Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Axel
I don’t know what to do. I could plead ignorance, saying it’s a board someone left here to be repaired. I could tell her the shop is closed and to go away. I could call Anna, right now, and ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, sending a famous surfer here.
But Jade’s green eyes, as green as her namesake, seem to demand honesty from me. To a point, anyway. “Yes,” I say. “It’s a Black Axe.”
“What the hell?” Jade’s face lights up even more, and she whirls to the board, her hand caressing its smooth length. She flashes another green glance at me. “Do you know how much these are worth? Where’d you get it?”
“Yes.” Honesty, again. “I do know how much they’re worth. Uh, can I help you with something?” I nod towards the damaged board at her feet. It’s the one I saw propped up against the cabin veranda, if I needed any more confirmation that this is my latest guest.
Interesting, though. I stepped away from the world of surfing a while ago, yet I still keep up with bits and pieces of news.
And Jade seems to be one of those girls who has it all.
Talented, rich, beautiful, dating another surfer.
Travelling the world and living her dream.
But I know that things aren’t always as they appear.
I remember the sound of her crying, her first night here.
And I wonder what storms lie behind that green gaze of hers.
“Oh. Yeah. My board. It got damaged yesterday.” Her expression darkens. “I’m hoping you can fix it. At least, someone told me you could.”
“They did?”
“Yeah.” Her frown deepens. “Look, if it’s not what you do, I can just buy another board or something. I’ll take the Axe. It looks about the right size for me.”
The Axe is about the right size for her.
In fact, it would suit her perfectly. But something about the way she’s speaking is putting my back up.
I don’t like entitled people; I’ve had to deal with more than enough of them in my life, and it’s not how I like to live.
Just because she’s a famous surf star doesn’t mean she can come in here and demand I sell her my board.
She peers around me, to the back room of the workshop. Her eyes widen again. “Holy shit.” She goes past me, through the doorway, before I can stop her.
Pushing down a surge of irritation, I hurry after her. “Sorry, the workshop is off limits. You can’t just—”
It’s too late. She turns to me. Her throat moves. “You’re Axel Black.”
I don’t say anything.
She turns back to the rack filled with surfboards, all different shapes and lengths. All Black Axe boards. All shaped by me.
“Are you kidding me?” She slides a board from the rack, her hands careful on the gleaming fibreglass curves. “This is fucking gorgeous. I know, like, ten surfers who would pay a fortune for this.”
“The boards aren’t for sale.” My voice is clipped, the words painful. “Put it back.”
She looks at me, her brows drawing together. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand. I’ll fix your board for you. No charge. In return, you don’t tell anyone you saw me, or that there are any boards here.”
She chews on her lip, her jade gaze darkening. Storm clouds approaching, I think, irrationally, as she slides the board carefully into the rack and comes towards me. Her frangipani scent curls in my nostrils.
“And why,” she says, “do you think I’m going to tell people about you?” Her words are calm, but there’s an undercurrent thread of danger.
“Because that’s your thing, isn’t it? Social media, promotion. All that shit. Chasing likes and engagement. I’m sure a post about me would do great numbers for you. I don’t know why you don’t just concentrate on surfing; you’re pretty good at it.”
She huffs out a short breath. Her eyes narrow, and something travels between us, sharp like lightning. I swear I can smell ozone. “You don’t know anything about me, or why I do the things I do,” she snarls. It’s like facing a tiger, terrifying and exciting at the same time.
I take a step towards her. “That’s the deal. Leave the board, and don’t say a word.” I’m so close to her she has to look up. Her lips part, and desire surges through me, sudden and shocking. I want to kiss her.
“I wouldn’t say anything.” Her voice is low, vicious. “And I’ll pay you for the repair.” She brushes past me, so close our shoulders touch. A moment later I hear the door jangle. She’s gone. But there’s still a faint scent of frangipani in the air, like flowers bruised after a downpour.
I feel bruised, as well. Yet there’s something invigorating about the feeling, a sharpness I haven’t felt in a long time.
I go out front. Jade’s board is where she left it. I pick it up, and take it back into the workshop.
But as I run my fingers along the rails, across the smooth surface, it’s almost like I’m touching her.
I pull my hand back as though it’s burnt.
Jade
What the actual fuck? This island is full of surprises, one after the other. But finding Axel Black here, of all people? That was definitely not on my “take some time away and get over Zach” bingo card. I wander back along the road to the compound, my mind whirring.
The Black Axe board was unmistakeable, as soon as I saw it.
The logo, first of all; a small black axe with Axel’s signature in curling writing, following the edge of the board.
But also the board itself. Axel’s surfboards are known for their smooth lines and fluid shapes, like something found in the ocean, a remnant of an aquatic creature rather than anything created on land.
It’s part of the reason why they’re so popular.
The other part is the mystery.
Axel Black is a legendary surfboard shaper.
He burst onto the scene a year or so ago before I started on the Championship Tour, a young upstart with a knack for creating beautiful, utterly rideable boards.
Soon he was making boards for the best in the business, a superstar in his own right, his waiting list a mile long.
Then he just disappeared.
Closed his workshop, put a single statement on Instagram saying he was taking a break for “personal reasons,” then wiped his social media and vanished off the face of the earth.
Now his boards are more sought after than ever, second- or even third-hand ones commanding huge prices. The rack of gleaming fibreglass in his workshop is worth a small fortune.
I’ve wanted one for ages. I found one online, a little while ago, but made the mistake of telling Zach about it.
He flew to Hawaii, taking it for a test ride before I even knew he was gone, then buying it for himself and bringing it back.
To be fair, it wouldn’t have been the right size for me, but the fact he did that still rankles within me.
Another spike to the pain of being with him.
My mood drops again. I haven’t dared check my phone for any more messages.
I wonder if I should block him, even though I know it will hurt him.
Despite all the many ways he hurt me over the years, I don’t want to be cruel.
And I know him better than just about anyone.
There’s a deep vulnerability beneath the flash and glamour, a need to prove he’s good enough that he can never quite sate.
Me dumping him is already a blow. Cutting him off completely will be another, and I can’t do that to him.
At least I have the cabin to hide in for the next few weeks.
I still cannot believe my host is Axel Black.
I have so many questions, but don’t want to ask them.
He made his choice for his own reasons. It’s none of my business why he lives here now.
Just as it’s none of his business why I’m here, either.
I suppose I should have recognised him, but it’s been a while, and it’s not like I ever met him before or anything.
Plus, as I say, he’s the very last person I expected to find when I came here.
I also hadn’t realised how hot he was. I’ve seen photos, of course, but it’s not the same as seeing him in person. His hair is longer now but, more than that, there’s a magnetism to him, something drawing me closer. It’s the only reason I can think of why I was so rude.
When he came out from the back of his shop, all tousled hair and broad shoulders, his tall frame clad in a black T-shirt and cargo shorts, I should have thanked him for letting me stay in his cabin, or at least asked if he could fix my board.
I should have realised he was the guy I bumped into on the beach. Should have apologised for how I acted, let him know I got help, say anything except ask him to sell me the surfboard. I don’t know what the hell was wrong with me.
Instead, I muscled my way into his workshop like some sort of idiot, ignoring his clear boundary.
But that rack of boards! I barely registered the poster of me on the wall next to them, I was so taken by their pristine lines.
It was like I was on autopilot. I wanted to apologise almost straight away.
That feeling dissipated somewhat when he took an attitude with me. Why the hell does he think I’d tell anyone about him!
Of course I thought about it, when I realised who he was. Just for a split second, I wanted to call Zach and tell him. The urge passed, leaving another little needle of pain behind. I can’t call Zach any more, and that hurts. We were friends as well as lovers, despite all he did to me.
But there’s no way I’m going to share Axel’s secret.
I’ve only been here for a couple of days, but I get the feeling that this place is secret for a reason, that it somehow protects the magic held here, the alchemy of land and sea, of people living in harmony with it all.
Telling people would mean an influx of tourists, probably more than the island could handle.
And this paradise would be lost. I understood all of that in the time it took Axel to come so close he towered over me.
I kick at a loose stone, trying to blot out the memory of that face so close to mine.
But something happened between us, something strange.
Heat and dust and the warmth of him blending into some sensual alchemy.
I kick another stone, harder, trying not to think of his strong jaw and well-moulded lips, or how much I wanted to kiss them.
It’s fucking ridiculous. I’m not here for romance, I don’t want to kiss Axel Black, and I’m not going to tell anyone anything.
I was this close to telling him where to shove his deal, but then I thought of Dora.
She would want the board repaired. I could wait, but I know Axel is one of the best. He can do it justice.
Bitterness sits like salt in my chest as I reach the cabin, the peaceful tropical setting at odds with the turmoil inside me.
My leg is killing me, and I flop down on the bed, lying back, gazing up at the diaphanous canopy, the white painted timber ceiling.
The fan whirs lazily, air drifting across me, feather-light. I watch it turn until my eyes close.
When I wake up it’s dark. Faint golden light comes around the shutters.
I don’t know where I am for a moment. Then, as I sit up and swing my legs down, pain rushes through me and I remember.
Hobbling to the window, I open the shutters to reveal a gold-streaked sky over a darkening ocean.
The air is warm and soft, and all I can smell is the sea. It’s gorgeous.
And I’m alone, with a sore fucking leg, unable to surf for the next week at least.
Forget about finding myself, at least for tonight. I need to find some other people, or I’m going to go mad. I wash down a couple of painkillers with a glass of water, then grab a banana from the bowl of fruit. I eat it quickly, then get changed.
A few minutes later, I’m out the door.