Chapter 9
WESTON
“Ithink your bottom turn needs work,” Liv says, wringing out her dark, wet curls once we’re back on shore. “That’s the culprit for pacing issues and why you’re about half a second behind the barrels.”
“How can I be behind the barrels when there are no barrels? We’re in a cove. I’d hardly call them waves,” I grumble, unzipping my wetsuit and peeling it off my arms.
“We utilize the cove to build your endurance—to make you faster, swifter. Hyperfocus on your form and the basics. You don’t need a barrel if you’re too slow to reach it.”
When all I respond with is a huff, she laughs.
I understand the vision of using this cove to train amateur surfers before taking them out to the real breaks, but I haven’t considered myself an amateur in a while.
I’ve been surfing since I could walk, and I won a fucking World Championship at the age of seventeen.
I would’ve been an Olympian by now if not for my involuntary three-year hiatus.
I knew I’d be rusty. I couldn’t even stand up the first time I got back on a board last year after I was released, but I’ve been practicing on my own and with Carter for the past six months.
I’m not completely fucking hopeless, and I’d expected to be doing a hell of a lot more when I was offered the opportunity to train with Leo Graham.
Including actually being mentored by Leo Graham—whom I haven’t seen since Monday morning.
“You’ll find yourself appreciative of the cove as time goes on,” Liv promises.
“I thought there was nothing I could be taught when I moved here from Costa Rica. I thought the cove was a waste of my time too.” She shrugs, slipping out of her wetsuit, leaving behind only the skimpy red bikini she’s wearing underneath.
In addition to being a gold medalist, Liv is also a model, and a total heartthrob of a professional athlete. I’m sure there are countless young men and women all over the world with her Sports Illustrated cover taped to their wall.
Objectively, she’s stunning—long dark hair, golden sun-kissed skin, hazel eyes that shift between green and brown—but I never understood it. How people could fawn and obsess over someone they didn’t even know. When I was on trial, other inmates would fixate on magazines—models and actresses.
I’d never felt anything when I looked at photos of those women, never felt anything when I looked at men either.
Even standing in front of me now, she doesn’t cause my heart rate to pick up. I don’t feel anything—outside my frustration with this current training regimen.
“Being here centers me now. It brings me back to myself and the reason I do this, the reason I love to surf. I’m not focused on the waves or what performance I’m going to pull from them.
I’m focused on myself. Tricks and shock aren’t the reason we train in Celestia Cove.
It’s purpose you need to find here before you go anywhere else. ”
Surfing is my purpose.
I thought that was made clear before I arrived here. What else is there for me to discover?
It’s not worth arguing with her, though. She’s tough as fucking nails, and she has two Olympic medals to toss in my face if I want to try telling her I think she’s wrong. Plus, she’ll make me do push-ups until I’m crying, which was what most of my Tuesday morning looked like.
I like Liv, though. We’ve developed a camaraderie over the past week, and I find myself secretly hoping she’ll continue to train with us this summer, even after Leo returns.
She says she sees something in me, and she doesn’t peg me as the type of person who says things she doesn’t mean. It’s been motivating.
“I know what you mean,” I murmur.
Her lips tilt up. “I’m sure.”
I head over to the cooler we bring down every morning, filled with electrolyte drinks and water. I pull one out and guzzle it down when I notice three figures descending the stairs from the top of the cliff.
Leo is unmistakable, leading them with some kind of huge backpack strapped to his shoulders. I assume the woman behind him is his wife, Darby, because the person trailing her is also unmistakable.
Willow.
I haven’t seen her since Monday morning.
She’d clearly been crying and tried to hide it as soon as she realized I’d joined her.
I hadn’t intended to impose, I just didn’t expect to see anyone else at the beach so early.
She was painting, and though clearly incomplete, her canvas was beautiful.
I don’t hold a particular interest in art, but I’ve spent enough time in the gallery to know something good when I see it, and Willow’s painting was great.
I wondered if I’d find her working on it again Tuesday, but she wasn’t there.
Not any other day this week, either. I never saw her around the boardwalk, or even on her parents' property. I almost wondered if she’d disappeared, if maybe she was something I’d imagined, but now that she’s in front of me again, I’m reminded she is very, very real.
Her tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes haunted me all week. I wanted to ask her what was wrong, and then I’d question why I cared to begin with. The longer I went without seeing her, the more curious I became—and I don’t have time to be curious.
I’m supposed to be focused, and I’m supposed to stay away from her.
I should be annoyed, because I’m certain her presence is why her father has been unavailable.
I was angry about it, about what he said to me on Friday evening—telling me to stay away from her like I’m some kind of fucking pariah.
I mean, sure, I had a felony charge on my record.
Knowing the background I came from, I’d wouldn’t want my daughter going anywhere near a guy like me either, but it wasn’t as if I’d been planning to pursue her.
If he’s so confident I’m a threat, why did he allow me here to begin with?
After I found Willow crying, I started putting two and two together. Something happened to her, and Leo needed the week off to take care of it. I thought it would bother me, but instead I’ve found myself longing to ask them what happened, ask where Willow is, and if I’d see her again.
Now, instead of being angry with Leo, I’m upset with myself for being so goddamn curious about his daughter.
When the Graham family reaches the beach and I get a clearer view of Willow’s face, she appears completely fine.
All evidence of Monday’s tears is gone. They stop first at Liv, each hugging her.
Liv holds Willow’s face, and whatever conversation they’re having seems serious.
It’s hushed, Willow’s eyebrows are drawn, her lips twisted as she listens intently.
The only thing I’m able to make out is a quiet, “I’m not going in the water, and I’m just going to sit.
” Liv responds, but I can’t hear it, and after a moment, Willow nods before they hug again.
I pull my gaze away and find Leo’s fixed on me. His face is stern, but as he closes the distance between us, a smile spreads over his mouth. “Hey, Weston. How has the week been?”
“Good.” I place the cap back on my drink.
“Liv said you’ve been doing well, and she has notes for me. I’ll evaluate those over the weekend, and we’ll develop a real regimen for you on Monday.”
“So you’ll be back Monday, then?”
He nods. “I will. This week has been . . .” He sighs.
“Unexpected. But we’ll be able to really get started Monday.
Liv also mentioned you have an attitude problem, but she has the worst attitude of anyone I’ve ever met, so I take that feedback with a grain of salt.
” He grins. “Everett said you’ve been doing well at the shop. ”
“Puedo escucharte, idiota,” Liv mutters.
“And I can understand you, Livia,” he teases.
My eyes flit to Liv, but more so to Willow standing beside her, laughing quietly. She turns her gaze to me, her eyes flaring before she slowly lifts her hand, offering me a wave. I wave back.
“Are you working today?” Leo asks.
“Yeah, but not until two.”
“All right. Help me carry these bags to the far end of the beach.” He nods south, where one of the cliff’s rock faces juts into the ocean, rounding out the cove. “My girls are going to paddleboard for a while, and you and I can work on that god-awful bottom turn of yours.”
Fuck. I really don’t feel like getting critiqued by Leo Graham and Livia Costa-Ramos when there are other people around. “I don’t think—”
“Oh, so you do have an attitude problem, then?” He raises a brow. “You’re going to let a seven-time World Champion and an Olympic gold medalist critique you—and then argue with them about their notes?”
“Nope.” I pop the end of the word as I grab the bag at his feet and toss it over my shoulder.
I assist him in blowing up the inflatable paddleboards and putting together the oars as the girls continue their conversation with Liv.
Once we’re finished and they meet us at the end of the cove, Leo kisses his wife before turning to me.
“You met her briefly when you were younger, but this is Darby.”
“Nice to meet you.” I extend my arm to shake her hand, and she returns it.
It’s fucking uncanny how much Willow looks like her mom. Aside from the difference in eye color, and some aging around her eyes and mouth—smile lines, mostly—every other feature could have me confusing them for sisters. Their hair and lips. The way their noses crinkle when they smile.
“I’m so happy to have you staying here, Weston,” she says softly, and I wonder if she’s ever considered voice acting for Disney princesses. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, okay?”
I nod, but the look her husband flashes me tells me I should avoid inconveniencing this woman at all costs.
“And I know you’ve met Willow already.” There is an edge to his voice that slithers down my spine in an uncomfortable way.