Chapter 37 Summer
“Hey, Dad! I got your text. I didn’t realize you’ve been planning a family vacation—Mexico sounds amazing!
I’d love to come; thanks for inviting me!
It’s just that… well, remember how I told you I was competing in Surf’s Up?
The trip would overlap with the final event in a few weeks.
Any chance we could reschedule to a little later this summer?
Totally okay if you can’t, of course. But I guess it means you won’t make it to watch me, huh? ”
“You’re up early.”
Parker glances at me as I hike myself up on the bathroom counter. He’s brushing his teeth in just a pair of sweats, hair still a wreck from sleep, and I’ll never understand how it is that he manages to look so damn delicious before the crack of dawn.
“Needed to get a head start on a few things before our surf.” He rinses his mouth then reaches for the toothpaste, applying some to my own toothbrush and handing it to me.
His eyes linger on my bare thighs, barely covered by the T-shirt of his I stole when I rolled out of his bed. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like a baby,” I say around my toothbrush. “Nothing like a handful of orgasms to knock you out, you know?”
“More than a handful by my count.” His smile goes lopsided before he bends to wash his face.
It occurs to me that I’ve never watched him like this before: Parker with his full guard down, letting me in on a moment he only ever has in private. It might be the single most intimate thing I’ve ever sat through. Maybe my favorite thing about this new version of us.
I reach for his towel hanging off the counter. He smiles when he resurfaces and sees it in my hands, and stands obediently still as I pat him dry, my toothbrush stuffed in my cheek.
Parker squeezes my thighs. “Why’re you smiling at me like that?”
I run my fingers through his unruly hair, but it’s a lost cause. The stubborn strands stay charmingly ruffled. “I’ve never seen you wash your face.”
“And that’s something worth smiling about?”
“It feels…” Anything but casual. I lean over the sink to rinse my mouth. Parker gathers my loose hair and holds it out of the way for me. When I finish, he wipes a lingering trace of toothpaste from the corner of my mouth.
Perfect. Like we always should’ve been like this.
“Like us. But different,” I finish. It’s ineloquent and incredibly obvious, but it’s the best I can do without carving open my chest and letting him see for himself the excitable butterflies he unleashed the night of our first kiss.
They’re stronger now, after weeks of flight.
And since our first night together, they take barely a hint of a dimple to get started.
Just watching Parker wash his face has sent them in a tizzy.
I’m dangerously close to tumbling over an emotional line I don’t think I can ever come back from. All I can do now is turn myself over to the hope I’ve done my best to renounce since my last attempted relationship.
Hope that he’s feeling these things, too.
Hope that I’m not getting way ahead of myself.
Hope that I’ll make the right call when it comes to the next few years of my life.
“Us but different,” Parker echoes. He leans in, presses his face to the side of my neck, and inhales deeply. I must still have traces of the perfume he seems to like so much. “You’re saying I was right about the sleepovers?”
I laugh. “About that—you do know you can buy a body pillow, right? I’m not technically required to be here.”
“But then you wouldn’t have this.” He kisses that spot on my neck. Instantly, I’m whimpering, melting into the mirror behind me. He nips my lip next, then sucks it between his. “Or this.”
My eyes fall shut, fingers sinking back into his hair. “So the sleepovers are for me, then?”
“No. They’re absolutely for me.” He drops to his knees and yanks me to the edge of the counter, wrenches up his shirt so that it gathers at my hips. “No better reason to get up than this.”
“Fuck. Yes.” My head falls back against the mirror when he licks all the way through me, then clamps his lips over my clit and sucks with an absolutely flawless pressure. “The sleepovers were a genius idea.”
An hour later, I’m thoroughly fucked, sore, and late for our morning surf.
The sun is already beginning to brighten Oakwood’s main strip, but it’s still early enough that it’s deserted but for us.
Parker cinches the rope tying our boards to his car, then reaches for the phone dinging in his back pocket.
It’s Brooks blowing up his phone, which he’s been doing more than usual for the past couple of days.
But Parker hasn’t been particularly interested in enlightening me as to why.
I’ve let him keep his secrets, seeing as I’ve been holding on to a few of my own.
I unzip my backpack in the passenger seat to check that I remembered to pack a fresh stick of sunblock. “How’s Brooks doing?”
Parker swipes away from his messages. “He’s all right.”
“Have you said anything about us?”
“No, I promised I wouldn’t.” He looks me over. “Is that why you’ve been quiet in the group chat lately? You worried they’ll figure it out?”
Between sleeping with Parker and the potential tour—not to mention the fact that I haven’t even mentioned to our friends that I’m competing again—I’ve been keeping it to short, non-incriminating answers in our chat.
Shy’s been messaging me periodically since I ran into her in town, but she’s started to get the hint after days of evasive answers.
“Partly.” I toss my bag into the back seat and lean against the side of his car. “But it’s mostly because I can’t find a moment alone these days. There’s this guy always hanging around, begging to take my clothes off. Poor thing; it’s like he hasn’t gotten laid in years.”
Parker yanks on one of my braids. “Or maybe you’re just that good a fuck, Summer. Ever think about that?”
“Meanwhile, you’re…” I make a wishy-washy sound. “We’ll get there eventually.”
Parker gives a solemn nod. “Excellence does take practice. And lots of it.” There’s a tender edge to his smile, even more so when he takes my hand. “I used to dream about this with you.”
I laugh. “Oh, I remember that dream. Vividly.”
“Not that dream. Well… definitely that dream, believe me. But also…” He stares at our intertwined fingers. “Let me cook for you tomorrow.”
“Is that a euphemism I’m not aware of?” He’s the one person in town who might be a worse cook than me. “Code for bending me over and stuffing me like a—”
“Summer.” Parker’s smile tilts to the right. Amused, then sympathetic the longer he looks at me. “You really don’t have a clue, do you?”
The way he looks at me has my stomach tumbling. “A clue about what?”
He squeezes my hand. “Dinner. Tomorrow night. My place.”
“Okay.” The word wobbles out of my mouth. “Why are you acting like we’ve never had dinner at your place?”
“Because it’s never been a—”
“Oh God.” My gaze darts over his shoulder to find Wynn Sheffield marching down the sidewalk toward us. It’s the first time I’ve properly seen him in a while—I’ve been avoiding him since the public showdown with Denny.
Snide remarks from the people I’m not close to are bad enough. Hearing them from Wynn? It would crush me.
I slip my hand from Parker’s and step toward his car. “Should we go? We should go. Quickly, before he gets here.”
“Sum, come on.” He takes my wrist. “Why are you hiding? You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You know what? You’re right. Screw running.
” I roll back my shoulders. “I’m—I’m standing my ground for once.
In fact, he’s the one who should run the other way.
All I ever did was try to help with the diner!
” I step around Parker just as Wynn takes his final steps toward us.
“If you’ve come to make some sort of pointed commentary like the rest of this town—”
“I thought you might like something to eat before your surf,” Wynn cuts in. He eyes me carefully. Steps closer and offers a sleeve of blueberry donuts. “They’re still warm. Baked them fresh for you.”
“Oh.” The rush of adrenaline fizzles away, leaving confusion in its wake. I take the donuts.
“I know you want your space—we’ve gotten the message.” Through my surprise, I sense something a little sad in Wynn’s voice. “But I wanted to say thank you. I know you’re responsible for the fundraiser.”
My brows fly up my forehead. Parker mutters something unintelligible and shuffles away to check the ropes securing our boards to his car. “Danica told you?”
“No, not Danica,” Wynn says. More muttering from Parker. This time, I catch the words this town and mouths shut. Tentatively, Wynn reaches for me. Squeezes my shoulder. “We hope you’re well, Summer. Don’t stay away too much longer, you hear?”
He hurries off before I can speak. Almost like he’s afraid of what I might say.
Then he glances back, sees me looking, and gives me a gentle smile. Almost like he doesn’t hate me, judge me at all.
Almost like he misses me. Me.
I clasp my cheek, staring after Wynn. “Parker?”
“I’m sorry. I know I promised not to say anything. But I heard Danica was taking credit for the donations, and you deserved to have Wynn know how much you care about him, and care about this town, and…”
Parker trails off when I toss the donuts into the bed of his Jeep and throw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. “Thank you.”
His arms enclose me. A palm at my lower back, the other in my hair. “You’re not angry I got involved?”
“Did you throw a punch?” He shakes his head. I inhale his peppery scent, holding it for a long time. “Then I’m not angry, Park. Not even close.”
Floating in the ocean an hour later, I stare down the horizon while Parker watches this morning’s surf footage on his waterproof camera.
Something feels different today.
There’s a pretty set of waves approaching, growing higher as it builds momentum.
The kind you’d die for mid-heat when you’re down in the score and desperate to make up the points.
The kind younger me, who was so sure about herself, would go after with everything she had.
Without fear that a single wave might change the course of her life for the worst, disrupt the relationships she held so dear.
I miss that me.
I really want her back.
“I’m doing it,” I announce.
“Yeah?” Parker eyes the approaching wave, understanding right away. “Fuck yeah, you are. Let’s see it, Sum.”
I flatten to my board before I can overthink it. He does the same, heading for the shore, getting into position to record it. I brace myself as the wave catches up. It’s a big one, a perfect barreling wave that sends water arching over me before I’ve even sliced all the way down its face.
Water thunders around me. My legs tremble. It’s a protest from my heart, telling me to kick out, quit. For once, I refuse.
Maybe it’s the quiet domesticity of my morning with Parker.
The fresh blueberry donuts, or Wynn’s simple touch to my shoulder.
Maybe it’s Parker having my back, or holding my hand out in the open—in the middle of Oakwood, for anyone to see.
The nightly surfs with Celia and her friends, reminding me of every reason I longed for the tour in the first place.
Or maybe it’s the foreign kernel of anger mixed with the cutting hurt inside me, at the text my dad sent earlier. A whole family vacation planned. Clearly inviting me as an afterthought. No acknowledgment that the trip overlapped with a competition he knows I’m surfing in.
Who the hell does that?
I shift my weight, stalling as the barrel envelops me completely. Oh, fuck. Yes yes yes, I can do this—
And yet… Dad did invite me. I should be grateful, shouldn’t I? It’s a step in the right direction.
If I’m not around, how long until Parker finds another hand to hold out in the open?
My chest constricts, panic overtaking me. Just ahead, the tube opens up to a view of the coastline. It’s the closest I’ve come to allowing myself to complete a barrel since I started competing again. I’m physically strong. Feet so solid on my board. Almost there.
But I picture it—making the tour and Parker falling for someone else while I’m all the way across the world. Dad hosting family dinners I wouldn’t be around to attend. Out of sight, and completely out of mind to everyone back home.
My breaths start coming in shallow, rapid bursts, as it hits again—the inner war that overtakes me whenever I’m hidden within a tube of water.
My brain screams at me to stay on my feet, to surf the way it knows I can. Ride the barrel, rack up the points, make the tour. Easy. Just like I’ve always dreamed.
But my heart begs me to quit, disconnect from my board. To stay put, here at home. I’m too forgettable to leave.
I drag as deep a breath as I can into my lungs and kick my board out from under me, falling back into the water and letting the wave punish me for it.
Coward.
When I resurface, Parker is already nearly at my side. He slides off his board and meets me in the water, pushing away the hair stuck to my face as I regain my breath.
“You okay?” He helps me grasp my board, then holds on to its other side so that we float together. “Did you lose your balance again?”
You absolute coward.
I can’t look him in the eye. I’m furious with myself, but I think I also might be crying. It’s hard to tell with salt water already streaking down my face.
“Love, it’s okay.” He squeezes my hand before sliding his camera’s strap off his arm and settling it between us, clicking until I appear on the small screen. “You have this. You were so close this time. Look.”
He replays the footage—mostly just a barrel moving toward shore—and then, at the very end, a peek of yellow at the mouth of the tube. Parker shakes his head at the camera. Pure awe despite the supposed wipeout that followed. “You were right there, Sum. You almost made it out.”
He throws back his head and howls wildly at the sky. Then surges over my board and plants a hard kiss on my mouth.
A shaky laugh tumbles out of me at his palpable excitement, even as shame overtakes me.
You absolute, self-sabotaging coward.