Chasing Aloha

by Nikki Godwin

  Chasing Aloha

  by Nikki Godwin

  Drenaline Surf novella #2

  ***

  Copyright © 2018 Nikki Godwin.

  All rights reserved.

  First edition: February 3rd, 2018

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For the ones seeking redemption and the ones who help them find it

  Chapter One – Kale

  The look on Nanna’s face was the worst. When I walked out of the terminal and saw the sadness in her eyes, I relived every moment of the last few weeks in an instant. She turned her head downward, unable to make eye contact with me, and then she reached out toward me and pulled me into a hug. But even then, she couldn’t look at me.

  I, on the other hand, couldn’t bring myself to look at Kapuna. I didn’t want to see the disappointment on display, scrawled across my grandfather’s face. I’d seen enough of that to last a lifetime. It was one person after another in California. My lawyers, the police department, my parents, Vin Brooks, the Hooligans, Joe McAllister… On every face, in every glance, total disappointment.

  The only thing worse than seeing their pain was looking in the mirror and seeing the shame on my own skin. I always prided myself on my confidence, proud of who I was and who I was going to be, and now I want nothing more than to shed my skin and be someone else. It’s hard to look into my own eyes and see my reflection staring back, questioning every decision I’ve made until this point. I’d trade anything to go back and undo the damage I caused.

  Those things don’t matter now, though. The only thing that matters in this moment is picking up cigarette butts and chip bags. I expected better of Hawaiians, but the beaches here are as trashed as the ones back in Horn Island. I reach down with my gloved hand and pick up a beer bottle before dropping it into the bag of recyclable items.

  In the distance, a line of media vans sit alongside the beach, waiting to capture me in my misery. They weren’t allowed in the airport when I returned to Hawaii, but they were staked out in the parking lot, their flashes ricocheting off of my family’s faces. I kept my head down and my feet moving, but that didn’t stop them from airing the footage on all of the local news stations that night.

  I drop a plastic bottle into my bag and dare to glance up at the water. The waves roll in, pounding against the shore with the typical Hawaiian beating that I missed so much. I guess the joke’s on me. I missed these waves to the point it physically hurt inside of me, and here I am, closer to them than I’ve been in years, and I can’t even touch them. I haven’t felt the ocean since the days leading up to my arrest. To say I’m a bit stir crazy would be the understatement of the century, but I don’t dare show my face in the water right now.

  I can only imagine the gossip if someone caught me holding a surfboard or venturing into the lineup. As of this morning, the surf forums were still discussing my situation – mostly how they think I got off too easily and deserve jail time for my role in what happened. It’s ironic how everyone “hates” Colby Taylor yet they were all so quick to jump ship when the news of my involvement went public. Just prior to the blackmail scandal, he was the talk of the forums. His parents’ arrival in the Cove only landed him more interviews and magazine covers. Blackmail scandal? That led to another million Instagram followers. It seems as if any publicity is good publicity for him. I couldn’t be so lucky.

  But then again, in a way, I was. They could have thrown the book at me. They could’ve said I had something to do with A.J.’s wreck, which would’ve been the worst allegation. Yeah, I lied, and I passed information along, and I stuck the photo on Alston’s car. I played the Hooligans for fools, and I harmed Shark’s legacy in the process. But I never would’ve physically hurt someone, especially A.J. He’d been through too much already. In the end, that’s what saved me. I had no involvement with his wreck, and I could bring down the people who did. Vin Brooks cut me slack when the law didn’t want to. For that, I’m lucky.

  Another wave breaks on the shore before drifting back out to rejoin the ocean. I envy it, the way a wave can crash into a million drops of water and slip back into rhythm, becoming a new wave that can crash and burn all over again, continually finding redemption. I don’t feel like I’ll ever be part of the ocean again, and if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t deserve to be. I’ll forever be the guy who betrayed Drenaline Surf, and I’d rather be anything but that.

  Chapter Two – Leilani

  I wring my hair out as I abandon the ocean. The clumpy sand sticks to my feet as I trek back to the house. The sun glows against my skin, but it usually does about this time. Mornings are routine around here. My brother Keiko is up before everyone else. His morning surf ends just as mine begins. He’ll shower and make a pot of coffee before my parents wake. Mom likes her coffee black, and Dad complains about the smell. He’s never been a coffee drinker. My sister Kalani always sleeps in because she works a later shift, but she’ll be hitting the lineup around noon.

  I turn the knob and water bursts from the outside showerhead, rinsing away the scent of salt water from my skin. I twist my bikini around, making sure no traces of seaweed are left in hidden places. As the water runs down my face, I glance past our deck at the quiet house next door.

  The media circus isn’t there this morning, which makes me wonder if Kale has started his community service. They’ve been camped out for days, hoping to snap a photo or get a comment, but nothing has seemed to pan out for them. I’m pretty sure they were warned to stay off of private property, and they respect the law, but they push the boundaries.

  My stomach twists when I think of what’s been whispered through the grapevine. Kale grew up next door to me, in that very house that sits in silence now, until his parents saved enough money to move to California. He wasn’t happy about it at the time, but seeing his Instagram pictures over the years, it seemed as if he adjusted to the west coast lifestyle. He had friends, went to parties, and grew into the awesome, fun guy I knew he would be. I always envied California because they got the best of him. He left just as we were discovering ourselves, becoming our own people.

  I turn the water off and grab the towel that’s draped over the side of the privacy fence. I know it’d be inappropriate to walk over to the neighbors’ house and ask to see their grandson. My family wouldn’t approve, and Keiko would lecture me for weeks to come. He’s been the most adamant about me keeping my distance. But he doesn’t know the Kale I know – or knew.

  Keiko never bothered to step in when I was that scared child standing on the shoreline barely able to stick her toe in the water. My mom’s warnings of shark attacks, jellyfish stings, and rip currents left me clinging to my arm floaties, lifejacket, and that silly dinosaur float that I wore around my waist. If nothing else, I was destined not to drown. I was equipped with the best sunscreen and water shoes, ready to avoid danger at all costs.

  Kale was the one who helped me shed the armor and venture into the sea. He was the one who taught me how to paddle into a wave and how to pop up on a board. He was the one who told me that I’d never be a
ble to search for mermaids or hidden treasure if I was trapped in the sand. I can’t imagine not waking up to an early morning surf session or swim in the ocean. Life wouldn’t be the same without the smell of salt water lingering in my hair, even after a solid wash. The water brought me to life, and I owe that to him.

  Somewhere under the gossip and mugshot is the same kid from next door, the same guy who walked along the beach with me and listened to my endless talk about Starlight Cavern and how I just knew a mermaid colony once lived there. We’d made so many plans to explore the caves once we were old enough to drive and could go without our parents’ permission.

  Maybe things have changed, and maybe he made a mess of his life, but I still believe in him. There’s no way the guy I used to know changed that much in the few years he was in California. Regardless of what the news media says or what is floating around on the surf forums, I know Kale isn’t a hardened criminal who’s crossed over to the dark side. I’m determined to prove it, one way or another.

  I glance back at his grandparents’ house. The front door cracks open, and a flutter rustles in my chest. I tug my towel tighter to me and rush into my house. As much as I want to show there’s a chance at redemption for him, there’s no way I’m proving his light side today.

  Chapter Three – Kale

  Kapuna sets a cup of coffee in front of me, even though I’m sure he knows I’m not a fan of the taste. I thank him anyway and sip the hot drink, just because it’s the polite thing to do. He and Nanna didn’t have to accept me back into their home. They knew what this would entail – community service, flights back to California to testify when the trial rolls around, meetings with lawyers, and checking in with probation officers. They put faith in me to turn my life around. I just wish I had that kind of faith in myself.

  Out the window, a group of kids rush along the shoreline, dashing into the water to hurry out to the empty lineup. There’s a sting in my chest, deep and powerful, as the memories roll in. I remember being just like them, racing out in the mornings before school trying to catch a wave or two. If you were lucky enough to grab a good one, everyone would talk about it for the rest of the day – in class, at break, at lunch, in the gym.

  One time, Topher landed a massive aerial before school, and it was all anyone could talk about in Horn Island. We had rare offshore winds that day, and he made the most of it. I can still see it, the way his board landed with ease and how he threw his fist in the air, claiming it like he’d just won the world title.

  “I saw Makana last night,” I say to the cup of coffee more than to Kapuna. “I waved at him, but he pretended not to see me. He was with his friends.”

  “Now you listen to me,” Kapuna says, tapping the table to make me face him. “Your cousins will come around. People like to run their mouths, and they can’t see their own flaws because they’re too busy pointing out other people’s.”

  “I shamed our family,” I say. “I did this to us.”

  “No,” he says. “You made mistakes. We all do. It’s how we handle the aftermath and what we do to right those wrongs that matter. People will always talk because they have nothing better to do. You need to hold your head high. You can’t seek out the light if you’re hanging your head in the dark.”

  I nod and manage to sputter out a ‘yes, sir,’ but there’s nothing I want more than to reconnect with my old friends and family here. I want to hang out on the beaches with them, sit on their decks watching the sun set, and argue over who got the best tube ride that day. I want things to be like they were before I ever left for California. I always hoped they missed me. Maybe at one time they did. But now, they won’t acknowledge my existence.

  I finish off the coffee against my will, as if I’m taking horrible cough medicine that I know I can’t escape, and then grab a pair of board shorts and an old T-shirt. It’s not exactly how I’d stroll out onto the beach any other day, but I’m not concerned with looking cool during another day of community service. Nanna and Kapuna both said they wanted me to get as much of this out of the way as possible as quickly as possible, so I’m holding up my end of the deal. The sooner community service is over, the sooner I can put all this behind me.

  The beach is crowded this morning, worse than the last few days. It’s a Saturday, though, so all the weekday workers are here for family beach days or to give back to their community out of the goodness of their hearts. A youth group in tie-dye T-shirts stands to the side, and a marine life conservation group waits next to them. Looks like everyone decided to pick up trash today.

  I stare down at my tennis shoes to avoid eye contact with the “good souls” who are here. Hopefully they haven’t heard about my crimes or how I’m here to pay off my debt to society. I remember thinking how strange it was for Vin to always wear tennis shoes on the beach, but he was never a surfer. He was there for business purposes. Now that I’m on the other side of the fence, it makes sense. Flip-flops aren’t designed for community service.

  After I check in and grab my gloves, I trek down the beach away from the youth group so they won’t try to save me from my sins or preach to me about forgiveness. Well meaning or not, I don’t think I can handle anyone trying to help me. I bend down and pick up a few pieces of trash – bottle caps and candy wrappers – and keep my eyes on the sand, as if the ground will fall out from under me if I dare to look up at the sky.

  Why couldn’t they have assigned me to a homeless shelter or highway cleanup? There are plenty of people here. I could be stirring soup or picking up McDonald’s bags or handing out sandwiches. I really can’t imagine today getting any worse than having everyone in town standing on the beach while I’m bathing in my shame.

  I grab the empty water bottle from the sand, drop it in my bag, and glance toward the water when a group of guys holler out about an awesome wave. The guy on his board kicks out into the water, and I turn around as quickly as I saw the waves. It still pains me too much.

  But the view I catch on the beach hurts just as much. She’s not the same young girl with a flower in her hair, but I’d know her anywhere. It’s Leilani.

  Chapter Four – Leilani

  I exhale a breath of relief. I knew he’d probably be on beach cleanup duty because all community service assignments are basically beach cleanups. I guess that’s the perk of living in Hawaii. Even when you’re being punished, you’re swept up in an ocean breeze.

  Kale stands alone, holding a water bottle in his hand. He looks back to the bag as quickly as he’d looked at me. It’s so hard to see him as anyone other than the boy I grew up with. I know he’s been through hell, and I know he did some bad things, but seeing him here? It’s like I’m thirteen again, feeling nervous and excited and scared because my heart flutters in a way I don’t quite understand. But now I do. Now I know these feelings are butterflies.

  He’s taller, and his shoulders are broad. He’s let his hair grow out, but right now it’s pulled back to keep it out of his face for the day. He’s muscular, just like his California friend with the dreadlocks. I wonder if he misses them – or if they’re even friends now. Note to self: Don’t let him know you actually kept up with his social media accounts for the last few years.

  I slip the gloves on my hands, grab a bag, and head out toward the sand. I steady my breathing and grab the first item I see in the sand – an aluminum can – and then rake my hands over the grains to see if anything else may be lingering close by. I don’t want anyone to know I’m here just to see if he was here. I’m sure my brother and sister would know, but they have no idea that I’m spending my Saturday afternoon cleaning up the beach.

  For the next hour, I inch closer, trying to get within reach where it won’t be too awkward to talk to him. If he sees me near him, it’d be weird not to speak. There’s too much history for us to pretend we’re strangers. He stops to pick something up, and I decide it’s time – I’m going in for the kill.

  After a deep breath, I beeline toward him. He doesn’t look my way until I reach out
with my dirty glove and tap his shoulder. I instantly regret that decision when he jerks his arm away.

  “Hey,” I say, looking at the glove. “Sorry. I didn’t think about the…trash…How are you? I heard you were back on the island. With your grandparents, right?”

  He nods and reaches toward the sand, but there’s nothing there to pick up. “You know why I’m here,” he says. “Everyone knows. It’s probably better for you not to talk to me. I’m in the middle of community service right now.”

  And just like that, the boy who taught me how to surf walks away, as if I’m just another piece of plastic that should be discarded with the rest of the trash on the beach. This is going to be so much harder than I thought.

  “Lani!” a voice shouts from behind me.

  I cringe because I know Keiko’s voice anywhere. I spin around as my brother approaches me, decked out in gloves, a plastic bag in his hand.

  “Leilani,” he says, using my actual name rather than his nickname for me. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “How did you even find me?” I ask. I prop a hand on my hip but instantly undo the action when I think about the dirty glove again.

  He huffs. “I saw the flyer for the beach cleanup in the kitchen this morning,” he says. “I had a feeling you’d be here. At first I thought, ‘Cool, Lani’s helping clean up the beach, being all environment-friendly,’ but then I got here and I saw him and I knew better. Why are you doing this? You’ve seen the news. You know the story better than anyone. Why would you even begin mixing yourself up with him?”

  I whirl my plastic bag around in my hand, barely missing my brother’s leg. “You don’t understand,” I snap back. “You were never around. You were Keiko, the cool guy, the surfer dude with all the friends who went to all the parties. I was the pre-teen sister who you never had time for. You always had time for Kalani, but there was never enough time for me. Not from you anyway. So stay out of this.”