7. Travis
"Have you been fucking?"
"No. Why?"
I point at Troy's head. "It's midday, and your hair's wet."
"It's called having a shower. A novel concept to you, I know, since I could smell you before I even opened the door."
"So it's safe to come in?" I ask, peering over his shoulder and into his suite.
"Bold of you to assume I'll invite you in."
"Fuck off." I wag my middle finger in front of his stupid face before letting myself in. "Where's Kaide?"
"At the hotel gym."
Troy closes the door, and we wordlessly head out onto the balcony, both of us preferring to be outside than stuck inside the confines of an air-conditioned room.
I pull a chair out, plonk myself down on it, and rest my feet on the table. "How's he doing?"
"Bored and frustrated that we have to be here just to appease production." Troy mimics my actions. "But mainly he's just relieved the stalker situation has been resolved and that I'm safe."
I blow out a gust of air. "Fuck."
"What is it?"
"The whole fucking Tim thing." I can't bring myself to look at my brother. "All of it. I can't…I can't believe it was going on for years under my nose and?—"
"Stop it. You're not to blame. No one's at fault except for the person who's dead. We can't go back and change anything, so let's not dwell on it, okay? Please?"
His voice cracks on the last word.
I force myself to look at him, and I can't help feeling like I let him down.
I should've seen it.
Why didn't I see it?
The intense green eyes we both inherited from Mom stare back at me.
He's right. We can't change the past, so I have no choice but to respect his wishes in the present.
"Moving on then…"
"Thank you." He gives a small nod. "Hey, you want something to drink?"
"Yeah, that'd be great."
"I've got a fuckload of those Blue Mule drinks," he says, getting up.
"No thanks. I've had way too many of them this season. They taste like shit. Water's fine."
Troy returns a few seconds later, dropping a bottle of water into my lap at the same time as letting out a massive belch.
"Classy as always."
"I learned from the best."
I take a sip and change the topic. "Kaide's a good man."
"The best."
"Is everything good between you two?"
"It is. Things are obviously intense with everything that's going on around us, but he and I are solid. We're talking. Well, I'm talking, and lo and behold, it turns out every shitty pop psychologist was right. Communication really is the key to a successful relationship."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"He's going to pay you back, you know?"
"I have no doubt he will."
"That's why he's itching to get out of here. He wants to get back home to Airlie and dive into his work."
"Tell him there's no rush. I'm serious. I don't want him stressing about it. He can pay me back in his own time."
"I'll tell him. But you know what he's like."
"About as stubborn, proud, and pigheaded as we are?"
Troy grins. "Couldn't have said it better myself."
"Speaking of debts…"
"Yeah?"
"The semi-finals."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." I drop my feet to the floor and sit up. "I know you threw it on purpose."
"What-what are you talking about?"
"For fuck's sake, mate. It's me. We're not on camera. Cut the bullshit."
"Fine. So I let you win. Big deal."
"It is a big deal. A huge, monumental deal, in fact… Why'd you do it?"
He doesn't answer right away.
"Do you remember the day of the semis?" he asks.
"How could I forget?"
"We were coming back from jail, and everything was such a fucking mess. I wasn't in a good headspace. Kaide was locked up. You put up a ridiculous amount of money to get him out of jail, which was an incredibly generous gesture, not to mention also highly illegal."
I shrug. "He's family."
"But still, you tapped into the Big Dream funds to bail him out. You've never once used that money for anything. You always said it was untouchable."
"It was an extenuating circumstance."
I'm trying not to let the setback show on my face, but it kills me how much less money I have now. Old Man Campbell has been patient with me, but his offer isn't going to be around forever. I'm really going to have to negotiate hard when it comes to renewing the show for another season to make sure we all earn a lot more money next year.
"When we got out into the water for our round, I started thinking about stuff," Troy says. "I normally don't. When I'm kitesurfing, I surrender to it, and my mind goes free, you know?"
I grin and nod. "It's the same for me."
"I got to thinking about the illusion of control. How I'd fought so hard to have it in my life. In my relationships. Heck, I even thought I was in control while surfing. Only to realize it was all bullshit. The elements are in control. Life is in control. All we really have control over is how we respond to shit."
"That's pretty deep."
"I was pretty emotional. And then I started thinking about you."
"What about me?"
He looks out into the choppy ocean. A southerly shower is coming in. Today's round got canceled because of storms that are forecast to hit in the next hour or so.
"When we were growing up, I used to hate how much Dad loved you. You've always been his favorite."
My chest tightens, hating how right his assessment is. "I know."
"I used to be jealous. Mom was in la-la land and Dad was obsessed with you, so determined to mold you into another version of himself. But then Terry told me."
"Told you what?"
"That he was beating you."
Shit.
Terry walked in on it happening once. Dad began beating me when I was old enough to kitesurf. If I messed up a move. Didn't get enough air. Land a jump. Whatever shitty excuse he needed.
He'd wait until everyone was asleep, come into my room, and start laying into me.
Terry walked in one night and tried to attack Dad with a cricket bat. His attempt to defend me would have been hilarious if it hadn't only added to my humiliation.
Getting flogged by Dad was one thing, but having Terry witness it and try to protect me—as pitiful as his attempt was; this is a guy who doesn't kill spiders, for fuck’s sake—was the kick up the backside I needed.
The next time Dad came into my room and tried to hit me, I punched him before he got the chance, leaving a nasty shiner under his left eye.
He never touched me after that, and I've never let anyone lay a finger on me since.
"You never said anything to Dad, did you?"
"I wanted to. But Terry begged me to keep my mouth shut. Said if I confronted him or did anything about it, it would only make it worse for you. It's the only reasoning that got through to me, otherwise I would've knocked his fucking lights out."
"Terry's smarter than we give him credit for."
"Stronger, too."
"Amen to that."
"We've all had our shit to deal with," he continues. "And I realized, as we were competing, that no matter what you were going through, you've always been there for me and Terry. You're not just our big brother, you stepped up and tried to be the dad we never got. You've looked out for us. You've borne the brunt of all the bad shit we've had to endure so that Terry and I didn't have to. You do it with the show. The press. The rumors. Everything. Whenever there's any fallout, you're the guy who cops it."
"It's what big brothers do."
"No, mate. You go above and beyond. Not sure if I've ever told you how much that means to me, so I guess, in the semi-finals, I wanted to do something that showed you. I did what I did because you're an awesome kitesurfer and one of the best human beings I know. You deserve to win. I'm out. Terry's out. The championship is yours for the taking."
"There are other competitors whose surname isn't King."
"True. And some of them aren't even half bad, but you've got this, Trav. I believe in you. We all do. Fuck Dad and the burden of expectation he's placed on you your whole life. Fuck the press. Fuck everyone. Go out there and win that fucking world title for yourself."
A long breath whooshes out of me. I have no words so I give my brother a hug instead.
"Do you think all families are as dysfunctional as ours?" I ask when we break apart.
"I hope not. How much trauma can one family take?"
A lot, judging by how much we've had to endure.
"It makes us stronger," I tell him. "Everything we go through. All the trials and tribulations."
"I know." We sit back down. "And how are you doing? Are you and Luca back together?"
I nod. "We are."
His eyebrows pinch together. "I'm happy for you."
"You don't sound very happy."
"It's just…"
"I'm well aware Luca and I have a history," I say, sensing where his concern is coming from. "Things are going to be different this time. Which, before you point it out, I know I've said before, but I mean it this time."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Like you, we're giving this whole communication thing a crack."
I don't expect Luca to tell me everything right away, but him opening up to me about what he got up to with that repressed neighbor in the US was a good first step.
The drugs… That's another matter.
But on that front, I'm not being honest with him, either, so it'd be hypocritical of me to hold him to a standard I can't hold myself to.
Not to mention I've never shared the Big Dream with him.
I will.
I want to
I just need us to be steady for a while.
"I want you to have your person," Troy says.
"He is my person. I'm sure of it. Love isn't simple. Look at you and Kaide. Or Terry and Richie."
"Fifty shades of fucked up all round," Troy jokes, and I laugh.
"Exactly."
"This might make me sound old and boring and like you basically…"
"Kiss my ass."
Troy grins. "But I'm hoping for something simple."
I clap him on his shoulder. "There's nothing old or boring about it. A simple life is a good life, and we are going to get there. I promise you."
"So, if you and Luca are back on, how does that impact you in the competition?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if you guys keep competing the way you are, you're likely to face off against each other in the finals. That's bound to make things…interesting."
I run a hand through my hair. "Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? For now, I'm just glad that you're safe, Terry's happy, Mom and Dad are leaving us alone, and that the whole Tim saga is behind us. Can I have one minute to catch my breath?"
"Course you can." He smirks, lifting his left hand into the air and glancing down at his watch.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm giving you sixty seconds. Because knowing our lives, that's probably all you're going to get."
Three days after my chat with Troy, I'm in the player's tent, watching Luca compete.
He's doing brilliantly, nailing everything he does, and given his consistent form this season, he'll likely be in Hawaii for the final knockout.
I take a few anxious breaths that have nothing to do with Luca's performance and everything to do with the familiar pressure creeping up inside me.
Like clockwork, it comes over me at the same time every fucking year.
I surf well all season.
Score some of the highest rounds in kitesurfing history.
Do moves half of these competitors wouldn't have the balls to even attempt.
Yet when the competition gets whittled down and we arrive at the nitty-gritty end of the tournament, I seize up.
My form, my flow, my instincts…all of it goes to shit.
Don't ask me why it happens because I wouldn't be able to tell you. All I know is that my mind and body get crippled, and I can't perform the way I should. The way I know I can. The way I need to to win.
As much as I hate the fucking nickname that's been bestowed on me, the truth is, I am a choker.
I fucked around with a chick once, and she suggested the weight of my father's expectations could be one factor contributing to my loss of form. I stopped fucking her after that.
But maybe she was right?
Maybe that does have something to do with it. Lord knows, he's always amped up the pressure as we headed into the final rounds. Thank fuck he's cleared off and is leaving us alone now.
But if that is the case, if there is something about external pressure that I'm not equipped to handle, then I'm more screwed than ever. Because while I couldn't give two shits about my father right now and what he thinks or expects of me, I'm carrying a much heavier burden.
Troy.
He gave up his spot in the finals for me.
If I choke again, I'm not just losing for me, I'm blowing it on his behalf, too.
And then of course there's the whole issue of potentially competing against Luca. We've never faced off against each other before because he's never made it to the final round. But he's pretty much a lock this year.
So what does that mean for us?
Of all the shit we still have to navigate as a couple, now we're adding this into the mix.
He's a fierce competitor, and I know how much he wants the title.
But so do I.
And I can't give up or take it easy on him. If it comes down to me and him in the grand final, I'm going in to win it.
This isn't personal; it's sport. I just hope we can survive it.
I reach over and crack open a can of Blue Mule as I vow to stop drinking this shit once the tour ends. Adding caffeine and sugar to my already agitated state probably isn't the brightest idea.
"Hey, Travis." Anderson walks up to me.
"G'day."
He's in his usual getup—a linen shirt, a flashy smile—and holding a monstrosity of a coffee cup that makes my slim can of Blue Mule look like an anorexic model in comparison.
"Are you free to talk?"
I glance around. The tent is filled with people but, as usual, everyone's staying clear of me. "Sure. What's up?"
"I wanted to speak to you about contract renewals for the next season of the show."
I perk up.
Or maybe it's the diabetes-inducing amount of sugar hitting my bloodstream.
"Go on."
"I was thinking that before the next round in Maui, let's get you to LA for a meeting with the network."
"They don't have computers or know how to use Zoom?"
"They do. But if you're wanting to renegotiate the financial terms."
"How do you know about that?"
"You haven't exactly been subtle when talking to your brothers about it. I overheard you saying something the other day between takes."
I scowl.
He ignores it.
"That's why I think a face-to-face meeting will work in your favor. You have a presence that…"
"That what?"
"Let's just say, in person you have a certain charisma, but on screen the same charisma could come across as…arrogance."
This may or may not be the first time I've heard someone from the show say something like that. At least he's being nice about it because believe me, I've been called much worse.
"Have you got a thing for me?"
He chokes on his coffee. "Excuse me?"
"Is that why you're being so nice? Because you want to get into my pants."
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "No. That's not it. Despite what your overinflated ego may be telling you, not everyone in the world wants to fuck you, Travis. If you must know, I'm interested in someone from Kaide's security company."
"Oh."
"And the reason I want to help you guys out is simply because I like you all. You especially, even though I sometimes have to wonder why."
Okay. Who feels like a grade-A jerk?
"I admire you for standing up and owning your bisexuality. You've never tried to erase it or diminish it, even though I'm sure it would have been so much easier for you to go down that route. I really respect that. It's helped me on my own journey with my sexuality. You're inspiring… When you're not being arrogant."
"I thought I was charming?"
He shakes his head, smiling just a little.
"Mate, I'm sorry. I've been treating you like a dick. If it's any consolation, I don't trust anyone outside of the people closest to me."
"You don't say?"
"But look, you've come through for us. My brothers and their partners trust you, so I guess that's good enough for me."
"Thanks." He extends his hand. "I was going to say friends, but that might be pushing it. How about a truce?"
"No." I grip his hand in mine and press down firmly. "Friends."