tell him not to go.
It was brutal and unforgiving, that cycle.
“I have observed, over these years, you believing this job is some kind of referendum on your father’s death,” she said—gently. Very gently. “I had a similar experience with that kind of magical thinking in those terrible years. I constructed steps and patterns I had to follow, became oddly superstitious, enforced ideas on what the accident meant and how I had to live life a certain way because of it.” She paused. “Does any of that sound familiar to you?”
I nodded. “Yes.” My voice was hoarse. “I think it’s why I also…” I shrugged, uncomfortable. “Tend to shut down when tough things happen. Shut people out that I love. Make everything about jokes or having a sense of humor. It’s like building a wall. It’s why I didn’t want to admit that I wasn’t happy here. That I was distracted and bored.”
“It’s time for a new career. That’s what I want you to do,” she said softly. “Much as your skillsets align with it, I don’t think your heart does.”
“Did Marilyn Banks just say heart?” I asked with a smile.
She returned it, holding up a finger. “Once a year, once, I allow myself a few moments of sentimentality. You are the recipient.”
Guilt surged through me. “Again, I really don’t feel like I’m deserving of it.”
“Well.” She sighed. “It just so happens that I quite enjoy seeing companies that exploit their employees pay for their crimes. Publicly. I’m not pleased with how you got to that outcome, but I’m pleased with the outcome.”
“I understand,” I said. I was never going to find an equilibrium between us, but then again, I’d been the one who’d fucked up big time.
She stood up and gave me a short nod. “I never said it before, but allow me to tell you how sorry that I am that your father was taken from you and that nothing will bring him back. I am so very sorry that he died.”
This was the part that would never be easy. Because this job would never bring him back.
No job would.
It took me a few seconds before I could speak again. “And I’m so sorry about losing your boyfriend. Thank you for the advice. It was very much needed and appreciated.”
She made her way back behind the desk, and I recognized our brief moment was over. But I was still grateful. “Do you want us to set up security at Serena’s house until the Aerial situation is under control?”
I sighed, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Yeah, actually, that would help me sleep better at night. If you can spare it.”
“I can spare it,” she said. “I know Serena was able to terminate her contract immediately as their ambassador. But they’d already paid for the first month of private security. There’s no reason not to make sure the two of you aren’t targeted again.”
“Thank you,” I said. “For everything, Marilyn.”
With my hand on the doorknob, about to leave, I turned to my boss one last time.
“You really didn’t know that Serena was my wife the entire time?” I asked, curious.
“I most certainly did not know,” she said. “An extremely rare mistake was made on our end. And on Aerial’s. Your personal connection was missed while cross-referencing our standard background checks. Trust me, the person here who made the mistake has already been spoken to.”
I cocked my head. “The whole thing was because of a mistake?”
Her brow arched. “Your reunion was made possible by a clerical error.”
I shook my head with a laugh, staring down at the wedding ring I’d carried in my wallet for four years. I knew the real reason Serena had come back into my life—and it wasn’t due to something as random as an error.
It was our destiny.
Even when apart, the universe had tangled us back together again—although that didn’t mean we didn’t need to put in the hard work to make sure our love flourished. That kind of intimacy and understanding required more courage than I imagined.
And I’d learned that courage came in all forms and expressions—like my father, who loved fully and lived for joy. Or my mother and sister, who lived each day with gratitude and hope.
Catalina and Quentin’s courage came in the form of fearless action and fighting for justice.
And Serena? My wife was the most courageous person I knew. She lived her life boldly, went flying down big waves with a smile on her face. Stood up for what she believed in no matter the cost.
She would always be my most beautiful risk.
It was all worth it.
Epilogue
SERENA
One year later
Cope spun slowly on his barstool, looking much too handsome in his fitted linen suit. And the lascivious grin on his face had me blushing beneath my makeup.
He gripped my stool and dragged me until our legs entwined. He picked up his strawberry margarita and tapped it against my own glass.
“Cheers, sunshine,” he said, taking a long drink with mischief in his dark blue eyes.
I arched an eyebrow. “You look like you’re getting one of your ideas.”
“Who, me?”
I wrapped my fingers in his lapels and pulled him close. “Is it dirty?”
“I guess that depends.” His smile was on the sinful side of charming.
And he’d already made a dozen filthy promises about what he was planning to do to me in my pretty white dress.
“I’m listening,” I said.
He brushed a stray curl from my shoulder. “What if we just did it?”
I fought a smile but lost. We’d both been giddy all day. “Oh, yeah? Did what, exactly?”
“Got hitched at the chapel next door.” Cope kissed my neck, and I shivered.
“Tell me why you want to?” My eyes closed in anticipation.
His mouth hovered at my ear, breath tickling my skin. “Because I want you to be my wife,” he said, echoing his exact words five years ago. “I want you for my forever. I want to be yours. I want you to be mine, Serena.”
I hummed a little. “Can I think about it?”
He started laughing, tickling my sides as I tried to swat him away. “Such a tease.”
“Last time I checked, you liked it.”
His next kiss was firmer, harder. Hotter. “I do like it.”
We’d abandoned all nods to tradition this morning, and my husband had absolutely seen me before the ceremony. While stepping into the shower, I’d crooked my finger, and he’d eagerly joined me beneath the steam—lifting me up and fucking me against the glass in a fast, dirty quickie that put a giant smile on both of our faces.
Somebody wolf-whistled in the back, and we broke apart, laughing. The bartender placed two more margaritas in front of us.
“From some Serena Swift fans down at the bar,” she said with a wink. Delighted, I turned around to wave at a group of young women who clapped and cheered.
“Congratulations,” one of them yelled.
“Thank you for the drinks,” I called back.
Cope kissed the ball of my shoulder. “It feels incredible to be married, again, to a very popular, incredibly talented professional surfer,” he said.
I squeezed his hand. “You’re still the only fan that I need.”
“I’m your number one fan, sunshine,” he promised. “Forever.”
He was on the beach most mornings now when I surfed with the ever-growing community of women who made that spot so special. He always watched. He always cheered. And he was there when I ran out of the water to jump into his arms after an especially good wave, squealing as he’d spin me around. Reminding me that I was a masterpiece.
He drank coffee with Dora or talked with Catalina, who was now a regular. He even ran on t
he beach with Caleb sometimes, making sure to wink at me when he jogged past.
My career had taken off over the past year with wins, international tours, and even a brand-new sponsor: Betty’s. They were a women-run digital media company for the surf industry dedicated to inclusivity and diversity at every level. And they were the first partner Kalei, Prue, and I had turned to when we were looking for early supporters of the Surf Equity Community Fund.
The community fund was the culmination of all those sparkly ideas I’d had when I was working with Aerial. Run and managed by local surfers in San Diego, it provided the financial backing for surfers to train, travel, and compete at elite events. It leveled the playing field and removed the need to attract splashy corporate sponsors. And it raised the profile—and amplified the voices—of athletes often ignored and silenced.
Every month, my friends and I gathered in Dora’s living room to work and learn alongside other women, Black and brown surfers, indigenous surfers, queer and gender nonconforming people—all of us dedicated to creating structural change from the ground up.
We discovered that we were all angry at the way things were. And we were all using it to make things better.
I crossed my legs beneath my white dress and slipped my hand into the pocket where I’d hidden a surprise for Cope. I stole a sip of his margarita, and we shared a sweet and salty kiss.
“I brought you a gift,” I said. “In honor of taking the plunge a second time.”
“You did?”
I removed a crinkled Polaroid picture. “Behold: the only photographic evidence of our first wedding at the Blue Suede Shoes Elvis Chapel in Las Vegas.”
Cope’s eyes widened—and then he started laughing. “Oh my god. I forgot I wore that pin-striped suit and sandals.”
“I happen to think you look very dashing.”
Loretta and Frankie were committed to the lost art of the Polaroid camera, and they took this picture for us on the house, they said. In it, I was beaming in my short sequined dress, holding pink carnations. Cope was sloppily kissing my cheek. There was no mistaking we looked young, drunk, and head-over-heels for each other.
Out of the Blue Page 30