by Nikki Godwin
I hate that he has to play this part for us. He’s such a puppet, and I’m sure everyone can see it, but they can’t prove it. I’m thankful for that.
“But I’m super stoked to be part of this,” he continues. “I never had the opportunity to meet Shark McAllister, but I believe in his vision. That’s why I wanted to surf for Drenaline Surf rather than a huge corporation. I wanted to be in a place that really focused on the heart of surfing, and I can’t think of anywhere better than here to be.”
Should I just turn in my resignation letter? This guy is better at PR than I am, and he didn’t even have ‘master manipulator’ Vin Brooks to train him. Once the SurfTube guy has moved on to the next tent, I pull Logan aside.
“Were you a PR rep in another life?” I ask.
His face falls grim. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “Did I overstep?”
“No,” I say quickly. “You were just very much on point, like you’d been trained to say exactly the right thing in the moment.”
He laughs. “I was on the debate team in high school. I had to learn to think on my feet. It’s one of my few natural talents,” he says.
Colby Taylor is such a fraud. That whole company is full of incest with their inner-circle dating. Isn’t that Theo guy an alcoholic?
Logan’s eyes meet mine upon hearing the remarks. I send him off to prepare for his heat. Then I glance at our neighbor’s tent. The Liquid Spirit guys hover around the edge, staring over at our staff like they’re waiting for someone to make a move. They’re close enough to make us uncomfortable but not close enough that we can complain to the beach security. It’s like there’s a literal line drawn in the sand, and they’re toeing the edge.
I walk around the table of merch and find Jace. Something has to give. I can’t keep the Hooligans at bay too long. It’ll only take a few more jabs before Miles is hopping on his one good foot toward them to shove a literal boot up their asses.
“This is getting out of hand,” I whisper. “They’re going above and beyond to provoke us.”
A.J. walks up next to me, just arriving at the tent, to see what’s going on. And that’s when the next insult comes our way.
“Look at the freaks they’ve got working for them,” a guy shouts out. “Isn’t that the guy who stays in jail?”
Jace shakes his head, letting A.J. know not to react. I’m surprised at how calm my crazy Mexican roommate is. It’s like he’s not even offended. He’s probably heard it more times than I realize, though.
“I wish I still had my crutches,” Miles says, pushing himself up off the chair. “I might not can walk, but I could beat the fuck out of some Liquid Spirit sons of bitches with those things.”
“Sit down,” Jace orders. “No one is beating anyone with anything, and you need to watch your mouth. You’re representing Shark McAllister and Drenaline Surf.”
Miles laughs. “And Shark would’ve already busted that motherfucker’s face wide open.”
Jace tilts his head and squeezes the back of his neck. You can tell that he hates to smile at Miles’s comment, but he does.
“I like to think that Shark was on the path of growing up,” Jace says. “He was still professional, and that’s what we need to be. I’m posting myself up over here, between you guys and Liquid Spirit, so if you’re going to jump someone’s ass, you’re going to have to get through me first.”
Jace settles into his spot, still under our tent, with his back turned to Liquid Spirit. He folds his arms over his chest and stands like a bouncer at a club who refuses to let you in the door. He seems taller, and he’s already six-foot-three. He’s never looked dangerous before, but that close-to-his-scalp haircut and rugged jawline seem more defined now, more militant.
I can’t believe they hired Shark McAllister’s drunkass murderer.
And that’s when it happens.
Jace spins around, and his fist meets the guy’s face.
Chapter Fourteen
This definitely wasn’t part of my training. Once the initial fist is thrown, an eruption of chaos and disturbance overflows from the Drenaline Surf/Liquid Spirit battle, like a volcano spewing the hottest of lavas over the sands. Jace pulls back, instantly realizing that he lost his cool, but it’s too late now. The damage has been done.
Miles inserts himself into the madness, using his elbow like it’s a lethal weapon, all while managing to balance on his one good foot. Kale darts past me in such a blur that his dark hair and perfect tan almost look like a CGI wolf-shift from a paranormal film.
Theo grabs Jace’s shoulders, pulling him back from the madness. But there’s a glimmer in Theo’s eyes that scares me because I know he’s flirting with that dangerous line between stopping the madness and joining the fight.
It’s absolute pandemonium that I can’t even think of stopping. Those few seconds between pushing and shoving, upturned tables, and flying fists and the eventual arrival of beach security feel like lingering moments of eternity.
Given, they got here quickly. Colby and Logan didn’t even make it back to our tent in time to see any of it go down.
“What the fuck just happened?” A.J. asks, pushing through the onlookers who’ve been screaming ‘FIGHT!’ this entire time.
“Jace punched a guy,” I say, my voice shaky. “We’re so fucked.”
“Whoa. Wha…What? Jace?” A.J. asks as security guards push themselves in between our two tents.
Jace grabs Miles and pulls him back, but he can’t stop Miles from popping off at the mouth. The boy just keeps shouting.
Logan calms Kale down while Topher isolates Miles from the rest of the beach. At least about half of our Drenaline Surf team was somewhat composed. Then again, I doubt that makes any kind of difference because our boss threw the first punch.
The security team takes statements from Liquid Spirit first. Greg Carson hovers over every surfer and staff member as they speak, like he’s overseeing the statements to make sure we’re made to be the bad guys in this situation.
I keep my back turned to the crowd around the tents, hoping not to get caught in the crossfire. A girl from SurfTube is a few feet away, covering the story about a ‘chaotic fight that broke out’ between two rival surf companies. This just gets better and better. All of that great footage of Logan talking about surf lessons and giving back probably got deleted from the hard drives to make room for this crap.
“I can’t believe I did that,” Jace says, sitting on a box of Drenaline Surf merchandise. “I absolutely fucked us over. After all that preaching I did…”
This was truly the last thing I expected to happen today. I was prepared for gossip and smart remarks. I was ready for the lies and attempts to provoke us. I was more than ready to break Miles’s other leg the moment he started hobbling toward someone ready to fight.
“What happens now?” Jace asks, looking up from the sand toward me.
“Well, we will probably be disqualified,” I tell him. “We may even be banned from certain events in the future. They’ll probably force us to leave the beach. And the usual media circus will have the ultimate tabloid party at our expense.”
That’s the worst that I can dream up, anyway. It’s typical. I refuse to let myself dwell on the consequences of today. It’s crazy how I went from super hopeful this morning to feeling like the world just crashed down on us. Today was supposed to bring us back to the heart of surfing. Now I might as well pack up our tent.
A security officer comes over to our tent and speaks with Jace first. I stick closely to them, to make sure I’m fully aware of what is said so it can’t bite us later. I didn’t even learn that trick from PR. I learned it from Colby Taylor.
“I just need you to be honest with me,” the security officer says. “I’m getting statements from the other parties involved that you threw the first punch. Is this correct?”
Jace exhales, defeated. “Yes, that is correct.”
“Because you initiated the fight, we’ve been asked by the Beach Marshal and event organiz
ers that your team be disqualified from competing and all persons working for your company be escorted off the beach immediately,” the security officer explains.
They allow us long enough to pack up all of our Drenaline Surf merch and bring the tent down, which may be even more embarrassing than watching Jace throw punches at another surf company. It’s like the ultimate walk of shame bringing down that big blue tarp while people crowd around to watch like we’re taking someone to an execution.
Jace keeps his sunglasses over his eyes, refusing to speak to anyone other than telling us where to load things in the back of his vehicle. I think he’s kicking his own ass harder than Liquid Spirit could have even if they’d stood a chance.
“Let’s just get this stuff back to the store,” Jace says. “We’ll unload in the back parking lot and just stack the boxes against the office wall. I’ll handle the inventory side of it and restock later.”
The security team follows us as we make our way back to the vehicles. I actually hear the clicking of camera lenses, capturing our disgrace to plaster across the internet, the gossip sites, the surf forums, and tomorrow’s Crescent Cove tabloids.
I assign A.J. to Topher and Kale. Then I direct Logan and Colby to keep a firm grasp on Miles. I can’t watch all of them and maintain a professional image when I want to slip beneath the waves and float away. Luckily, half of our team is level-headed at the moment, while the other half are, well, Hooligans.
My ‘just keep walking’ mentality fades away quickly, though, the instant I see the blue lights in the distance. And those lights can only mean one thing – Pittman. I turn back to A.J., but I know he hasn’t done anything to provoke the law. He wasn’t even involved in the fight. There’s no way this asshole cop is pinning this on him. I won’t let him.
Pittman leans back against the patrol car, casually waiting as we approach the parking lot. Something about him reminds me of Vin. Maybe it’s the dark hair and that piercing glare in his eyes. Or maybe it’s the arrogance. He is winter meets warmth, sort of like biting into a gooey chocolate bar but realizing there are shards of glass inside. That’s the vibe I get from A.J.’s favorite officer.
“Jace Hudson,” he says, pushing himself off of the car and easing toward us.
“Alex,” Jace says, no hint of emotion in his voice.
Alex? I guess I just never thought of Pittman actually having a first name. It’s weird. It makes him more human, and I’m not quite sure I want to think of him as an actual person.
“I hate to do this to you,” Pittman says, looking away from Jace. “Liquid Spirit is pressing charges, and we have to take you in. I asked them to let me do it.”
Jace shakes his head and chokes out a dry laugh. I can’t find any humor in this, but I think he’s just truly over it. All of it.
“Can you give me a minute to get some things in order?” Jace asks.
“Of course,” Pittman says.
Jace turns to me and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “You’re going to have to go to the ATM to get bail money,” he informs me. “I’ll write down the PIN for you. Take my cell phone with you. Call Joe and tell him that I may have to borrow money from the safe if my bail is more than the ATM lets you withdraw. I can pay him back tomorrow.”
He gives me his truck keys and asks me not to leave him in jail for too long. Then he walks back over to Pittman.
“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Jace says.
Pittman shakes his head. “I’m not cuffing you,” he says. “I have more respect for you than that. I know you. These assholes are just doing this because they can. Just get in the car. The hell with policy.”
I watch until Jace is secure in the back of the patrol car, amidst the camera flashes. Then I head to his truck so I can get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. The Crescent Cove police do a pretty good job of keeping the media sharks at a distance, but I know those zoom lenses are in high usage right now. This is the money shot for them. Jace in the back of a patrol car. I never thought I’d see the day. The only way it’d be more shocking would be if it was Reed rather than Jace.
“Haley!” I spin around when I don’t recognize the voice. I fear it’s a media fiend wanting a press statement, but it’s Pittman. He walks toward me, ignoring the cameras that are following him from the required distance.
“There’s a bank a block over from the station. It’ll be easier to get to than the one near Drenaline Surf,” he says. “I’m going to take my time on his paperwork and keep him in booking until you can get there. I’m not letting him see the inside of a jail cell. You can follow me out if you’d like.”
I simply nod because I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want any favors from him, and I sure as hell don’t trust him after what all he’s done to A.J., but right now, I don’t really have any other choice. I can’t let Jace sit at the station any longer than he has to. So I get in his truck, I crank up, and I follow Pittman away from the premises.
Reed’s Jeep sits in the parking lot of the police station when I arrive. He immediately darts out of the driver’s seat and jogs toward Jace’s truck when he sees me.
“What happened? I’ve been seeing all kinds of stuff on the news,” Reed says.
I lock Jace’s truck and glance around the parking lot. The last time I was here, Reed was with me. We were collecting A.J., Topher, and that same blue Jeep. That was just a month ago. How does it feel like it was another lifetime? I sort of wish my biggest problem was Topher joyriding to blow off steam from fighting with his brother.
“Someone referred to Theo as Shark’s ‘drunkass murderer’ and Jace lost it,” I say. “After all those lectures about professionalism, he threw the first punch.”
Reed laughs, and I want throw a punch at him for even thinking for half a second that anything could be funny about this.
“You can take the boy out of the surf gang, but you’ll never take the Hooligan out of Jace,” Reed says. “I mean, he is one of them. And Theo’s his boy.”
And just like Jace did before his arrest, I laugh. The same exhausted, ‘over it’ kind of laugh. But in my case, it’s so I won’t completely break down here in the police station’s parking lot. If I gave in to everything I’m feeling inside, I’d be an asphalt puddle right now, melting into the blackness under my flip-flops.
“How did you even know to come out here?” I ask.
Reed smiles. “A.J.,” he says. “He called me and said he didn’t want you to have to deal with this alone and I was a better candidate to show up at the jail than he was. He’s handling things at Drenaline Surf right now. Alston and Emily are there too, so he’s got help.”
I wish Pittman could hear all of this. A.J. isn’t the guy he makes him out to be. But maybe Pittman isn’t the asshole cop I’ve always made him out to be. He broke protocol in front of a ton of cameras today out of respect for Jace and allowing him to keep some of his dignity.
Reed walks into the station with me and makes small talk with the chief of police. They quickly discuss business and how Mr. Strickland has been before Reed tells him that we need to post bail for Jace Hudson.
While Reed handles the monetary side of things, another deputy takes me back to an office where Pittman sits at a desk pretending to fill out paperwork. Jace sits in the chair opposite the desk. It’s a far cry from the day I came to pick up A.J. and Topher.
“Reed’s posting your bail,” I say, once the escorting deputy walks away. “A.J.’s handling the drama at the store. Joe is going to meet us there. He’s okay, though.”
Jace looks at his shoes for a few seconds, nodding along, clearly thinking about having to face Joe and try to explain what happened today. I’ve already given him the quick version, and he was more than understanding. He knows what Theo has been through. He seems to care more than anyone else, like he knows it’s deeper than a usual depression or guilt trip. There’s no way he could be mad at Jace for defending Theo.
Pittman looks at me. “Do you need an escort
back to the store?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No one followed me,” I tell him. “And Reed met me out here, so we’re not alone.”
I don’t know why I even say it because Reed Strickland isn’t exactly bodyguard material. We all learned that last summer when I realized he couldn’t hide Colby to save his own life.
“Let’s get out of here,” Jace says, pushing his chair back and standing. Then he halts and turns back to Pittman. He pulls a business card from his wallet. “Thanks for all you did today. If you need anything, here’s my card. I’m obviously not at Strings and Starlight anymore, but my cell phone is listed on there. Let me know if you need help, seriously.”
Pittman thanks him, they shake hands, and then Jace walks out with Reed and me like he wasn’t just booked into jail. I guess Crescent Cove does whatever Crescent Cove wants – as long as you’re not A.J. Gonzalez.
Chapter Fifteen
Emily stares at the drive-in menu for longer than necessary, especially when I know she’s going to end up getting a plain grilled chicken sandwich and a grape slush. If she’s feeling a little rebellious, she may get a small order of tater tots as well.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder at me. She stretches her arm out of her window but waits before pressing the button to order.
“I’m sure,” I tell her yet again. “I don’t think I can stomach anything else today. No food. No drama. No more police station visits. I’m good.”
As predicted, she goes for the plain grilled chicken sandwich. She upgrades her grape slush to a large but skips the tater tot rebellion. She digs through her car for loose change to pay the exact amount. She’s eyeball-deep in her cup holder when she says it.
“Would you ever consider moving in with Topher? Like getting an apartment with him or something?” she asks.
Oh God. Please don’t tell me he’s working through Emily to feel me out. I know he doesn’t really like living at Colby’s house, and he doesn’t want to move into Shark’s old place, but I can’t move in with Topher. We’ve just started dating, and that’s a huge leap, and I love where I live. I don’t want to leave my roommates. We’re sort of perfect in our arrangement.