Always Summer

by Nikki Godwin

  “We win, though,” Topher says. “We all have each other, and we have Drenaline Surf. Who cares if Dominic is in Hawaii or Tahiti or wherever?”

  Everyone nods in agreement, and another racecar takes off.

  The chandeliers sparkle above us, casting tiny dots of lights on the white marble flooring. I inhale and exhale, as steadily as possible, keeping my legs crossed so maybe my nervousness won’t show. Be a professional, Haley. Fake it for today.

  “Will you stop stressing out?” A.J. whispers next to me. “You’re making me nervous, and I’m already sweating.”

  I don’t mean to laugh, but A.J. is so out of his element today. He wears khaki pants – that Alston had to iron for him – and a button-up white shirt that his tattoos still show through because it’s thin. But he made the effort to look like a professional today, and I’m proud of him for it.

  Jace, on the other hand, looks like he’s done this a million times as he stands at the check-in counter of Florence Gardens Inn announcing our arrival.

  “Fucking chandeliers,” A.J. mumbles under his breath. “You know, there used to be giant tea cups sitting around here.”

  His eyes glaze over with nothing short of red anger. Instead of teacups and crazy mirrors, this place is now full of live plants, beautiful flowers, and fish tanks full of brightly colored salt-water fishes. If they’d replace that store-bought painting with some of Shark McAllister’s photography, this place would be spectacular…for a hotel that destroyed my best friend’s sacred grounds. On second thought, they don’t deserve Shark’s pictures.

  Jace looks over and motions us toward him. The girl behind the front desk leads us to an office with a huge back glass rather than a wall. Whoever sits across from the manager has a perfectly gorgeous view of the beach. What a marketing strategy.

  “Hi, I’m Jace Hudson. We’re with Drenaline Surf,” Jace says, stretching his arm across the desk to shake hands with the hotel manager. He quickly introduces us, making sure he adds our business titles behind our names, and we take a seat.

  “I’m Margaret Pearson,” the lady across the desk says. “It’s so nice to meet you all.”

  Something about her strikes me down instantly. She’s an older lady, maybe in her early sixties, and she’s dressed in a suit that could’ve come out of Colby’s mom’s wardrobe. Her lipstick is a bright shade of coral, and I’m pretty sure Emily would have something to say about how it’s the wrong shade to wear with that ugly tan pantsuit.

  She folds her hands and speaks before Jace even has a chance to slide the Drenaline Surf brochure across her desk.

  “We’re all so honored that a longstanding local business would reach out to us for a partnership, and while we think it’d be a great source of business for both of us, I’m afraid we have a few concerns,” she says.

  Damn. This lady doesn’t play. I’m sure she’s seen the local news. The gossip mill around Crescent Cove is on a constant spin cycle. I’m prepared, though. I can defend the ordeal with Colby’s parents. I can carefully word a rehearsed speech about Vin’s departure. I can even BS some line about how we’re hoping this will help us expand and allow us to branch out and find new talent. Go ahead, lady. Throw it at me. I’ve got this.

  “I believe that there are always two sides to every story, so I haven’t paid any mind to the things being said around town,” she informs us. “However, one thing has been brought to our attention that I don’t believe your public relations department can weave into a misunderstanding.”

  Jace clears his throat. “What exactly are you referring to?” he asks.

  Her eyes shift to A.J. and then back to Jace. “I hate to have this conversation right here, but it’s been brought to our attention that your manager has a criminal record,” she says.

  Oh, hell no. I know this crazy bitch didn’t just go there. How in the hell did she even find out about that? A.J.’s record is sealed. He was under eighteen. Even the idiotic charges from Topher’s joyride were dropped because there were no grounds for an arrest.

  A.J. jumps up from his chair before my brain even finishes processing this information. He kicks the chair back behind him.

  “I don’t have a criminal record,” he says, pressing both palms against the edge of her fancy oak wood desk. “But I’ll let you know damn quick that if you want to talk about my record, we can sure as hell create one right here and now.”

  I stand and grab his arm, unsure of what I’m going to do if he actually decides to lunge for this woman.

  “Let’s go outside,” I tell him, giving him a mild tug.

  He pulls his arm free from my grasp, though, and leans forward. “You don’t know what you’ve done coming in here,” A.J. says, never taking his eyes away from the manager. “You and Florence and whoever the fucking hell you brought in here, you’re all going to regret this. You will regret ever building on my grounds!”

  This! This is why A.J. didn’t want to come here. This is why he didn’t want to make the phone call or be the manager for this meeting. As much as I hate that this is happening, I’m so glad Jace is here to see firsthand that there are certain lines you just can’t cross with A.J. Gonzalez, and this was one of them.

  I push him back away from the desk, but I don’t dare speak. Instead, I push him toward the door in a crazed hurry, hoping the wild animal glare in his eyes will fade once we’re outside and away from these shiny marbled floors.

  The sunlight dips down and swoops under the canopy of palm trees, shedding just enough light onto A.J.’s face for me to see the pain written on his skin.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. It seems like we all ask that a lot these days.

  He shakes his head. “I lost it. I’m sorry. I completely fucking lost it,” he says. He looks down, still shaking his head, like he’s not quite sure what happened in there.

  The same words continue to run together as he speaks – he lost it, he’s sorry, he just lost it, he’s sorry, Jace is going to kill him, and he’s sorry.

  “Fucking Pittman,” he mutters. He balls his hand into a fist but stops before he actually punches anything around us. “How is this happening to me? I’m finally doing everything right, and this is the shit I get for it?”

  I comb through the recent days in my mind, checking each file for any type of clue as to how this actually happened. Why would someone inform Florence Gardens Inn about A.J.’s past? It doesn’t even matter if he had a juvenile record. That thing is sealed. It’s over and done.

  “You think he did it?” A.J. asks.

  “Who?” I question.

  “Pittman,” he says, as if it’s the obvious answer. “I bet he warned them about me. Probably said I’d show up over here and act a fool because of where they built. They’re probably in there calling him right now. Got him on speed dial. He’s just waiting for me to lose it so he can haul me in and make it permanent.”

  I never, ever thought I’d say it, but I actually hope it was Pittman this time. At least then I could just blame it on his hatred for A.J. and his need to bring my best friend down. But this isn’t the work of Crescent Cove’s finest officer. Everything inside of me knows better.

  “I don’t think so,” I admit, unable to look A.J. in the eye. “Whoever did this knew we were coming today to talk to them about a partnership. I think it’s the same person who is trying to run Drenaline Surf through the mud. Liquid Spirit or Dominic or whoever it is behind all of this. Colby’s parents maybe? I don’t know. But I really don’t think this was Pittman. I think this is related to the bigger picture.”

  When Jace finally exits the hotel, he’s much calmer than I expected him to be. Even Vin would’ve laid into A.J. for saying the things he did in there. It wouldn’t have mattered if they were in the wrong.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Jace says, unlocking his truck. He gets into the driver’s side seat and cranks up, his face serious the entire time.

  “I’m sorry,” A.J. says from the backseat.

  Jace shakes his head a
nd glances behind him before backing out of his parking spot and burning rubber in the newly paved parking lot.

  “Fuck them,” Jace says. “That bitch had the nerve to say she’d hold a signing for Logan or ‘one of the other wholesome boys’ as long as A.J. wasn’t on the premises. Then she offered to put brochures in their lobby.”

  I wait with baited breath to hear if he actually agreed to this. I know we need some good publicity, but I won’t stand for it at the cost of A.J.’s reputation.

  Jace shakes his head again. “I told her I should’ve trusted A.J.’s instinct from the beginning and never even attempted to do business with them. I said that Drenaline Surf didn’t need to be associated with a company like that. Then I thanked her for her time and left.”

  A.J. leans forward, in between the front seats. “So you’re not mad at me?” he asks.

  Jace smirks. “Well, you probably shouldn’t have screamed the word ‘fucking’ in there, but hell – fuck it. I’m with you. I’ve got your back,” he says.

  And with that, Jace wins the award for best boss.

  Chapter Eleven

  A media circus awaits us at the new location. TV crews, media vans, and reporters hover around waiting for the big announcement. They probably think this is going to be a press conference where we allow the media vultures to pick apart what’s left of our reputation and dignity. They’re here hoping to get the scoop on Colby’s parents, Logan’s ostracism, Vin’s departure, or possibly even A.J.’s criminal record. They’ll probably be disappointed to learn that we’re opening a board shop.

  Jace, Topher, and Kale help set up the podium and a bright red ribbon for the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Jace connects the sound system, and my heart breaks a little bit when I see how much more comfortable he is doing that than he is standing as Drenaline Surf’s man-in-charge. Even though the music store hasn’t officially closed down, they’re only open three days a week, and they have a ‘last day’ set in stone.

  “So, do we just stand here and look good?” Alston asks. He and A.J. match in their Drenaline Surf polo shirts and khaki pants. Alston definitely looks more professional, though.

  “Yes,” I say. I push my sunglasses up into my hair. “Do every single thing you can to make Drenaline Surf look good.”

  I remain close to my manager roommates to avoid being asked questions by the media. This isn’t the moment for a press statement. Luckily, they keep their distance, talking among themselves, most likely guessing what our big news may be.

  Soon after, Joe, the mayor of Crescent Cove, and the chief of police gather around the podium. The mayor welcomes everyone and thanks them for coming out today to join us for a special occasion. The chief of police follows, instructing the media to hold all questions until the end of the presentation to avoid any chaos.

  Then Joe takes to the podium. He repeats the mayor’s thanks before speaking.

  “Many of you knew my son Jake and watched Drenaline Surf rise from the ground up,” he says. “What you may not know is that he always dreamed of expanding, opening another store, and hopefully having a board shop of his own. It saddens me that he did not live to see it happen, but I’m honored to be surrounded by such an amazing group of people who believe in Jake’s dream and have worked hard to help continue the vision my son had.”

  An eruption of applause surrounds us. I skim the crowd to see a lot of Drenaline Surf regulars standing among the people. Looks like the media wasn’t the only group interested in what we were doing next. Both Horn Island and Crescent Cove residents stand in the crowd.

  “It’s such an honor to announce that we’ll be opening the very first Drenaline Surf Board Shop right here in Crescent Cove,” Joe announces. “We will begin ground work and renovation this week and plan to open in the fall. Right now, I’d like to welcome a few people on stage who have helped to make this dream a reality.”

  He invites Rob Hodges onstage, along with Theo. Rob speaks briefly about his career as a professional surfer and moves along into the conversation about board shaping after his retirement. He then publicizes his plans to share his knowledge and wisdom with Theo to help Drenaline Surf branch out into the world of board shaping.

  “I don’t look at this as the end of the era of Rob Hodges surfboards but as the beginning of the era of Theo Rowell surfboards,” Rob proclaims.

  Theo stands awkwardly on stage next to his mentor while Joe takes the mic and asks Jace and Alston to come onstage as well, as the respective boss man and future board shop manager. Once they’ve gathered, the mayor presents Joe with a shovel. Camera flashes bounce off the old windows of Mallard Brothers Automotive as the media crews snap the moment that red ribbon is officially cut. A large sign is staked in the ground next to the site. The words ‘Future Home of Drenaline Surf Board Shop’ pop in big, bold letters.

  “Looks official,” A.J. says. “What do you think?”

  I drop my shades back over my eyes. “I think I’m getting out of here before the media locates me for a statement on something that isn’t board shop related.”

  As I make my way along the back of the crowd, keeping my eyes focused toward where my car is parked across the street in the sand, I hear Topher shout my name. I spin around as he runs toward me.

  “Wait!” he yells out. “You have to see this. Come here. Where’s A.J.?”

  I lead him back around the crowd of people, most of who have dispersed and are lingering around discussing what kinds of boards they hope they can get this fall. A.J. stands off to the side of the stage. I know he’s waiting on Alston, who is trapped in a professional moment of hand-shaking and smiles with the mayor.

  “A.J.! Dude. Joe needs to show you something,” Topher says, grabbing A.J.’s arm and not giving him much of a choice. “Come back here. To the back of the shop.”

  When we get around the building, Joe waits inside. Mechanical machinery is still installed, like the Mallard brothers thought maybe they’d be back to work on cars again. It’s a good thing Vin isn’t here or he’d want to open a mechanic shop instead.

  “Mr. Gonzalez,” Joe says, smiling like Topher does when he’s excited. “I know you’re not going to be at this location, but I thought you could appreciate this more than anyone else.”

  He talks about Shark’s idea for the sign at the other Drenaline Surf store, how he knew he wanted a massive wave hanging over the door. It was the hardest part of the building process, but his son was determined.

  “When we were thinking of opening another store, I wanted to do something different,” Joe explains, talking with his hands. “I wanted something big, something memorable…but something Jake would’ve approved of. So, I was able to salvage a little something, and I was thinking of using this across the roof, after we have the business name painted across it, if that’s okay with you.”

  A.J. shifts his eyes toward Topher and me. Then he shrugs. “Why would I care what you did with a sign?” he asks. “I mean, I’m not trying to be rude or anything. I just don’t see why my opinion is the one that counts.”

  Joe points a finger at him. “Oh, but you will,” he says. “Topher, can you help me remove that tarp?”

  Joe nods toward the item on the back wall. Topher walks down to the other end of whatever is hiding under the blue tarp. He grabs the corner of it and peeks behind.

  “Holy shhhhh…Joe! This is amazing!” Topher hollers out. He bounces on the back of his flip-flops, unable to contain his excitement, in such a Topher-like way.

  They rip away the plastic hiding the board shop’s future sign. But it’s no sign. It’s the turquoise dragon that Jace unhitched from A.J.’s pirate ship the night of the great carnival rescue mission. Its orange eyes seem brighter now, up close with the sunlight pouring in through the back door.

  “If I recall correctly,” Joe says, “Topher said something about it looking like a wave. And I thought to myself, how awesome would it be to have that thing hanging over a Drenaline Surf shop someday? Of course, with A.J.’s permission.�
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  A.J. falls forward, taking in the dragon in front of him that matches the one inked onto his arm. “I can’t believe you saved it,” he says, almost in a whisper. “This is fucking incredible.”

  Joe laughs. “I’ll assume you approve then?”

  “One-hundred percent,” A.J. says.

  It’s not even three hours later when it hits the internet. I sit at the desk skimming the article yet again, knowing there’s no way I can keep it from reaching Theo. He keeps up with the surf world more than any of the Hooligans. He browses the forums and reads the articles. He can quote rankings of any surfer on the world tour at any given time of the year. I’ve always thought it was a great way for him to keep his mind busy, but now, I’m crumbling inside knowing he’ll read this article.

  “How bad is it?” Topher asks from across the desk.

  We’re supposed to be filling out the rest of his entry form for the competition in Sunrise Valley this weekend, but I can’t even focus on the paperwork.

  “They said Drenaline Surf only hired him because he can’t keep a job anywhere else,” I tell him. I don’t care if it’s true. People shouldn’t say stuff like this.

  “What else?” Topher knows me too well. He knows there’s more.

  “That he has a drinking problem,” I say. I prop my elbows on the desk and bury my face into my hands. At least they didn’t mention Shark’s death.

  “Hey, it’s going to be okay,” Topher says, making his way around the desk. He wraps his arms around me and nuzzles his chin into my shoulder. “We know that Theo is broken. We all understand why. But this is going to help him. People are gonna talk no matter what. We just have to keep doing what we’re doing.”

  I don’t press the issue. Topher is right. We just have to keep moving forward. This is just another attempt to get under our skins, to make us feel like we can’t prevail.