“Is there going to be more?” he asked. “More shit like this?”
His attitude was beginning to grate on me but then I remembered his history, what he'd been through. There wasn't cockiness or disdain in his voice. It was something else, something I couldn't quite place. “Yes, there will be plenty more shit like this.”
He ran a hand through his hair and I tried not to watch the way it fell right back onto his forehead, a perfect blond mess. “You gonna tell me what I'll be doing? So I can, like, plan?”
“You don't have to plan anything,” I said. “That's what you're paying me for.”
He sat up a little straighter. “I'm paying you?” he asked, amusement flavoring his voice.
“Who'd you think was footing the bill?”
A smile tugged at his lips and, eventually, it won. It transformed his entire face and suddenly I was looking at the boy-man I'd seen in those magazine ads spread out on my bed two nights earlier. A free-spirited, happy-go-lucky surfer who just happened to be walking perfection in the looks department, even with the cut under his eye and the stubble that dotted his cheeks and chin.
“I guess I didn't think,” he admitted. Softly, his voice almost a whisper, he added, “I've been doing a lot of that lately.”
I busied myself with my briefcase, latching it shut. “Well, it's you. Paying, I mean. Heath and Mark made the arrangements.”
Kellen nodded. “Are you cheap?”
I froze. His tone was casual enough but I knew his history, was well aware of his reputation.
“No,” I said curtly. “I'm not.”
To my surprise, he laughed. Not some soft chuckle of amusement but a full belly laugh.
He hoisted himself out of his chair. “You know what?” he asked. When I sat there silently, waiting for him to continue, he laughed again. “Despite all this bullshit you've got lined up for me, I think...I think I'm gonna like you.”
It wasn't what I wanted to hear. I didn't want Kellen Handler to like me. I wanted to do my job – fix his tarnished reputation – and get the hell out of there. I'd told Gavin Johnson that I didn't want the gig. I'd been working at the PR firm for less than a year and wasn't qualified for that high-profile of a case. Hell, I was twenty-three years old, fresh out of college, employed there as a favor to my dad. I knew it and Gavin knew it. The job should have gone to someone far more experienced. I'd told him that repeatedly.
But Gavin hadn't cared.
“You know the scene, Regina,” he'd said, calling me by my full name, the name my dad always insisted on using. The name Luke used to use teasingly. I'd swallowed back the unexpected surge of tears.
He'd called me in to his office and I'd parked myself in the leather chair across from his desk. He'd handed me the file and told me to start preparing. And then I'd opened it.
“That was years ago,” I protested. It had been. I'd skipped out of the surfing scene three years ago. On purpose, no looking back. I was done.
But Gavin had known. He knew my history. “Doesn't matter,” he said. “I want someone young handling this one. Someone who'll appeal to that crowd. Someone who will appeal to Kellen. You're the one.”
“And what if I don't want to do it?” It was the last job I wanted to take. And Kellen Handler was the last person I wanted to appeal to.
Gavin smiled. “You'll do it.”
And I had. I'd taken the box full of papers and information and gone home to my one-bedroom apartment in Encinitas and studied, as impartially as I could, all of the information Gavin Johnson had given me. Every article and picture available of Kellen Handler.
I blinked a couple of times, pulling myself back to the present. Kellen stood in front of me, a half-smile on his lips. I looked away, fumbling for my sunglasses and keys, remembering what he'd just said.
I think I'm gonna like you.
Gavin might not have been right about me being the best person for the job. But he had gotten one thing right.
Kellen Handler liked me. He'd just admitted it.
Out loud.
And that admission scared me to death.
TEN
Kellen
Gina was waiting for me outside the hotel the next morning, idling in a shiny black Honda Accord. She'd rolled down the passenger window, her sunglass-covered eyes focused on the hotel entrance. I'd grabbed a cup of coffee from the lobby and stepped out into the bright morning sunshine and immediately spotted her.
She leaned down out of view and the trunk popped open. “Throw your bag back there,” she said.
I did as I was told, tossing my duffel bag into her immaculate trunk. There was nothing inside of it and I decided it was probably a new car. I loped toward the front of the car and two women appeared out of nowhere, Surfer magazines and Sharpies in their hands.
The first one, tall and thin, wearing a skimpy black bikini top and cut-off shorts, shoved the magazine toward me. “Autograph?”
The other girl giggled. “Me, too.”
“You were amazing yesterday,” the tall one gushed. “Amazing.”
I had been. Despite all the shit that had gone down prior to the finals, I'd suited up and grabbed my board and carved up every single wave sent my direction. For thirty minutes, I didn't think about what I'd done or what was waiting for me when I finished. I didn't think about Jay and I didn't think about myself. I just focused on the water twisting and moving beneath me. And that was all – that was everything – I'd needed to do to secure the championship.
Before I could say anything, Gina was at my side. She smiled at both women. “He'd be happy to sign but we need to be quick. We're on our way to a charity event.”
The tall woman raised her eyebrows. “Charity event?” I could hear the unasked question in her voice: since when did Kellen Handler do charity events?
“Yes,” Gina said, her voice smooth, as if she was explaining something I did daily. “A surf clinic at Huntington Beach State Park. It's open to the public if you ladies would like to stop by.”
“You can teach us how to surf?” the other girl, a redhead, practically squealed.
Gina smiled. “Not quite. He'll be teaching kids how to surf. But you're welcome to come and watch.” She turned to me and, even through her sunglasses, I could feel her eyes bore into me. “Sign their magazines and let's go. We don't want to be late.”
I reached for the pen and scrawled my name on both 'zines, said a quick goodbye and hopped in to the passenger seat of Gina's car.
“How did I do?” I asked as she pulled out of the hotel parking lot and on to PCH.
She glanced in the rearview mirror. “Well, you didn't punch them or try to sleep with either of them, so I'd say alright.”
I laughed. “I'll take that as a positive.”
She didn't look at me and didn't respond but I saw the answering smile spread across her face. She reached out and turned the volume down on the car stereo. An Offspring song, a song I liked, the kind of song I didn't think she would listen to. But what did I know about the dark-haired chick sitting next to me in the car? The only thing I knew was that she'd been hired to fix me, not her taste in music.
I turned my attention back to the road. “You know, I could have walked here.”
We were turning into the parking lot of the park. The beach was already full of people. A battered yellow school bus was parked in the lot, filled with middle-school aged kids. The driver stood at the base of the steps, motioning for the kids to get off. Another adult, probably a teacher, exited first, hauling an armful of boogie boards.
She pulled into a reserved parking space and cut the engine. “I know.”
I got out of the car. “Could have saved you the trip. And the tenth of a gallon of gas you just used.”
She reached around to the backseat and grabbed her briefcase. “You don't go anywhere without me, remember?”
I remembered. She'd made that crystal clear before she'd left me in the hotel lobby yesterday. I'd been given firm instructions. Surf the finals.
Smile on the podium, regardless of whether I won or lost. And only give an interview with Mark or Bruce in attendance. I'd listened.
I opened the passenger door and stepped out on the asphalt. The air was already warm, not a cloud in the sky. A light onshore breeze blew and smallish waves with clean breaks crashed to the shore. It definitely wasn't my gig for surfing – I'd have scoped it for about thirty seconds before turning around to scout a new location. But for gremmies fresh in the water? We'd be good.
Gina fell into step next to me. She wore a pair of khaki shorts that hid too much of her legs and a red polo that somehow matched the exact shade of her lips. Her hair was down, loose, and the breeze picked up locks of it, tossing and teasing it. She had a file in her hand and she flipped it open as we walked toward the beach.
There was a small perimeter roped off and around this, a group of reporters had already gathered. I recognized a few: people from the local news stations and some reporters from magazines and newspapers. Thankfully, Lindsay from ESPN was not there. I was sure she would have had some choice words for me.
“Clinic starts at eleven,” Gina said. “We'll go until twelve-thirty or so. Break for lunch. You'll give interviews at that time. With me,” she added. “We'll have you get back out in the water at one-thirty, spend a couple more hours in the water with the kids. We should be wrapped up by four o'clock.”
“That's five hours.”
She nodded. “Yes. I'm aware.”
I didn't want to spend five hours teaching kids how to surf and schmoozing the press. I just wanted to get the hell out of Huntington and head back down the coast to my place, the place I called home for now.
I glanced back at the bus. At least twenty kids had filed off the bus and were standing in the parking lot, looking uneasy and completely out of place. They were inner city kids, mostly Latinos and blacks, and I wondered if any of them had ever gone swimming in the ocean, much less tried out a surfboard.
“Is anyone helping?” I asked Gina.
She'd slipped out of her shoes – a pair of black, heeled sandals – so she could navigate the sand. Her pink toenails disappeared as her feet sank into the sand.
“Helping?”
I nodded my head in the direction of the bus. “That's a lot of kids.”
“You saying you need help?” she asked. “You can't handle it?”
“I never said that.”
She smiled. “Relax. You're taking them out in groups of four. We have three adults who'll be out in the water with you, making sure the kids don't drown out there.”
I froze and Gina's eyes widened.
She covered her hand with her mouth. “Oh, shit.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry. That was an awful thing to say. I'm sorry.”
Before I could stop them, the images came flooding back. I stood there on the sand, my eyes closed, and let them come. Not because I wanted them but because I knew I didn't have a choice. Scanning the waves at Mavericks, looking for Jay, not seeing him. Unease settling in the pit of my stomach, morphing into full-blown panic when his wave closed out on him and he didn't reappear. Paddling toward where I'd last seen him, my arms limp and heavy with exhaustion, diving under the waves over and over, searching. Treading water, the salty ocean water indistinguishable from the tears stinging my eyes. Hearing the shouts from the cliffs, seeing the fingers pointing, my heart threatening to hammer out of my chest as I headed in the direction they pointed.
“Kellen.”
I opened my eyes. Gina stood so close to me I could touch her. Her face was tilted upward and her eyes were flooded with concern. “Are you alright?” she asked.
No. I was a fucking mess.
I started to respond, to shake my head and tell her no, I couldn't do this, when she reached out and touched my cheek. Her fingers were cool and she caressed my skin lightly, as soft as a feather. I reached up and gripped her hand. I didn't push her away but held on tight, fighting to get myself under control.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't mean to be so...so insensitive.”
I took a deep breath and stepped back and her hand fell away. “It's fine,” I said. It wasn't but I had to pretend, just like I had been for the last six months.
Gina frowned. “It was a shitty thing to say. And I'm sorry.”
“It's fine,” I repeated. I breathed in deeply one more time, letting the ocean air work its magic on me. It still had that effect of calming me down, of soothing me, despite the mix of memories it held for me. “Let's get started.”
She started to say something, then stopped. She adjusted her sunglasses, her finger wiping below one of the lenses before she glanced down at the file she was holding and continued walking.
We made our way to the roped-off area and Gina introduced me to a few people. I tried to pay attention but I'd checked out, made my mind a complete blank. I nodded and shook hands, paying no attention to names or the people they were attached to. It didn't matter who these guys were; I'd never see them again after the clinic, anyway.
“And this is Barry,” Gina said. “He's the director of Bridging the Gap.”
My face must have registered a blank expression because Gina widened her eyes and added, “You know, the organization we're working with today.”
I forced a smile on to my face and shook his hand. Barry was a middle-aged Hispanic guy with thick black hair and a slew of gold chains around his neck. He wore a white polo with the organization's logo embroidered on the front in tiny red letters, a pair of black shorts and loafers I was sure were full of sand. There should have been a rule about wearing shoes on the beach.
“This is a good thing you're doing, man,” Barry said, his voice accented heavily. “These boys, they don't know nothin' about surfing.”
I nodded. The kids were descending on to the beach, towels looped around their necks, sporting gold necklaces similar to Barry's. A couple of them wore board shorts but most were dressed in cut-off jeans, their boxers hanging out, their torsos lean and thin. They eyed me, a mixture of curiosity and indifference. It wasn't anything I wasn't used to; it was how most of my competitors looked at me, too.
“They won't know nothing by the time I'm done,” I told him.
Barry grinned, exposing a gold-capped front tooth. “They may give you shit out there in the water. They don't mean no harm. These boys...they're not used to people wanting to help them. You dig?”
I nodded. “I can take it.”
Gina motioned to a few other people, guys she'd already introduced me to whose names I had forgotten. They approached cautiously, like I was some uncaged wild animal. I offered a smile and they smiled back nervously. They looked like college kids. Blond, like me, but clean-cut, like they spent their time at school instead of on the beach.
“They'll be out in the water with you,” she said. She pointed to the left. “We have boards over there. The kids have already been instructed not to touch them unless given permission by you.”
I turned my attention back to the water. The break was still small, steady 2-3 foot waves rolling in softly. The wind was gentle enough that there was no chop. I scanned the break, looking for rip currents. None to see but it was low tide, which meant there was a greater likelihood one would materialize.
“These guys swim?” I asked.
Barry nodded. “They've done swim lessons at the Boys & Girls club. Not much ocean action.”
“Alright,” I said. I studied the group of boys and was grateful that they were all dark-haired and dark-skinned. I wouldn't see Jay's blond hair or hazel eyes in any of them while we were out on the water. “Let's do this.”
ELEVEN
Kellen
“You did a good job.”
I finished toweling off my hair and said nothing.
Gina smiled from her spot on the beach. After talking with a few reporters and spectators, she'd settled down on the sand, her shoes and briefcase next to her. I hadn't paid much attention to her while I'd been out in the water. I'd been too focused on
the kids bobbing up and down in the waves next to me, their indifference morphing into enthusiasm after their first taste of getting on the board.
We'd started slowly, giving each kid a chance to straddle the board, to lay down on it and ride a wave into shore. After realizing no one would ever get a chance to try to stand if we continued on with just one board in the water, I'd body surfed in and grabbed two more boards, tucking them under my arms and hauling them back out past the break. My helpers, the college-kids, had balked at first but I'd shown them how to hold the board and how to help the kids up into a prone position. After our lunch break – lukewarm pizza donated by a local joint and bottles of even warmer Gatorade – I'd switched tactics. Instead of having a group out in the water, I'd taken them out, one at a time, for an individualized surf session. More than half got to a standing position after their first try and were able to successfully stay upright for a few seconds before slipping off and into the water.
“And you didn't have to stay,” she said.
I rubbed the towel against my hair and across my face. Sand dug into my skin and the salt water stung my eyes, but it felt good. Normal. What I was used to. “What do you mean?”
She glanced at her watch. “It's almost five-thirty. We were supposed to end at four.”
“Yeah, well, they weren't done.”
None of the kids had wanted to leave when four o'clock rolled around. Barry had looked at me, his eyebrows raised, and I'd just shrugged.
“You cool with staying?” he'd asked.
I'd nodded and the kids erupted into cheers. And we'd stayed.
“Still,” she said, smiling. “You didn't have to stay.”
I sank on to the sand next to her. “I know.”
The beach was mostly deserted. The reporters and spectators had left soon after lunch. They'd gotten their fill of watching me out in the water, coaching and coaxing the kids up on to the boards. When they realized they weren't going to see me do much of anything except stand in waist-deep water and propel surfboards toward shore, they'd quickly lost interest.
And I'd relaxed. With the reporters and the cameras gone, I'd loosened up a little. The breaks were small, the rip currents nonexistent and I somehow managed to not even think about Jay. All I thought about were these punks on the water, punks like me who, despite their reservations and their cool exteriors, were just as thrilled to catch their first wave at twelve as I'd been when I was eight.
The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories Page 146