Maverick

by Cruise, Anna

  “I feel like you're about to drop a bomb on me,” I said. “Not sure why, buy my internal alarm is sounding.”

  He chuckled into the phone. “I wouldn't call it a bomb.”

  “What would you call it then?”

  “I would call it a difficult task,” he said. “OK. The guy Handler roughed up?”

  The fight. Newspaper. I pulled facts as quickly as I could. “The Nike kid.”

  “Right. The father is making some noise about going public, maybe pursuing damages with the tour.”

  “That seems a bit far-fetched,” I said.

  “Their attorneys think so, too,” he said. “But the attention and publicity wouldn't help the tour or Handler.”

  “Right.”

  “So,” he said.

  I waited, saying nothing, focused on the road in front of me. I'd taken PCH instead of the 5. There was less traffic but it wasn't a straight shot back up the coast, hauling eighty miles an hour.

  “I think an apology might go a long way,” Gavin said.

  “Public?”

  “Private.”

  I sighed. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” he said. “I talked to both Turner and Wyckoff about it. They agree. They aren't worried about the legal aspects and I think that's right. I suggested a private apology because it gives us a chance to get ahead of the story if the family does decide to talk to the media.”

  I knew he was right. If Kellen apologized to the guy and then the family went public, the tour could issue a statement that he'd already spoken with them, that he hadn't waited for public pressure to do so. Being proactive would be favorable for both Kellen and the tour.

  But the dynamics of a private apology were usually extremely awkward at best. Given the fact that I'd be dealing with two testosterone-driven males in their twenties, plus some family that apparently had money to burn, made it all the less attractive.

  “I'm going to set it up for the day after tomorrow,” Gavin said. “You think you can get Handler on board?”

  “I'll try.”

  I was in Dana Point and saw the sign for the hotel I'd be staying at. I'd decided to stay in a hotel for the first few days. We were going to be doing things that were mostly in Orange County for the first week and I didn't want to fight the traffic from San Diego every day. Plus, I was close by in case Kellen did anything stupid.

  “You need to do more than that. He can't go there and be anything less than conciliatory.”

  “I'm aware of that,” I said, frowning as I pulled into the parking lot. “I'm just saying it might not be that easy. A couple of alpha dogs, Gavin. You know how that goes.”

  “Well, convince him he needs to be a beta dog for one day,” he replied. “Doesn't have to be long or involved. He just needs to apologize.”

  “Anything else I can do?” I asked. “Maybe swim the English Channel? Run two marathons in a day?”

  He chuckled again. “If I didn't think you could pull it off, Gina, I wouldn't be asking.”

  “You aren't asking,” I said, parking the car and cutting the engine. “You're telling.”

  “Semantics,” he said. “But I think you can get it done.”

  I leaned my head back against the headrest. “I'll talk to him in the morning.”

  “I'll send you the details after I've got it set up,” he said.

  We hung up and I got out of the car and grabbed my stuff from the trunk.

  I wasn't looking forward to telling Kellen about the apology. I'd specifically avoided talking to him about the fight. There was never a good reason for a fight and I doubted that he'd be the first to come up with one. That didn't mean it was his fault but ultimately it didn't matter. I'd seen him weaken a little over the day, give in a little to the idea of me and what we were trying to do for him. Not a little, I thought. A lot. He'd been great with the kids. He'd balked at the idea of the banquet but I knew he'd do it. And he'd do it well. But asking him to flat-out apologize to a guy he'd punched in the face? That might not sit too well. I was going to need some time to think of how to pitch it to him.

  I checked into the hotel and found my room on the top floor. I kicked off my sandals and tossed my bag on the bed, a massive king-sized bed with a thick, white comforter. A desk, a dresser, a microwave and mini fridge. It had all the comforts of home; everything I would need for the next couple of days, anyway. The room was stuffy and I found the AC unit near the window. I dialed down the thermostat and pulled the curtains on the window.

  Even at night, the view was spectacular. Lights dotted the marina, the tall-masted sailboats like soldiers standing at attention. I couldn't see the ocean past the bay but I knew it was there. It was always there. I stood there for a moment, staring, thinking before I drew the curtains closed. It was a beautiful view, one that most people would've been thrilled to have.

  I didn't need to see it.

  I'd seen it plenty of times.

  And when I looked at it, all I saw were bad memories.

  FOURTEEN

  I rolled over and hit the alarm on my phone, but kept my eyes shut. I wasn't ready to get up.

  I'd sat down in my living room after Gina left, trying to put her out of my mind. I needed to focus on what I was going to say to the girls at the surf school, but I couldn't get my mind to cooperate. I'd stared at a blank laptop screen for nearly an hour before giving up and closing it down. I'd turned on the TV, but just flipped through the channels mindlessly. I didn't go anywhere near the fridge or the beer and ended up going to bed before midnight. I couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

  But sleep was hard to find and I tossed and turned most of the night, dozing off every so often before being jolted awake by the speech hanging over me. I'd set my alarm so I'd have time to work on it in the morning, but I was awake, just lying there when the phone started vibrating on my nightstand.

  I opened my eyes. Rip was sound asleep next to me, curled up on my hip. He was always more attached after I'd been gone for a few days. Lucky for him, it didn't look like I'd be going anywhere anytime soon.

  I pushed myself out of bed and he fell over to the side, opened an eye at me and then shut it, apparently deciding he wasn't ready to get up. I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of orange juice, grabbed the laptop off the coffee table and went outside to the back patio.

  The beach was nearly deserted, save for a couple of walkers headed south toward the pier. The sun was up high in the east, casting long shadows over the ocean. I spotted a few bodies in the water and had a momentary thought of grabbing a board and joining them. But then I looked at the laptop and knew I'd just be avoiding the issue. I set the juice on the small glass table next to my chair and opened up the computer.

  The last time I'd written anything was in high school and even then it had been some half-ass attempt at an essay for my English class. I couldn't even recall the topic, but I did remember trying to get other people to write it for me. I'd struck out and had to do it myself. I had to stay up the entire night before it was due but I'd somehow managed to finish it. I would've rather taken a fork to the eye.

  I stared at the blank screen and thought about the suggestions Gina had given me. She hadn't mentioned Jay and I was grateful for that. I knew I couldn't write about him and apparently, she'd figured that out, too. There was no way I could put my feelings about him into words and even if I had been able to, I knew that speaking those words out loud in front of a bunch of people I didn't know wouldn't go well. So I immediately ruled that out.

  A scratching at the glass door behind me made me turn around. Rip was standing up on his back paws, completely stretched out, scraping his front paws against the glass. I leaned back and slid the door open. He trotted out and hopped up on the chair next to me. He squinted into the breeze, his nose twitching. He did a couple of circles on the chair and finally plopped down into a tight little ball, closing his eyes again.

  I turned my attention back to the screen. I pecked at the laptop, my fingers
clumsy on the keyboard. I didn't spend my time on my laptop hammering out documents, I spent my time scrolling through surf reports. I typed out a few sentences about learning to surf, like Gina had suggested. I read them in my head. They didn't totally suck so I typed a few more. I tried not to overthink it and, after an hour of poking away at the keys, I attached the document to an email and sent it to Gina for her to look at it. I wasn't holding out much hope that it would be good, but I hoped she might be able to fix it.

  I went back inside, made eggs and toast for breakfast, then spent time using the laptop the way I liked to, checking message boards and surf reports. The rumors about my suspension were already hitting the boards, but no one seemed to be able to confirm whether it was true or not. It was unsettling to read about myself like that. I rarely went hunting for my name on the Internet. There were always rumors but I didn't get involved with that shit. For me, surfing was about surfing, not drama concocted by kooks who didn't have anything better to do. But this time around? I thought that if things were going to be said about me, I probably needed to know what they were.

  The doorbell rang a minute before ten and a short, squat guy sporting a tie handed me the suit that Gina ordered for me. I unzipped the black bag. Charcoal gray with pin stripes. The guy asked me to try it on so we could make sure it fit before he left and, after a moment's hesitation, I grabbed the suit and headed for the bathroom. The guy tugged on the jacket and the waistband and pronounced a perfect fit. It didn't feel perfect. It felt like a fucking straight jacket. But I thanked him and peeled it off as soon as he left.

  My phone rang and I crossed the living room in my boxers and picked it up off the counter.

  “Suit get there?” Gina asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “The guy made me try it on.”

  “Did it fit?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “Yeah.” What the hell did I know about suits?

  “Okay,” she said and it sounded like she was smiling. “I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess you don't own a shirt or tie to wear with it. So I'll bring those.”

  “I can't believe you're dressing me.”

  “I can't believe you don't own anything but shorts and t-shirts,” she countered, and this time I could definitely hear the laughter in her voice.

  “Whatever,” I said, a smile finding its way to my lips. “You get my email?”

  “Yeah,” she answered. “I was surprised you were up so early. I'm grabbing breakfast now and then I'll head over, if that's alright?”

  “That's fine.”

  “You want anything?”

  I didn't but I hated turning her down, especially when she was being so nice. She was still professional, still focused on business, but her demeanor had softened a bit. She was friendly, laughing. And I wanted more of that.

  “I already ate,” I finally said.

  “No worries,” she said. “I'll see you in fifteen minutes, then.” She hung up.

  I picked the suit up off the floor and carefully replaced it on the hangers. I pulled on the shorts I'd worn to bed, grabbed a T-shirt, cleaned up the kitchen and was wondering why she hadn't said anything about what I'd sent her when she knocked on the door.

  I tried not to stare. She wasn't dressed for work. She wore denim shorts cut to mid-thigh, revealing an eyeful of bare, smooth leg. A blue tank top that hugged all of her curves. And, damn, she had a lot of them. Her hair hung loose, just past her shoulders, the ends still damp from her shower. The scent of her shampoo was overwhelming She looked more like she was ready to head down to the sand than help me write a speech. I swallowed and tried to look away.

  “Hi,” she said, stepping past me, her briefcase in one hand and a bag of something that smelled good in the other.

  “Hi, yourself.” I closed the door behind her.

  “Where's the suit?” she asked, looking around.

  “It's hung up, not wadded up in a corner, if you need to go check.”

  She set her stuff down on the small, square kitchen table. “I'll trust you.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She opened the white paper bag and pulled something out. Two somethings. Fat aluminum foil-covered burritos. “I got two. Eggs, cheese and sausage.” She smiled. “Just in case.”

  My stomach jumped just a little. And not because I was hungry.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But I'm alright.”

  I watched as she pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. She looked comfortable. At home. And I liked that. Nothing had felt right about living there since Jay had died. No one had visited. Stopped by. I wouldn't let anyone. And yet here she was, sitting at my table, looking like she'd done it a million times.

  “Did you even read what I sent you?”

  “Yeah.” Her face looked a little less burned. The pink in her cheeks and on her nose had melded into a rose-tinted bronze. “Why?”

  “You didn't say anything on the phone.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Worried?”

  “No,” I lied.

  She unwrapped one of the burritos. “Relax.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  She took a huge bite of the burrito and shrugged.

  I sat down at the table across from her and waited.

  She finished chewing. “It's pretty good, Kellen.”

  “The burrito?”

  She laughed. “Well, yeah, that too, but I meant what you sent me,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  She nodded. “We need to clean it up a little, but what you sent me?” She smiled again. “It's not bad at all, considering how much you whined about having to do it.”

  I shifted in my chair, uncomfortable. “I just haven't done much of this kind of...thing.”

  She nodded as she ate. “I understand. But what you gave me is pretty good. You'll be fine.”

  “Unless I start stuttering like an idiot.”

  “You won't,” she said, glancing at me. “You seem to come through in the moment.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She set the burrito down and wiped her hands on a white paper napkin she pulled from the bag. “I watched you in the finals. You had all of this crap swirling around you. Me being forced on you. Probably a bunch of stuff I don't even know about. But you went out there and nailed it.” She stared at me. “You totally came through when it was time to come through.”

  “Yeah, but that's surfing,” I said. “I know how to do that.”

  “It's more than that,” she said, picking up the burrito again. “Usually, if you can do it with one thing, you can do it in others. So I think you'll be fine.”

  I looked away. I didn't know what to tell her. I thought I was damn good at surfing but not good at too many other things. At least not anything that mattered. I could drink most people under the table. And I could get chicks out of their clothes pretty damn fast. But other stuff, stuff that mattered? Not so much. I was good at surfing all the time, not just in the finals. It was the one thing I knew I did better than nearly anyone else. In my mind, there was nothing else like it.

  Gina finished the burrito and pulled her computer out of her bag. She opened it and the attachment I'd sent her was already open on the screen.

  “We're doing this now?” I asked.

  She stared at me. “Uh, yeah. That's why I came over. You have something else you want to do?”

  I lost myself a little in her eyes. With the sun streaming through the window, they looked almost translucent, the color of whiskey. Yeah, I could definitely drown in those.

  “Hey,” she said.

  I refocused. “Yeah. I mean, No.”

  “Okay, then,” she said, grinning. “We're doing it now.”

  I nodded and pulled my chair closer to her. I laid my palms flat on the table and took short, shallow breaths so the smell of her wouldn't distract me.

  An hour later, we'd gone through every single line I'd written. Gina had cut a
few out, added some of her own and changed seemingly every other one. Finally satisfied, she'd connected her laptop to my wireless printer and printed two copies. She made me read it out loud twice, with her following along, with her making me stand up when I did it. She corrected me several times, telling me to stand up straighter, to look up occasionally, to try and smile.

  I would've preferred stepping on a stingray.

  But I did it because she didn't give me a choice. And because I wanted to prove to her that I could do it. Hell, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.

  She made me read it a third time and by the time I finished it, I felt like I'd read it a hundred times. But it wasn't entirely painful.

  “I think you're ready,” she said, leaning back in the chair. “Maybe read it once or twice more before tonight. And then that's it.”

  “Should I memorize it?'

  She shook her head. “No. Worse thing you can do. Because if you forget part of it, you'll get confused. It'll become like quicksand. The speech is just a roadmap. Just be familiar with it.”

  I set the papers on the table. “Alright.”

  She stood and stretched and walked into the living room, looking out the window toward the beach. “And now we need to chat about something else.”

  Her voice was a little flat and I glanced up at her. “That doesn't sound good.”

  She shrugged, standing next to the glass, eyes on the water. “Just depends.”

  “On?”

  She rolled her shoulders, then pointed at the door. “Can we go outside?”

  I nodded and followed her out to the patio. Maybe she was ready to continue our conversation from the night before. Tell me exactly what she'd been pointing to when we'd stood outside, why she'd looked ready to burst into tears.

  The air outside was cool and the breeze had turned the waves into nothing more than mush. I watched the break collapse on to itself, seaweed swirling in a mess of foam. At least I wasn't missing anything out there.

  “How'd you find this place?” Gina asked, walking over to the short wall that ran between the house and the sand.